tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7717829582967384352024-03-13T13:42:24.579-04:00RunVinnyRun.Blog<b><i>The fundraiser is over. Thank you for your support. The blog is now a travelog for<br> Lucy Lucid on the Loose. <br>
<small>Copyright 2010-2023 by V. J. Lucid</small></i></b>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger204125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-771782958296738435.post-14805670880064696712023-03-07T11:47:00.002-05:002023-03-07T11:47:17.136-05:00Lucy on the Loose S4/E1<p> https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=6845877342094610&id=100000172356603&mibextid=Nif5oz</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-771782958296738435.post-89372182371319258122023-03-07T11:03:00.006-05:002023-03-07T11:03:54.116-05:00Resurrection<p> Lucy on the Loose -- Season 4 </p><p>It's time to use this domain as a blog and travelog once again. Posts from Facebook will repeated here.. </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-771782958296738435.post-64316373242519900022020-10-15T13:55:00.006-04:002020-10-15T14:04:15.024-04:00DEJA VU<p> As I approached Gig Harbor, pulling a trailer on a windy day, I got an eerie feeling. Do you remember the infamous Tacoma Narrows Bridge from Physics 101</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dx3jMdoikaquCM3hUlGYw5LYevbdP7QH0Jg382gHwJIKDFhZNVQzkJms9fUe4hWHg5XG2jg7RAIL0Nc4hy5-w' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXLhTuo2U4aQy0ae_xUfsueMgjb0jxbWntZQopHLqBa2wvHuzgv3sopZ63dnMNej5fo74Xli_iYIV2oG_aJAiNTgBVyhg2qJ8W0X4JeN4u3R_rjVg5rTD-jJkUd9cDsebDQBGAV9KVIV4/s750/Screenshot_20201015-104956%257E2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXLhTuo2U4aQy0ae_xUfsueMgjb0jxbWntZQopHLqBa2wvHuzgv3sopZ63dnMNej5fo74Xli_iYIV2oG_aJAiNTgBVyhg2qJ8W0X4JeN4u3R_rjVg5rTD-jJkUd9cDsebDQBGAV9KVIV4/s320/Screenshot_20201015-104956%257E2.png" /></a></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Nov 7 will be the 80th anniversary of the collapse. If you've never seen the video or heard the explanation, go to YouTube. Lots of stories on there.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-771782958296738435.post-6727964801865447482020-10-15T12:22:00.006-04:002020-10-15T12:38:32.236-04:00. 5 MINUTES LATER<p> DAY2 -- 5 minutes later. ... Motivational Music....but the price went up by $1700... because I need a knee attachment to help keep my twisted leg from turning my toes in like they have been doing for the last 50+ years. </p><p>https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=4335564066459296&id=100000172356603</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-771782958296738435.post-3647674517675361802020-10-15T12:16:00.005-04:002020-10-15T12:36:59.976-04:00HANGER CLINIC DAY 2<p> FIRST STEPS</p><p>DAY 2 at Hanger Clinic.</p><p>Moments ago...I cried ...like Debbi did in December 1969, 6 months after my accident...my previous First Step</p><p>https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=4334665336549169&id=100000172356603</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-771782958296738435.post-24077539912401273392020-10-12T20:29:00.012-04:002020-10-13T10:37:29.828-04:00HANGER CLINIC -- Day 1<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqewCZ_8OKdeqdarB2ahVYPfNI72f4_nsTvfjYztwE9lXAankCkiET122c2OFfKx8PzGMeqeeAHlBmj2zCpcK4iAyOAaALNkmuKGvP5E3bmbmP36mGQrkfhD8c44u8jXIe2EM_wGZTlGE/s637/Screenshot_20201012-153507%257E2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="637" data-original-width="538" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqewCZ_8OKdeqdarB2ahVYPfNI72f4_nsTvfjYztwE9lXAankCkiET122c2OFfKx8PzGMeqeeAHlBmj2zCpcK4iAyOAaALNkmuKGvP5E3bmbmP36mGQrkfhD8c44u8jXIe2EM_wGZTlGE/s320/Screenshot_20201012-153507%257E2.png" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcD9Kz-tNy4GTCxoaWKD2ICUlRr62AvqByaTa2LFraXyPDWsTK4rm3ohhyDt1g0SE1g3SJS1xGMlYYUw4ew1fHYqBpDpTlLyTI_vkvx-IpDTf-6tauPx1hurmZKmRMiTUowXw0H9Gn__4/s717/hanger3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="536" data-original-width="717" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcD9Kz-tNy4GTCxoaWKD2ICUlRr62AvqByaTa2LFraXyPDWsTK4rm3ohhyDt1g0SE1g3SJS1xGMlYYUw4ew1fHYqBpDpTlLyTI_vkvx-IpDTf-6tauPx1hurmZKmRMiTUowXw0H9Gn__4/s320/hanger3.