Failed State?

First I heard of Iran as "a failed state" now, after a failed attempt at blowing up an airplane over US soil, it is Yemen that is considered "a failed state." What is a failed state? A state in turmoil? A state that failed to embrace and or implement capitalist principles? A state that is not run under the tight-fisted control of a tyrant? A state that does not serve it's people? A state on the seeming verge of disintegration? A state with questionable morals? A state that failed to deliver on it's promises?

It is not Somalia, not Zimbabwe, not North Korea, and certainly not the United States?

We need only one terrorist attack on US soil and the power will be back in the not so capable hands of the Republicans. Meanwhile we have a handsome Dutch hero, but get to see nothing much of him, instead endless speculations from little information, yet. I want to celebrate the guy that was thinking not just on, but also off his feet. Wow, what chutzpah to tackle that Nigerian wanna be terrorist. And I seem to be wrong as regards my earlier posts. Education makes one not less likely to engage in extremist terrorist activities. So what makes these guys with brains turn to terrorist measures? The jury sure is still out on that one.

More in space then on-line

A change of neighbors brought a dire lack of connectivity. Just a quick few points.

Oprah announced her giving up her show after her 25th season, that is by 9.9.11. I will miss Oprah, 'The Queen of Empathy' and occasional truly insightful interviews. I will never forget the one from prison with Betty, the woman that killed her x-husband and his new girlfriend when she intruded in to their bedroom and then claimed her gun got off by itself. I was in awe of Oprah's sensitive inquiries that really gave us a window in to this woman's soul. I became an instant fan and have been so ever since then, the late eighties. To my mind Oprah's interview would stand in stark contrast to Heraldo Rivera's understandable, but unproductive assault on the KKK, a total missed opportunity that offered us no new insights of any kind. Oprah's reporting style enriched my life and my understanding of the world that too often looks weird beyond belief. Oprah is an icon of our times, a woman of my age, a power to be reckoned with that I expect to be relevant still for a long time to come. Really, if her recent interview with Sarah Palin gave her the highest ratings in 2 years, I do not blame her at all for wanting out! The freeing up of her time will allow this outstanding woman to do a lot more good in many new and different ways and I will be eager to learn about such and wish her only the best. She deserves our admiration and best wishes along with the freedom to do as she pleases.

Appalling Palin has been dominating the news. One thing that really bothers me is that the dominant culture does not distinguish between a woman's rights and an infant's need for a mother. Infants need mothers not formula! This has nothing to do with woman's rights. Women have breasts and men do not. Women have held the infant in gestation for 9 months in their bellies, men did not. In an ideal world, mothers breast feed their babies. Sure there are less then ideal circumstances, often they involve money. New mothers may need to provide for their babies, their families. Sure, we adapt, but this does not change the fact that infants need their mothers and suffer given substitutes.

Sarah Palin and daughter both were pregnant and she had no calms to take on a high level job! Obviously this woman is not concerned about the well being of the infants, hers a special-needs child to boot. This bothers me big time. Of course we do not expect the same from fathers, from men. Women's rights should not be about erasing the differences between men and women. Sacrificing all to the altar of achievements and climbing the social ladder is not admirable. What happened to all that we learned, the hard way, in the sixties and seventies in humanistic psychology? All forgotten or discarded? Wake up America!

Sarah Palin moaned about the flak her daughter got during last year's campaign. The criticism of course was never about her teenage pregnant daughter, but about the hypocrisy of a stance for no sex education and the real life hard facts of a pregnant teen. Sarah's phony glossing over such and creating this rosy picture that entailed her teen aged daughter about to marry her teenage, bad-boy infatuation, with this way ward son-in-law to take on a job at the White House, was hard to swallow for any seasoned human being.

Sarah will challenge us to the max in regards to the unification of this great, but deeply divided country, the United States. President Obama was calling on that which unites us, Palin will clarify that which divides us.

Sumo's 4. Birthday, today October 4. 2009

In honor of Sumo's birthday I ditched my shoulds and headed up north not forgetting to pack a freshly boiled chicken breast. What we happened to come upon was this gorgeous fishing lake adjacent to the Benedictine Monastery in Pecos.

What a lovely place even after the peak of fall colors. I could not have pleased my pups, that really are no longer pups, but mature dogs, any more. We meandered around the whole lake not once, but trice, both dogs off lead and in canine heaven. Soon I learned that my Isabella-girl knows how to swim. She showed no hesitation in jumping in to the lake in pursuit of a pair of ducks. For a moment I worried I had to follow her in to the cold wet to rescue her back to shore, but with a quizzical look on her face and determined, or was it desperate paddling, she made it back to solid grounds, only to douse us with her wetness. I managed to call Sumo off from a rare following suit. he is a lot more in to leading and charging ahead then following, usually. I am really not sure about his swimming abilities. In fact we have never been near a lake as accessible and clean looking where off lead dogs were welcome and nobody even charged a fee.

Sumo was in canine heaven and for once lost his focus on me and stayed wholly involved with his own nose, sights and sounds and sensory input. That guy sure gets the hunting and exploring instincts and is hard to hold back. What a blessing for us to have found this lovely spot.

After one round I was to head back to the van to find them treats but Sumo refused to get anywhere in sight of that darn vehicle as to him it must mean the end of all fun! Little did he know or care that chicken breast was waiting there for him. 3 rounds and each time same story. My guy does know how to make his feelings and wishes clear, but then so do I!

My two must be holding a conference here as to my wishes to return to our 'mobile home'. Isabella already tasted the treats and must be assuring Sumo, but he would not be convinced and would keep his distance and avoidance tactic.

As it so happened, the other day the news reported of President Jacque Chirac's little dog, oddly enough also called Sumo and also a Poodle/Maltese, in pure white though without the Yorkie parts in mine, but looking like I imagined my dog to look, back then. Well this Sumo had bitten the former French President 3 times in what they called a depression over adjusting to a smaller environment then the presidential palace! The dog had to go, to some farm. Easier to get rid of a problem then dealing with the underlying cause for bad behavior! I doubt that dog got enough exercise and discipline.

My Sumo barks too often when meeting other dogs on lead in town. I am really not sure why, at times it seems simple excitement, other times it seems more aggressive and incites a stand off. He is fine at our dog park, but will tell any dog off, no matter the size, when he had enough of being sniffed. Alas, he seems very attractive to many sniffers. I judge my Sumo to be an essential alpha male and therefor more interested following his nose and instincts then in others, dogs or humans.