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><br />First day of appointments at Hanger Clinic in Gig Harbor, Washington.<p></p><p>I expected a busy place. It's big and quite impressive. There was one other patient there. They are spacing people out in response to Covid.</p><p>Ryan Blanck ("the inventor of this marvelous orthosis)" took a plaster mold of my leg, told me I may need a knee component, and warned me that I'll have to unlearn all the compensations that I have been using for more than 50 years. I was pleased to hear him say that he thinks he can unload the pressure points thay now feel like I'm stepping on a nail with every step. My GoFundMe friend, Teresa Ruckman, took these photos. She is a candidate for an Exosym, too, and is having a fundraiser if her own. Ryan gave us a tour of the clinic. On the Facebook Exosym page, they are calling him a god, but he's a modest do</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrqBg6aLIZnNBvHxOD0TMYZ1gQ8DUsBCqURW_TPwMRi_4rucCPPtng9io5fLJvx5Y-pHZeQHbGSQ2R1cyXr6-9G3LTlzdM4K5xuJbNOfmdX2ra2dXqNxcq3vlWbCpbLNBmZu1-C8VyyUY/s2560/20201012_091215.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1535" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrqBg6aLIZnNBvHxOD0TMYZ1gQ8DUsBCqURW_TPwMRi_4rucCPPtng9io5fLJvx5Y-pHZeQHbGSQ2R1cyXr6-9G3LTlzdM4K5xuJbNOfmdX2ra2dXqNxcq3vlWbCpbLNBmZu1-C8VyyUY/s320/20201012_091215.jpg" /></a></div><br />wn-to-earth guy who invented something marvelous. Tonight Ryan will personally build a mock-up of my Exosym. Tomorrow, I will try it out.<p></p><p>Ryan showed us a world map with a hundreds and hundreds of pins representing previous candidates. Apparently, injuries like mine are not as rare as I thought. However, I am the first one to show up riding a kid's Razor Scooter from K-mart, or anywhere else. </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-771782958296738435.post-27640865910583859832020-10-10T23:05:00.004-04:002020-10-10T23:06:08.094-04:00INSPECTOR CORY<p> I have a new friend and follower on my journey. Allow me to introduce him with a ditty.</p><p><br /></p><p>Out-of-state boaters invade the Northwest,</p><p>often transporting some unwanted pests.</p><p>But just few miles east of Spokane,</p><p>they will encounter a good-natured man.</p><p><br /></p><p>Every last motorboat, kayak and dory</p><p>has to pass muster with Iinspector Cory.</p><p>So none of Montana's mussel mistakes</p><p>will ever be launched in Washington's lakes.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-771782958296738435.post-42226299605146898392020-10-10T22:08:00.001-04:002020-10-10T22:30:10.295-04:0050 YEARS TODAY<p>With a 13-year-old 6-cylinder Jeep, I have just pulled one cat in a two-ton trailer 2800 miles I will reach Gig Harbor quite soon -- to get a high-tech kinetic orthotic for my leg. </p><p>My life may suddenly change as it did 50 years ago on this day when I took a waif for a wife. </p><p>On that day, I walked down the aisle with a cane in my left hand and my bride on my right. The cane is no longer sufficient.</p><p>I surrendered my independence that day. I got it back when I lost her damn near 43 years later. </p><p>I miss her dearly, though I never feel lonely. I have discovered how to feel complete without a partner. </p><p>I have also learned to be comfortable with uncertainty. I made this journey on faith that I'll somehow be able to pay for it. She never learned how to live like that. </p><p>More recently, I learned this paradoxical truth: Independence is not something you can achieve all by yourself. </p><p>In her honor, I hope to burn that old cane in the woodstove I put in the cabin where I intend to live free til I die like they do in New Hampshire. Please help me if haven't already. It you don't know how, just ask. Then come to the cane-burning party sometime in May.</p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-771782958296738435.post-70438490333528510712020-10-10T21:09:00.004-04:002020-10-10T21:09:31.331-04:00TBDUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-771782958296738435.post-77361089232146401472020-10-10T21:09:00.001-04:002020-10-10T21:09:07.021-04:00TBDUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-771782958296738435.post-50557573284860817652020-10-10T21:08:00.003-04:002020-10-10T21:08:47.655-04:00TBDUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-771782958296738435.post-14318148168689122132020-10-10T21:06:00.001-04:002020-10-10T21:06:29.547-04:00TBD Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-771782958296738435.post-22477626892224497122020-10-10T21:05:00.002-04:002020-10-10T21:05:38.012-04:00TBDUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-771782958296738435.post-59974458985457710452020-10-10T21:03:00.001-04:002020-10-10T21:03:21.680-04:00TBDUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-771782958296738435.post-85992637859227349192020-10-09T01:14:00.000-04:002020-10-09T01:14:04.959-04:00CONESTOGA<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcr-fceHIkJIvt38hJuP6nIStW_Zkli6j02ISDvl8Y34XdnjzJVQGbYhj9jZynHdJ-RklKbl5U8UMIlJCjTuETxFBu_ngdRkBrMA_OodNDqqVTYATrLr0pwtnik8j7KyQIYhekbasy5AU/s597/FB_IMG_1602192786131.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="259" data-original-width="597" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcr-fceHIkJIvt38hJuP6nIStW_Zkli6j02ISDvl8Y34XdnjzJVQGbYhj9jZynHdJ-RklKbl5U8UMIlJCjTuETxFBu_ngdRkBrMA_OodNDqqVTYATrLr0pwtnik8j7KyQIYhekbasy5AU/s320/FB_IMG_1602192786131.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />Bismarck, North Dakota</div><div>is a straight shot down the road.</div><div>It's where I gotta go ta</div><div>though I've got a heavy load.</div><div><br /></div><div>I feel like I've been sailin'</div><div>against the wind all day</div><div>Eight miles to the gallon --</div><div>Please tell the EPA.</div><div><br /></div><div>My Jeep and travel trailer</div><div>are like a jib and main.</div><div>Though I'm a real good sailer</div><div>I can"t stay in my lane.</div><div><br /></div><div>If I had a prairie schooner,</div><div>a conestoga wagon,</div><div>I would get to Bismarck sooner</div><div>even with an anchor draggin'.</div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-771782958296738435.post-69001587803583443132020-10-05T00:50:00.000-04:002020-10-05T00:50:36.419-04:00DAY 7 -- FARGO<p></p><div align="left"><p dir="ltr">I did in fact make it to Fargo Sunday night -- but on the seemingly endless drive on Interstate 94 through Minnesota, I composed this silly little ditty in the style of Ogden Nash, Dr Seuss or Shel Silverstein.</p></div><p dir="ltr"><br /></p><p dir="ltr">FARGO</p><p dir="ltr">by Dr Speedbump</p><p dir="ltr"><br /></p><p dir="ltr">I want to go to Fargo</p><p dir="ltr">But how was I to know</p><p dir="ltr">It was too far to go to Fargo?</p><p dir="ltr">Far to far to go.</p><p dir="ltr"><br /></p><p dir="ltr">If go to Fargo</p><p dir="ltr">I cannot go today.</p><p dir="ltr">And I can't go tomorrow</p><p dir="ltr">Unless it's on the way.</p><p dir="ltr"><br /></p><p dir="ltr">I had the time to go to Fargo</p><p dir="ltr">If I went yesterday</p><p dir="ltr">But now I don't know how to go</p><p dir="ltr">on a day that's gone away.</p><p dir="ltr"><br /></p><p dir="ltr">I could watch the movie, though</p><p dir="ltr">It wouldn't be the same.