Polanski's arrest in Zurich got me stirred up and I am not even a fan of his movies. I swear the boards are the modern lion dens or witch hunts and sinister hangings of times I had believed long gone. Screams of bloody murder with the throwing of the rapist, if not in the fires of hell, at least in to prison to rot for the remainder of his life. Rape and child are the buzz words, although like any word the meaning can take on all kinds of colors.

According to the victim her experience does not qualify as rape as it lacked the violence she would associate with such. While rape is rape as concerns the lack of consent and the proceeding even while being told no, there are shades here. The child had sex before and supposedly was only weeks away from the age of 14 and the ability to offer consent legally.

A child being drugged in order to be taken advantage of, sounds so sinister, yet Qualudes were so common and so easily accessible, even to school kids that wanted them. I know, I grew up in Switzerland, it was a cinch to ask my friend's boyfriend to get me some illegal pharmaceuticals (once LSD for my mom's friend. Bless my mom's heart, I believe she never learned of this.) Offering Quaalude and Champagn seem to be equated with today's dating drug abuse scandals, while in the sixties and seventies were the social norm in certain circles.

Offering alcohol to a 13 year old in Europe is common and would never warrant the American outrage. I must say I hate the infantilization of American kids that are old enough to be sent to war, but not old enough to have a celebratory sip of alcohol. I hate that a 19 year old having an affair with a few year younger kid can be prosecuted for child abuse and even incarcerated if sex is involved. Yet I remember plenty of school mates actively in pursuit of sex at a tender age of barely noticeable sexual characteristics. I remember how at 12 years of age some men judged me to be 20 years of age, and that without any provocation, certainly not of a sexual nature on my part.

No, I do not favor middle aged men having sex with very young girls and no, rape is inexcusable. Neither do I favor the laissez fair or letting go of crimes because of times that did pass. Obviously Polanski is a fighter. He survived the Holocaust in Krakau, got over a Dad that told him to fuck off and had to deal with the brutal slaying of his wife and had to endure the suspicions of the authorities and fellow Americans. Somehow looking at the larger picture, his escape when the judge's ambition became obvious seems befitting, if ill chosen. What possibly in his past could have made him place his trust in the American legal and political system?

Apprehended now, I hope he will have a chance to finish this sordid and long overdue business, pay his debt to society without going to prison, I hope. Compensating the American tax payer with a fine that would cover the expense of keeping his case open for 30 years seems just. And I would add a punishment of having to produce films of an educational nature that have sexual abuse and boundaries at the core, suitable to be shown to kids, in various age appropriate versions. This seems to me a good and fitting punishment without wasting good talent and filling already overflowing prisons with another individual that really poses no longer a threat to society (considering no new allegations of child abuse come to the fore.)

Back to my beginning what irks me are the cries for revenge clothed in terms of Justice. Polanski admitted to guilt only as regards to unlawful sexual intercourse, not rape! The fact that he is white, rich and well connected seems to get some folks ire, as rage mounts at the thought of another aborted attempt at legal justice.

His victim forgave Polanski in 1997 and considered his 30 years in exile as sufficient punishment. No, victims are not to dictate legal procedures, but should their word not count for something? Or do we once again infantalize the victims by acting 'for their own good' while ignoring their testimony?

No, money, power and status ought to not determine the justice system. What I would like to see is a justice not based on needs for revenge, not meted out by the book, but considered with true wisdom that looks at the crime in a differentiated fashion rather then black and white and can address the real needs of society, victim and perpetrator.

Meanwhile let's keep on enjoying Swiss Chocolates!

Women's Happiness, or lack of

Here we go again with that American dream, the pursuit of happiness. Are we really surprised to find that we have less, rather then more in this country of supposed plenty, the richest country in the world with supposedly the most opportunities? (A list of the US standing in terms of education, child death, death penalty, health care and on and on would be appropriate here. Sorry, I am not a great researcher.)

"First, since 1972, women's overall level of happiness has dropped, both relative to where they were forty years ago, and relative to men. You find this drop in happiness in women regardless of whether they have kids, how many kids they have, how much money they make, how healthy they are, what job they hold, whether they are married, single or divorced, how old they are, or what race they are." Marcus Buckingham, Huffington Post "All told, more than 1.3 million men and women have been surveyed over the last 40 years, both here in the U.S. and in developed countries around the world. Wherever researchers have been able to collect reliable data on happiness, the finding is always the same: greater educational, political, and employment opportunities have corresponded to decreases in life happiness for women, as compared to men."

What constitutes happiness? We know that the northern European countries are considered to be the happiest, but I would prefer calling them more content, in great part due to their greater social security and stability. My Swiss friends rarely change jobs or homes or mates. Functioning within the system they gain social status and the added comforts that go with such. Telling though the Swiss can hardly wait to get away, is there a nation that travels more for escape?

The US is such a melange of everything, surely in the metropolitan areas there is barely any refuge to be found in the glue of social conventions. A sense of belonging and purpose surely must contribute to an individuals happiness.

As a child of the seventies, or sixties how can we possibly feel happy in this oh so very strange world, where Bush manages to get elected not once, but twice. Where wars are fought despite mass protests on absolutely wrong presumptions. Where the earth keeps on being raped and polluted despite forewarnings for decades. Where global warming kills off the walruses, to mention only today's news. Where as a feeling, breathing human being we are inundated with atrocities from around the globe by the hour, even the minute. "Anybody who can look at the state of the world and NOT be depressed isn't paying attention." someone's quote and maybe bumper sticker

What happened to peaceful coexistence and living with nature? Dominion is still the name of the game. Animals suffer our perceived needs, which really are just endless wants and we turn a blind eye to theirs. And what really gets me is the cry to violence from those professed Christians, those that kill doctors that perform abortions, those that cry war on those not proven guilty, those that seek revenge when Christ told us to turn the other cheek.

Oh well, let's get personal: I don't go to church, I do not have family, I am an immigrant, first generation, I don't feel I belong, I am not happy!

First thought is well, get your attitude adjusted, happiness is of your own making, no one to blame but yourself. How easy we are at assigning blame, including to ourselves!

To be happy is supposedly a choice we make. This goes in the face of us human beings, by nature being if not dependent, certainly interdependent. We need one another for survival, at least have been doing so for millenniums. Yet, instead of cooperating and thriving, we the human race, engage in wars and exploitation of one another and Mother Earth. How can we not feel depressed in this male dominated western, uncivilized world? And no, I am not a hard core feminist that hates men, but think that this patriarchal way of being sadly is emulated by women too, especially those on the ladder upward.

Walruses are dying en mass because of global warming, in today's news. Somali warlords keep on fighting and the women keep subsisting in inhumane conditions. Women still work harder for less. For the few that did break through the ceiling that many slave away in one form or another. Isn't it amazing that the word slavery still applies and such conditions thrive in today's US democracies. Russian and Asian women and so many others are lured to the land of milk and honey only to find themselves in a living hell.

Want not and you will be happy, all misery exists because of desire is what some say. Blame is placed on the images found in magazines and on TV. Supposedly I make my own misery by subjecting myself to such and comparing myself to face lifted, plastic boobed dolls and maybe to the sex kitten toys sought out in men's magazines. We live in a world of addiction, now who of those porn obsessed, beer bellied, incoherent dopey eyed specimens of the male variety can go beyond the old fashioned role of provider and make a woman feel truly seen, heard and met intellectually, emotionally, spiritually and bodily?

I would say that every woman living in a patriarchal society must feel, to the extent that she has not given up her own nature in trying to adjust to the dominant male mode, like a round, fluid sphere inside a rigid, tight fitting square. The dominant mode of striving for success - at any price, placing value in acquisitions, promoting image and hiding essence, none of it for the common good, must feel alienating.

And then comes the midlife crisis, the no longer holding value with diminished sex appeal in a man's eye and finding out how easily one is replaceable. Some women turn to women only to find out that we lost our sense of cooperation and engage in similar dominant behavior with one another as we tried to escape from.

Women supposedly get sadder and men happier after 4o, isn't it obvious? Men think they still can score a young chick, at least they imagine themselves in the running league, to them it is always a possibility. Women know better, that is with the exceptions of those like Demi Moore and the likes, and you know how they look and tweet!

But sex goes only so far and then are the realities for some of us: No insurance, no secure income, over the hill with no good prospects for work or a mate and only one incident away from catastrophe. Men rot in jails while women struggle to survive and bring up their kids alone. Men cheat, some women leave. It is known that men do better financially after divorce then women. We wonder why these women are unhappy? No doubt if we asked them they would express relief from having gotten away from an unfaithful husband,  one more interested in porn, or hanging out with beer drinking buddies watching TV all night, or ogling women because another male heart failed to open. Is it a wonder women are unhappy? How many truly happy couples do we know?

Women used to have friends that filled the role of a caring, nurturing, intimate other in their lives, but in today's society, try to make a friendship a priority, when work demands run round the clock and time is scheduled down to the love making, or fucking, if both involved indulge more their fantasies then each other.

Happiness is relative that is for sure. Bliss isn't, we know when we are immersed in it and usually it has something to do with feeling connected, with feeling seen for who we really are, with being intimate and alive with an open heart.

The pursuit of happiness may be overrated as regards the striving for success and acquiring of acquisitions while states of bliss, such as in watching the sun rise and set, the shadows fall and take their places, the birds come and go, and the dogs cock their heads while they look up expectantly, these kinds of pleasures may be way underrated.

Impromptu Acquisition

I left home looking to replace my rain barrel and came home with a monstrous leather chair:
The kind I had been dreaming of, soft, comfortable and not torn. A perfect place to read. (What happened to the times I could read anywhere anytime, including on my way to school, under the covers in secret, in the bathroom in the bath tub, sitting, standing, lying down ... what happened?)

These days the light is not right, the reflections bothersome, my eyes are too tired and my body tosses and turns. If I could I would try reading in a head stand, it can't be worse then what I am doing so far.

But now I got this comfy huge throne in my tiny home. For a moment I feared I might not get it through the door, but with a little help we did it, and ever since I am rearranging my whole home to make things fit. There are always more then one way to do one thing, just as there are many roads that lead to Rom and certainly many rivers that find the ocean. Never mind that I liked it that one way, it's good to be flexible, it's good to invite change and sometimes it is excellent to buy on impulse.

New chair

new bike

new camera

I better get my butt moving,
then get stuck in comfort zone.

25 Years

Today, 25 years ago we arrived in Santa Fe,
in a red beat up Toyota pick up truck, down to a few bucks.
we would spend the night aside on the road, not far from this site.

The magic of Santa Fe had lured us, little did we know,
we thought we were close to Mexico,
but soon enough snow surprised us then, as it still does now.
First snow sprinkled Mount Baldy today
and offered foreboding of what is yet to come.
Who knew that a frosty season might last 8 months out of 1 year?

Brown, thick, round walls of dirt and straw against blue, sunny skies seemed like a perfect antidote for way too much time spent in New York. Soon we were settled along a charming narrow dirt road, in someone's library turned to guesthouse for welcome additional income, as most working Santa Feans had then, and certainly need to use ingenuity now, to make ends meet.

Roosters would wake us before dawn. He found work that very first day in construction. I stayed home alone. I had not yet learned how to drive, had overstayed my visa, - and was at a loss. Still reeling from life's harsh lessons and yes, losses of love, money and things, but most importantly loss of naiveté and a simpleton's trust.

Every new beginning is a bit like a new birth. I do not do well with birth. I prolong, resist, hesitate, and moan and groan. No, I say, I am not ready! My mom was 2 weeks overdue with me and still I did not make it easy on her. Neither did they make it easy on me with their forceps.

25 years ago, bewildered, at a loss, resistant, I wondered; who am I now?

Today, more then 30 years ago, I arrived in New York after midnight and after all buses suspended service until morning. Not one to spend when not necessary, I settled in to a seat in one of the waiting areas to snooze until service would resume. And so began my US adventure,
when I yet had no inkling of ever becoming a US citizen and never even had heard of what must be considered my home town now, Santa Fe, the City Dipherent.

Gilbert Roybal, another victim of homicide

Another homicide only 1 week later, my heart feels bruised, which is nothing compared to no longer having a beating heart, or one on life support to be donated to someone in need! My condolences to the family of Gilbert Roybal, 44, owner of the Ancient Spirit hair and nail salon, located in downtown Santa Fe, off West San Francisco, in the same courtyard as the Sakura Japanese Restaurant.

To all accounts this was a good man, with no enemies who could pride himself in our Governor having frequented his business. The news says after work, still during Fiesta weekend, he stopped by the Eldorado Hotel to enjoy some Salsa music and somehow got involved in an argument. I sure hope it is not a gender related hate crime, as this is the first question that comes to mind to many when hearing of a hair dresser in trouble.