</p><p dir="ltr">So I may never go to Fargo</p><p dir="ltr">unless they change the name.</p>,<p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-771782958296738435.post-1623542372739119102020-10-04T00:12:00.009-04:002020-10-04T01:57:28.725-04:00DAYS 5 and 6<p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Mama never said there'd be days like this, one after another.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">After spending the night at a highway<span face="sans-serif"> rest area, I had breakfast at Denny's in Black River Falls, WI. When leaving, I dropped sonething amid the clutter on the floor of the right side of my car. Fishing blindly, I got my thumb impaled on a fishhook enbedded in the floor mat. A kind, bewildered lady stopped her car and removed the clutter. I googled "Urgent </span></span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span face="sans-serif">Care near me" and somehow drove across town to a clinic. The pain was excruciating, but likely saved me from a messy wound. The staff was wonderful. To </span></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">keep my mind off the pain, I launched into a routine of silly poems and other stories. A real MD injected my thumb with anesthetic and I managed to get myself unhooked without resorting to the technique of pushing the hook in further and out again to snip off the barb. That was fortunate. Problems can always be worse, you know. I camped m</span><span style="font-family: georgia;"> at a Walmart in Minneapolis.</span></p><p></p><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">On Friday, I spent a very pleasant day with Shelly Degolyer and the various bipeds and quadrapeds who have found shelter under her roof. After a much needed nap, I visited the informal George Floyd Memorial on Chicago Ave, just 3 blocks away.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKW1Em7na4MeNcyXL8O8onxmtkKmIg_wvX_OWD9T2vOnrb5k4V_S35bpP982K9w6MkCn2AKFw288TPZ1uRsr0-ya90SoUsu3Cd0WIwsLAE0SAcwg0E5Ivz184ZB45PQYd3eZ9OKFBTfOU/s2048/1003201955_Burst01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKW1Em7na4MeNcyXL8O8onxmtkKmIg_wvX_OWD9T2vOnrb5k4V_S35bpP982K9w6MkCn2AKFw288TPZ1uRsr0-ya90SoUsu3Cd0WIwsLAE0SAcwg0E5Ivz184ZB45PQYd3eZ9OKFBTfOU/s320/1003201955_Burst01.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIL4lw8Bs1IUsPbRZ-sripzeB44iucDZRrOMaHzXFlttCa1L804SsRoufXkUXiJumhQzxfIXy5nqRXqmhTw-Igcb-VvT8Ka56SvMvdnz_FVLNBluCc1kM4lkaqL88h5lm5CJi8iaUlvG0/s2048/1003201949.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIL4lw8Bs1IUsPbRZ-sripzeB44iucDZRrOMaHzXFlttCa1L804SsRoufXkUXiJumhQzxfIXy5nqRXqmhTw-Igcb-VvT8Ka56SvMvdnz_FVLNBluCc1kM4lkaqL88h5lm5CJi8iaUlvG0/s320/1003201949.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEPtV2m4_6ihpIbe04XG66oDjjoyFr8sNTViWvABjnXh-JeCgS5E9fZJPF31tuWDIlb62YpNaF-dQROFKkpQMaEOqbEnZSJDWki_WQ76ThS8NeZ_LUZ7mtOOvzNc8Qbwb3Ns4MMzgnoqA/s2048/1003201953.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEPtV2m4_6ihpIbe04XG66oDjjoyFr8sNTViWvABjnXh-JeCgS5E9fZJPF31tuWDIlb62YpNaF-dQROFKkpQMaEOqbEnZSJDWki_WQ76ThS8NeZ_LUZ7mtOOvzNc8Qbwb3Ns4MMzgnoqA/s320/1003201953.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div dir="auto"><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto"><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><br /><div dir="auto"></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Then my day got a bit scary.</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">A grey minivan, with one headlamp out, started following me as I drove up Chicago Ave. He got in front of me and tried unsuccessfully to block the road. I took some unpredictable turns, but he kept finding me. I got on the highway and he tailed me for 42 miles , at various speeds, 40 to 65 mph, until I called 911 and the dispatcher stayed on the phone with me for about 20 minutes. He acted as if this has happened before. He directed me to a Quickfill, where I waited and waited for the patrol car to arrive, while my stalker slowiy circled the building. The police detained him for lack of a valid driver's license. They instructed me to leave and find gas at another interchange.