Hate seems though in the ether. Again the news discussion boards were filled with hateful commentaries. Many are ready to blame the illegals, the day workers, the transients for crimes committed in their community. Others want to throw out the baby with the bathwater and stop Fiesta festivities cold, keep them strictly to religious ceremonies. Always there are those to blame the politicians and police for not doing their job. One or two bemoan the lack of a death penalty when needed! It seems that anonymous comments illicit a flow of unmitigated hatred.

We are all for free speech, but with freedom comes responsibility! I do imagine if the boards were no longer anonymous the posts would become more temperate. Meanwhile a good man has been on life support only to harvest his organs, our community experienced another loss, this time of a treasured member and the question remains what are we not doing that we could to make Santa Fe safer? I wish I knew the answer.

You may want to check out my post on Chris Rose and the crime that happened only 1 week prior.

maybe to be continued ...

Fall, not from grace, but new bike!

It happened, one of my worst fears, I fell off my bike yesterday!

Only one week earlier I had succumbed to a good deal and got myself a new and different bike - on sale. It is hard to resist a good deal and even harder when my purchase benefits charity. For every bike sold in the US, one goes to an African health care worker! The Kona Africa bike was conceived to support the distribution of health care in Africa. Isn't it a great idea! This bike it is perfect for me:

I love the look of the composite, to me elegant, frame, not a glossy, but dull, solid black. Finally a step through frame that does not require of me to be an athlete in swinging my one leg back over a huge milk crate or over the darn bar, - while holding my two pups on lead. The bike has one gear only, just fine for riding downtown, on flat terrain, going on errands and exercising my pups. The foldable crate up front is cute and to me very practical. It holds all the necessities for outings: Camera, phone, and for the pups, poop bags, treats and water. The brakes require some getting adjusting to. The one brake handle on the bar adjusts the back peddling system and not used properly can easily spill disaster, as happened with me. The Kona bike comes with a lock of the back wheel which has limited use here in the Southwest where bikes get stolen, even with parking meters they had been attached to! The seat is wide and comfortable enough and ah, sitting upright is such a relief, such a long missed pleasure, it's got to be worth the expense. I have been wanting to ride upright for decades and it seemed impossible in the US to find this kind of bike, similar to what I have known and loved in Amsterdam.

I have been riding bikes since I was 10 years old and got one for Christmas. I remember my mom, afterwards, expressed her worries about my discovering their surprise gift and spoiling the fun. The only fall off a bike before yesterday was when I followed my mom through a busy intersection in Zurich and anxious I got my tire stuck in a track. Thankfully nothing broke ,not then when I was maybe 12 years old and not yesterday. No, I don't wear a helmet for bike riding, it spoils the fun for me. I did wear a helmet eventually riding my scooter though as even I recognized the irresponsibility and foolishness in not doing so. Helmets do look ridiculous on most anybody and most certainly on me.
My mountain bike has been good for me. I bought it 15 years ago by default, as no upright bikes then were available from our local dealers. The pretty color lettering had much to do with my choice. It is a solid bike, with gears that make it reasonably easy to go uphill. It has served me well. I hope I can keep it as there is bliss in having the right tool for the right occasion.

to be continued, maybe ...

Chris Rose, Victim of Homicide

I love the expressions on their faces. The image was captured, in July 09 by Susan, a tourist, an artist, a vibrant and an empathic woman. I had watched  this photographer in tears, focused on blind Bonnie Hearn on stage, no longer able to perform with her husband. As her heart was touched, so was mine, we talked, we became friends and she mailed me these images, my favorite among her many wonderful photos. (Susan graciously gave me permission to share these images with the public.)

Sunday morning September 6th, Christopher Rose was found lying face down along the Santa Fe River at the DeVargas Park, a victim of a violent, crime.

It is disconcerting that he may have been there for a while, somewhat hidden in the brush, along a route I take all the time, so I may have passed him unknowingly. This is also the place from where I watched him steal a few roses from the Santuario de Guadalupe in bright day light only about 6 weeks ago. I chastised him for it. I figured someone ought to speak out and tell him what is not right. Defensively he mumbled that the flowers were his, and he was Christ, and he needed them to sweet talk the ladies in to dancing! I did not respond too kindly. It was obvious that he was excited and in a hurry to get to the plaza where the music and dancing was happening in full force. I had seen him there before and here Susan captured him with his grin that clearly shows his pleasure. It reminds me how music and dance can bring out the best in us  and bring us together and almost bridge gaps of social rank, age, and at least for  moments unite the fringe elements of society with the establishment.

Christopher Rose, 45, victim of a premeditated murder, stabbed to death, had arrived in Santa Fe only about 4 months prior and was considered homeless even though he had family members in town, and is remembered by at least someone as a dear and kind uncle.

"George R. wrote: I knew Chris as a friendly guy who never harmed anyone, always had a smile, who sometimes went a little overboard in his remarks to people. He was boisterous, but mostly in a fun way. He carried a guitar and was always ready to belt out a tune whether he could play it or not. He knew more pop songs than I have forgotten.
Vaya con Dios, Chris"

Sara commented in the New Mexican: "He was a sweet man. He came to Santa Fe for rehab and it didn't work. Rest his soul."

August 2. I was hanging out with my buddy at the fountain on Water Street involved in intense listening to his concerns about work. Chris came stumbling along, almost falling over my pups who, uncharacteristically, barked at him. In no time some tough looking and acting biker duds took offense to Chris and it looked threatening enough for me to insist to call the cops. As usual by the time of their arrival the tension had dispersed and the guys had moved on, no harm done.

Afterwards one young street kid came up to us and apologized for Chris, saying something like that he did not know how to hold his liquor. We got in to an exchange of alcoholism, family problems, willpower and seeking help with AA. On our leave my buddy expressed surprise that Chris had not been harmed yet by anybody, as he seemed to manage to offend others rather easily. This was said only a bit over 1 month prior to Chris' demise!

My heart goes out to all those that suffer violence, addiction and mental illness. As a community we have a responsibility to provide adequate care to the fringe elements of our society. Some readers of the news jumped to premature conclusions, condemning the police, condemning the day workers that hang out in the area where Chris' body was found, condemning the illegals and the transients and the local and the national figures in politics. I sure wish we were less quick to condemn and more readily available to empathize and to seek working solutions for ongoing problems, that are not just local, but world wide. This homicide was Santa Fe's fourth for 2009.

Health Care - a Right not an Obligation!

Is it health care or is it corporate greed that plays on the fears and misfortunes of people? Health defined as the absence of disease, how odd. Do we really expect care from corporate entities that follow profit motives over ethics? True health care reform without diminished, if not eliminated corporate strongholds seems impossible. George, my buddy, seems convinced that taking out the insurance companies he blames for inflated prices will make health care once again affordable. Alright, don't judge me by the company I keep, I don't buy it either. Insurances are here to stay, life is too fraught with risks. Did they really take their beginnings with guaranteeing safe passage across the oceans? In any case I grew up in the insurance capital they say, Switzerland. I fled the mentality of playing it safe. I wanted life and adventure and calculated risk taking. ("So wie man sich bettet, so liegt man" my mother would have said!) I have lived much of life without a safety net. Do I recommend it? No!

Health like clean enough air and water, basic food and shelter plus education should be a human right not a responsibility! Here we go again, the have-nots wanting it all given to them on a silver platter. And what about that American way of pulling oneself up by the boot strings? Self-reliance is commonly mistaken as strength, when really it is weakness, is rigid and brittle and lacking in juices. The American way of the lone rider, the settler, the explorer of wide open spaces and my wish, the neo-cons, including Sarah Palin, are things of the past.

The world has grown smaller and our interdependence should have become obvious to anyone. No longer is the arctic protected by it's remoteness. By now we all heard how toxins find their way even in to a native Alaskan mother's milk. Small minds draw artificial boundaries of mine and yours, not understanding that if the other is kept in undesirable conditions there will never be peace, there will always be strive, there will always be illegal aliens, there will always be those seeking to have from where there seems to be aplenty.

My right leaning client does not want to pay for illegal aliens health care and my left leaning buddy that holds a government job with excellent insurance thinks he needs none as long as street guys can get their hearts operated on! So what are we to do? Refuse medical treatment to illegals, alcoholics and the poor and anyone else undeserving? Survival of the fittest, if you have not got it you deserve to perish? How can this great country of the United States hold such backward, inhumane, unkind, and to many so devastating, not just opinions, but policies?

Public Option is a must as Insurance companies have to get challenged. The government has proven that it can ably dispense health care and do so at a lower overhead cost and therefore lower premium to the individual. The government offering a public option for health care would not be funded by taxpayers, but by the premium of the people, especially those now uninsured.

Previous conditions can not be grounds for exclusion, this is inhumane. An illness should not be grounds to lose one's home and possessions and get one indebted with no way out! I can imagine where medical personnel would get training at a lower cost in exchange for public service for a number of years. I can imagine a whole new excitement of care takers once again eager to serve patients rather then insurance corporations! Eager for fulfilling work rather then a job.

Rejecting a Public Option and a government run insurance on grounds of sliding in to socialism or further increasing the national debt is alarmist, not trusting American ingenuity and ability to adapt and are plain hysterics. (Of course I too am worried about the national debt and the value of the dollar, a situation inherited from the Bush administration, of which I blame all those that were crying war and revenge in reaction to 9/11 despite all the evidence to the contrary. Stop the war! Stop the selling of weapons too that end up in so called enemies hands! Let's focus as a nation, a world, on healing and growing and evolving in to a sustainable lifestyle suitable for the 20. century.

may be continued ...

flickr final part 4


My 'Goddess with an Attitude' was my very first upload, here post-processed with tools I then had not yet discovered. The first of more then 3,800 images that total almost 133,300 views.

I realize that an image alone no matter how beautiful is never as relevant to me as an image that holds meaning, has something to say, maybe tells a story, or somehow gives new insight.

In this light I invite you to check out some of my favorite photostreams on flickr starting with BuckarooBob from the Oregon Coast, a master story teller, prior photo journalist and human being of the very first order:

"I'm a seeker and a believer, a pilgrim and a pirate, a dreamer and a schemer"

Prabhakaran from Chenai, India will charm you too, I bet, with his delightful presentation of his world seen through his beloved Canon. I particularly love the insights he provides in to the culture of South India, along with his sweet poetic spirit coupled with a great sense of humor.

Vol-au-Vent or Kiki, from France, but always a Swiss at heart, is my queen of soulfulness, one can not help be enchanted by her presentations. She has a knack for finding the perfect quote, followed by personal and intimate expression, set to her image to express charmingly what is in her heart and thereby touch another's soul.

Keith from Australia is a closet film maker to my mind, a thinking photographer, highly attuned to the interplay of light, dark and shadows. His images are not the cute, warm and fuzzy kind, but the stunning, capture of poignant moments in time, like this one here:

Finally the cutest pet images ever got to be of Earny the Terrier and Toby the calico cat:
from the Australian bush via Jobee59

flickr anniversary part 3

Here comes the tricky part, expressing my complex, sometimes difficult feelings in relating on-line and through mine and others creative efforts. I decided early on that flickr is one of my modes of self expression rather then my advertisement! Meaning I never intend to cater to an audience. My hope is that you might be moved by some of my posts and might even respond, but I will not hold my breath for that to happen. If I sound defensive, I am afraid I am. The truth is that I did hold my breath despite my best of intentions. Going public means seeking interaction, who am I kidding. There is a reason I do not keep my images to myself. I can't get my friends to look at them, what do I expect? Nothing and everything, but anything other then generic, polite responses, pleaze! And spare me the devastating critical kind or the dubious silences. Whoever said silence is gold is a liar. Silence is a killer, fosters uncertainty and doubt. Benign neglect can be lethal. But who takes the time for constructive criticism? Who knows how to give such? And anyhow I keep reading how flickr is about "fun" - really?

I never been big on gratitude and yes, I ought to be grateful for all the attention my images do get while I am so blissfully ignorant of the true art of photography The truth is that I have hurt many a time over many an overlooked dear image of mine. I guess it is unavoidable considering everything, but it hurts nevertheless. What is dear to me does not (yet?) translate in to dear to others and that is what distinguishes the successful artist, right?

Flickr does embrace that which is cute, no doubt. I like cute too, up to a point. At first I kept my activity to pet imagery, how odd for me, but hey I got one, then two, then three furry ones and pets seemed saver to explore, god forbid I should come upon explicit sex images, which I am happy to report I really have managed to avoid. So how come there rarely is a dog baring it's teeth? Dogs piss and hump plenty, but rarely do I find an image of such realities of life, why? Might it be offensive to a young family member?
Fun in the Snow!
This playful image of my Sumo-boy gave nightmares to a few but started a lively discussion. I adore this ferocious image of Sumo because it counters the assumption that little Sumo-boy, because of his size is a cute puppy rather then the adult alpha, independent, unafraid male that he is in reality.

Of course Sumo is cute, but his spirit is large and he does not need to be looked at as a baby or toy. He is a guy for real.

But this is not about Sumo or canine companions, but about my experiences with flickr. Just now I took a break to check a mail from one of my dear flickr friends. Turns out a stranger  by mistake somehow managed managed to upload an image to his stream. Now get this, none of his many viewers, many regulars questioned this odd image that so did not relate to his body of work. Rather the comments were complimentary on his choice of colors and design and so on! This is what gets me with flickr, these non-sensical, superficial responses, please! Who needs them?

It is time to honor the friends that I did find on flickr and that make flickr special. I love connecting over our creative efforts with folks from all over the world, from all kinds of backgrounds, cultures, religions, beliefs, tongues and nationalities.

to be continued ...

flickr anniversary part 2

Here I continue my reflections on flickr by considering my personal favorites of the thousands of images I captured and posted in these last 3 years.

Sitting on the fence

This one is one of the very first images I took with my new Nikon D40. My camera sat there for a while before I dared approach it. I was walking my pups as I so often do and was passing by this very old, funky cemetery and almost missed this toy up on the fence. By pure chance the colors and sharpness of the image keep delighting me and so does the symbology of sitting on the fence, something I have been accused too often. Here I demonstrate that sitting on the fence can be o.k. and almost look comfortable!

This one is a bit similar in that I was focused on architecture and almost missed these cute tigers, really I am not a fan of cutesy toys, but I love this image and think the frame perfect.

Tractors and heavy equipment have very little appeal to me usually, but this one early morning the light shone upon this tractor and I love what became of it, an abstract of sorts. I really love it because it is so unlike me to be attracted to such. My world opens up looking through a lens and I come to love all kinds a things.

I love my pups and treasure capturing them in action, which is not easy. Here I was quick to reach for my camera when I spotted Howdy, a gorgeous Labradoodle pup. It was late in the morning the sun already washing out a lot of color and my aim was not perfect. I did a lot of finnegaling to achieve this so far my favorite version of the image.

If you care to check out more of my images you might like to view one of my favorite sets.
to be continued ...


My 3 year flickr anniversary is coming up September 6th. I joined flickr in the idea of enriching our on-line group of "phenomenal women" with an image sharing site. Word and image always made sense to me and make a larger whole, like the left and right brain that function together. In my profession as a bodyworker I was one of the first to my knowledge to employ a portfolio that showed beautiful photos of me at work along with a painful, to me, description of what my intentions in massage therapy really are. Massage can go so way far beyond relaxation, but few knew and know.

I am not one that had a long standing passion about photography. I bought my first digital point and shoot with the expectation of traveling to Ghana to volunteer for a month in an orphanage and kinda get a first whiff of Africa and a sense if I might want to spend more time there. The little Olympus Stylus with it's odd shape, that fit perfectly in to my hand seemed ideal for the purpose of capturing the likeness of some cute African kids unobtrusively.

As fate would have it, my Dad got sick the day after I had made my travel arrangements to Ghana and what I captured first was his hand in mine as I sat on his bedside and suddenly remembered my brand new camera still unused in my purse.

My Dad perked up when I mentioned Olympus as he had owned several, but of course none digital. It was sweet to see this old, frail man, mostly incoherent, on his death bed come alive.

Since then, 1995, I gave myself a Nikon D40, a beginners DSLR, as capturing my fast moving pups was simply too fast for my point and shoot, as they have a considerable length of lag time. But I am back to another Olympus Stylus, this time purple, to replace my first as they are just so convenient and surprising in what they can accomplish considering their size.

Flickr is a phenomenon and may well be the internet at it's very best.
To date I uploaded exactly 3800 images that garnered 24,550 views to my photo stream alone, a lot more in total, and certainly a whole lot more exposure I would have ever had of photos placed in to albums as I used to.

This entry, taken on one of my many walks with my dogs, is what flickr considers my most interesting and what the community made in to my most popular, most often viewed image. This photo made Explore twice in different versions.

It got posted 'illegally' somewhere by someone where it garnered overnight 1100 views. Personally I am not crazy about entries. What I do truly love though is discovering my world with new eyes.


This image of a young working girl in braces looking sexy, kinda, I am afraid circulates among an adoring anorexic crowd, I took it away from public viewing after a comment confirmed my suspiscions, but recently made it available once again and it is gaining exposure steadily.

Finally I remember vividly becoming what seemed like an integral part of a painting during maybe the most spectacular sunset I ever witnessed. It took me a while to consider even an attempt to photograph the spectacle and it was an unforgettable event. Until then I rarely ever attempted capturing a landscape. This image became by far the most often favored of mine.

Take refuge in the beauty of nature!

To be continued ...
I want to say something, have been feeling an urge to do so for a while. I used to want to make a difference, what happened? Maybe one time I did, maybe on occasion I still do? My client last week, he brought me to tears. I no longer cry easily, I used to. In the days when feeling the pain was the order of the day - after day. I still believe in primal pain and working through it, I just tired of convincing others to do so. I still believe in life being a dream, a projection more often then not. I believe in transference and working with what we project on others.

I am tired already of the tirades on comment threads on-line, no matter how progressive and supposedly conscious the readership might be. Reading these threads on the Huffington Post or the local on-line news leave me afraid that we never progressed from ancient lion pits and public beheadings, - featherings and - stonings.

But back to my client who managed several breakthroughs in one session and then 'blamed' me, well, expressed his appreciation of our work together in such a manner as to make me cry. No I don't blame him for my tears, it is a thing of beauty to touch each other where it counts, on the inside.

I used to want to make a difference, these days though I feel invisible, except for the occasional moment, the rare person, the meeting of minds and hearts - and bodies (after all I am a bodyworker, a therapeutic massage therapist.) In these moments we see each other, we cherish each other as we have dropped our pretenses, our masks, our personas, but opened our eyes, our hearts and our understanding to one another. In the therapeutic realtionship I would expect this opening to go one way only, but on occasion the curtains part to shine a light on both parties. Striped of our camuflages, our dressed up state society requires, our naked beings emerge vulnerable and undefended and beautiful on their own terms. Sometimes that in itself is almost enough. When is enough ever enough?

Fall Farmers Market

Once again it's chili pepper roasting time when the characteristic scent fills the air at the Farmers Market. As I sat and watched these peppers sweat it and this farmer smile and hug those (women) passing by, I suggested he make a fortune by charging for his hugs. He paused for a moment and countered with the oh so old truth that the best things in life are free! So while his peppers are not free, they are supposedly darn hot and delicious. One woman seated next to me, devoured several with seeds to enhance her burrito. I must admit in 25 years of living in Santa Fe I have not gotten to the point of loving burritos or hot chile peppers, but hey, there is still time to catch up with the rest of them chile connoisseurs.

rain at last

A faint rainbow, a forboding sky and at last rain.

Skipping over puddles in a mad dash followed
by eight paws with giggles and wiggles
somehow elicited unreasonable happiness.

Indian Market Weekend

The audacity of some is stunning to me. Here, this wood sculpture towered over us mounted on an SUV parked on San Francisco Street, one of the busiest streets leading to and from the plaza and Indian Market. This is THE long awaited money-making annual weekend of the year for our community. The size of inhabitants in our community tends to double with tourists hopefully eager to shop until they drop, at least in to a bar stool, ready for a Margarita and some seriously hot, local Salsa.
This sculpture got to be one man's dream of a female variation of the Vixen-Virgin theme. For good measure stick in a baby and leave every man with fantasies of his own of suckling breasts. Check out her claws, yikes!
How do they get away with parking all day on a public street? Last year this one guy took up half a block with his truck loaded with oversized metal sculptures that later showed up on lawns of various businesses. His hanging out in front of Starbucks for a day, smoking cigars, must have payed off handsomely.

Americana: Entrepreneurship

This year this same guy was reduced to set up informal shop on one of the side streets., his truck extending in to a no parking meter zone. Well, the American entrepreneurial spirit seems to be still alive and well.

Meanwhile canine discrimination is in full force in and around the plaza with no clear perimeters as to where pets are welcome and not. And this despite the wonderful new set back isles that leave a lot more room for visitors to mill about without the all too familiar congestion around favorite, usually award winning booths. Here we strolled on the outskirts of booths and police bothered us just after I had stopped to take this to me funny and also sweet image of a man supporting a lady up high.

It's Indian Market Weekend and I actually made my way over there relatively early, 8 am, but not 6 am when early, serious buyers would tend to serious business. Yes, I heard of guys sleeping under stalls to reserve their first right to buy! I wonder if this is still a practice? I have not come upon the fashionistas either, the ladies and gentlemen dressed for the occasion in their Southwestern look with big cowboy hats and big hand crafted swash buckle belts and ladies chests bejeweled in handsome silver and gems. Where are the rich Texans and Californians these days? While I was in search of such I came upon this local Hispanic guy, displaced from the plaza, his regular hang-out and seemingly deeply involved in his art.
He is an Oritz with maybe 400 years of roots in our local history. He showed me the face he was carving out of what will become another of more then 100 walking stick art pieces in his possession. After heart trouble he decided it was not worth the stress to worry about advertisement and making money. So clients have to find him if they want a piece of his art! I can so relate in this respect, the refusal to engage in promotion of oneselve and hankering after money or most anything else. He seems determindly happy, although his circumstances seem not the easiest. He has a home and once his benefits kick in he will be o.k.. It turns out that by passion this man is a photographer with a lot of work in film stashed away as he does not have the means to produce it! He must be one of many, his tale touched me and I want to dedicate my post to all those unknown passionate artists that plug away and do their thing despite it all.

Why blog?

I like the challenge of formulating my thoughts and feelings. And then having an exchange about them. I miss European style communication, where we talk for hours and the conversation flows freely from one subject to another and we come back to a point from a different perspective, exploring, thinking out loud and having the greatest of times. I miss my long walks in the woods with my dearest friend, passed on already. I miss talking with strangers, so easily done in public in Europe. I miss the excitement too, of belonging to a group of colorful, artistic, fun, sometimes outrageous, sometimes inspirational, on occasion inventive, alternative minded and usually kind folks of different nationalities, different colors, cultures and upbringings.

In my teens we had "under-intellectual gatherings" on the initiative of Dwuno, my mentor then. We would sit, in a circle, some in meditation, some in simple silence, many in awe and wonder as energy would move us always in to the unexpected. There never was a plan for these event, but there was trust, certainly from Dwuno, in the nature of TAO, the natural flow and development of most everything, if given a chance.

In my twenties, in Amsterdam, I was at home at het Nabjie Ooste, the macrobiotic restaurant, where I found a way to survive, thrive, do service and learned about whole foods and the importance of diet. Where the work day started out with a practice session of Tai-chi and finished with hanging out together frequently with the making, listening and/or dancing to music.

In my thirties I was in instant heaven at Harbin Hot Springs. I loved the community, and the floating in warm, natural, healing mineral water. We floated each other and I spent many hours a day, training myself to manipulate all kinds of body types in the luscious, sensual, silky, temperate aquatic environment. I learned to listen and truly follow.

In my early forties I sought communion and community among the social dancers with varied degrees of successes. I never fit in to the Country Western local crowd, but felt at home dancing with the African ex-pats in Switzerland. I do love rhythm and West African styles especially. Not that the mobilization of the hip came easy, it took a lot of practice, but such made for progress. A bonus was the communication in french patois. I never learned to follow those that bore me and had a tendency to take over. But utter bliss awaited in someone's capable arms and creative interpretation.

In the last few years the internet has become my social realm. I applaud a more interactive format where news bits are shared and commented on freely and are read by many, that offer in turn their different perspectives. I joined the Huffington Post and a bit earlier Facebook, because I do believe that they are valid and valuable ways of building community and fostering social interaction, potentially.

Interacting with real people in real time, in body of late, I find most have barely the attention span for me to communicate an idea, much less a concept. Over and over I find myself interrupted in a response by something else happening and demanding the focus elsewhere. It is rather disconcerting. And while I am getting older, I do not think my mind so feeble yet to not be able to express myself succinctly.

Back to blogging and why. I believe in self-expression, I like the challenge and my hopes are for feedback and interaction. I am a bit worried about too much exposure, but then remind myself that I have nothing, or at least not much to hide. I blog because on line I have at least a chance of interaction which is to say that this is your invitation to respond and engage.

sweet encounters of the reflective kind

Yesterday morning a woman with dog came running towards me with a bright excited smile. She came to a halt, gave me a hug and a compliment, and moved on. While I was wearing a smile in response to her sweetness, I was also wondering how long it has been since I got hugged, how hugs used to be common and indulged in generously and not just amongst lovers. How I even taught my Watsu students how to hug without shying away from full body contact. I remember melting in hugs with guys and gals, buddies and mentors, teachers and students, in an absolutely non-sexual, but sensual, 'taking time not just to smell the roses, but each other kinda way'.

A bit later at the gas station counter a woman entered and smiled looking at me, I smiled back. She keeps on smiling and looking? My client had recommended her for a session with me some years ago. I had held her in my arms shortly after the death of her famous musician husband. Since then she remarried and lives rather happily having survived breast cancer. Her hair is still short and very becoming. I should not be too hard on myself for not having recognized her right away.

As a body worker I have often a very different perspective on my clients and I may not remember their face, after all they may spend most of our time together facing away from me through a face craddle or else most of their body might have been submerged in water, not ideal for viewing, but perfect for mirroring of patterns and releasing and healing.. I will often remember a pattern, an issue in the tissue, and then all will come back to me in an instant. Sweet, fleeting connections startled me and lingered and made me reflect on the depth of isolation and the change of times that I live in.

close quarters

Right now the Pretty Kitty is where Sumo was, up on top.

When Sumo first joined us, Isabella would let him have her den and would settle in front of it, unwilling to leave his sight! At night I would watch her paw reach out to him in her sleep. Sumo, like most any man thought he deserved it and took her generosity for granted. I say my girl was and still is in love, while my little guy reserves his autonomy.

Our dynamics are that Isabella is focused on Sumo,
Sumo keeps his eyes on me,
our Pretty Kitty acts opportunistic and gets it where he can
and I try to be fair to them all.

In all fairness

Once the pretty kitty joined our household, it seemed unfair to keep guarding my pure white sofas from canine abuse. So these days and after 1 1/2 years of strict training and claiming my couches my own, my furry ones have taken over.

A friend suggested that all mammals ought to sleep in packs and after my recent first night of letting my big Isabella-girl actually stay on my bed all night, I might agree. Mind you that these days I sleep on very narrow beds, as maybe due to the use of lots of Ginger, or else the heating that comes with and after menopause, I prefer to find the cooling edges with maximum ease. I also toss and turn a lot. In my Swiss language I would be referred to as a "Fegnaescht" and those that sat near me in planes have confirmed it. But there is something about bonding, even with our pets that keeps an eye out even during sleep.

So, in all fairness I have given up my exclusive claim and enjoy the cozy, some might say cramped company of my three furry ones on my bed.

when is enough enough or how do we line up the ducks

This evening I was sitting with George on a rock near a fountain that after years of dryness, suddenly flowed again freely. George was troubled with office politics and ran the stories by me.

A drunk guy I had chastised earlier for his audacity of stealing roses from the Santuario in plain view, kept staggering by us, upsetting my dogs who rarely bark at people. Suddenly one and then two biker tough guys took offense and violence seemed imminent. George called 911 and thankfully as he responded to seeming endless questioning, the energy dispersed and the bikers took off and were gone by the time a cop finally showed up.

Afterward one of the drunk street guys came over to us to apologize for this other drunk's obnoxious behavior. He hollered back to his buddy that he was talking to some "old folks" because they (we!) had wisdom. Wow, nobody had yet ever called me to my face "old". Turns out he is half my age and has spent the last 12 years homeless on the streets. His parents were Meth addicts and no, he would never get in to that. His lady left him and got clean and sober and his 9 year old son does not even know who his father is, although he said he calls him frequently and does tell him that he misses him.

The guy sounded and looked dejected, kept mumbling about the need for something to stand it. He brought up AA and said he had not been to a meeting in over a year. George shared with him how he got off drinking and drugging by simply deciding so and rambled on about the power of the mind. The kid seemed to hang on every of his words until he had enough and retired to the bench across from us.

This brings up one of the questions that has always fascinated me, when is enough enough? How do we make the magic happen so that all the ducks line up in one row and all the magnetic particles orient to the same one pole with a clear focus and an unwavering intent? How do we get there? Personally I have experienced this magic at various times, but never got how to make the magic happen. It happens to me.

The other question of course is this guy, and besides the dispensation of 'our wisdom' and the pointing him to the direction of our local shelter and AA groups, what should, could and would we want to do? I wished I had the number of two recovered alcoholics active in AA on me. I still might inquire with these two AA sponsors tomorrow on how to offer further help, and I will be on the look out for that 27 year old kid. He just might be ready for his Saturn Return change of life. Who can say? Sure it is up to him, but a steadying hand at just the right time can do wonders, or not.




This morning I got an e-mail from a Florida tourist I had met on the Plaza. She touched my heart as I watched her cry while she took photos of a blind woman, Bonnie Hearn, as she sat up on the bandstand, on the side, with her guide dog, and sang along, but no longer performed. Tears rolled down the face of this photographer, but she kept on, watched, clicked her camera and stroked her husbands thigh in-between.

Well, this woman told me about an incident last night, as they drove on our main street. 2 Hispanic guys raced each other, swerved in to their lane, intimidated other drivers and exhibited what would have to be called reckless driving. They pulled over, called the police, reported the deed, showed the evidence of tire marks, even got the guys to admit to it. The 3 Hispanic cops let them go! Why?

Only last month 4 teens were killed in a drunk driving accident. The accused 26 year old, 4 hours later, had an alcohol blood level of double the legal limit. We have serious problems of addiction, alcoholism, poverty and a lack of education with criminal behavior that is passed on through many generations.

So was it racism that the cops did do nothing? Does it take killing someone before such reckless behavior will be stopped? I am afraid it is our state law that requires that cops have to observe themselves an illegal transgression before they can act and prosecute, hearsay will not do! So now they go after personnel at bars and they try to make them responsible for not giving alcohol to drunk customers (I might ad adults, even if they act childish.) There is talk of anklets to alert bar personnel to the presence of a prior offender. There are steering wheel locks and breathalizers and one former judge tried to shame convicted alcoholics in to proper social behavior and sentenced them to communtiy service to be performed in odd colored hats! But try to report a potential disaster and it takes forever to get a response, much less preventive action.

So are the Hispanic cops in cahoots with the Hispanic offenders, protecting their own, as was suggested? Some, no doubt, would wholeheartedly agree. Our community is run by old Hispanic families of which several prominent politicians got busted big time only recently.

As I mentioned the story to a dear elderly, almost 90 year old lady, she exploded in disdain over our police and how they treated her when she was clearly hit by an on-coming car of a young hispanic woman driver. The cops never asked her side of the story, but gave her a ticket while the evidence, according to her, clearly showed in her favor. I suspect this had more to do with ageism, a loaded topic in itself.