</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGpLnS7EoUBB7PLir2gzaXTUOgXwzFHv5TgsQSKVDjqoYY07PRD1gDF0Vx40rkESC8WySNN7g3wW4FvoRxByQoAZ1XaA_ZLDP18wyRWGYycOMC4W5mzb3ir1YBKZqqgRsM9VUsZO93_EY/s2048/1003201953.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGpLnS7EoUBB7PLir2gzaXTUOgXwzFHv5TgsQSKVDjqoYY07PRD1gDF0Vx40rkESC8WySNN7g3wW4FvoRxByQoAZ1XaA_ZLDP18wyRWGYycOMC4W5mzb3ir1YBKZqqgRsM9VUsZO93_EY/s320/1003201953.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I have been stalked by a black bear on the Appalachian trail, and by a pack of feral dogs while snowshoeing in upstate NY, This experience was no less disconcerting, but the dispatcher at 911 was quite comforting.</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I am now at a rest area, en route to Fargo, ND, to find out if it's anything like the movie or TV series.</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">My car engine is increasingly noisy and the check engine light is on. I really wish this trip was less of an adventure.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-771782958296738435.post-50137891573911070452020-10-01T01:49:00.003-04:002020-10-01T08:01:36.202-04:00DAY 3 -- Long and Bumpy<p>Mama s<span style="color: black;">aid there'd be days like </span><span style="color: black;">this...it's a long story.</span></p>
<div align="left"><p dir="ltr"><span style="color: black;">The day started well. You may</span><span style="color: black;"> recall from</span><span style="color: black;"> last year</span><span style="color: black;"> that I often go out of my way to visit places that have interesting</span><span style="color: black;"> names. W</span><span style="color: black;">ell,</span><span style="color: black;"> I did that</span><span style="color: black;"> this </span><span style="color: black;">morning. I</span><span style="color: black;"> went to</span><span style="color: black;"> Lake Nettle (sic)</span><span style="color: black;"> in</span><span style="color: black;"> northern Ohio</span><span style="color: black;"> near the Michigan</span><span style="color: black;"> line. The gener</span><span style="color: black;">al st</span><span style="color: black;">ore there is called </span><span style="color: black;"> "Nettie's Stop & Shop</span><span style="color: black;">.</span></p><p dir="ltr"><span style="color: black;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfvMIQACYf3d4MLWPzocUWV5TI3GFSAU7BJQWBXSmfkkdAs43TsILcHgPqAkZHJyULrs_9EVJRhIr9a6vXWcjl9T36lBFtE6IBVA0jyvB0BqmIDGziDkgcX8geULFplYfKHy-FkNmtVTI/s1859/20201001_003705.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1467" data-original-width="1859" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfvMIQACYf3d4MLWPzocUWV5TI3GFSAU7BJQWBXSmfkkdAs43TsILcHgPqAkZHJyULrs_9EVJRhIr9a6vXWcjl9T36lBFtE6IBVA0jyvB0BqmIDGziDkgcX8geULFplYfKHy-FkNmtVTI/s320/20201001_003705.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="color: black;"><br /> I bought a $5 jar of peanut butter</span><span style="color: black;"> and a bunch of old wooden fishing lures for $1.50 each. They'll likely sell on eBay for $10 to $20 each. I</span><span style="color: black;"> learned </span><span style="color: black;">that Nettie</span><span style="color: black;"> was the</span><span style="color: black;"> legendary lake monster, </span><span style="color: black;">based</span><span style="color: black;"> in fact on an extraordinarily</span><span style="color: black;"> large snapping turtle</span><span style="color: black;"> that reportedly was big</span><span style="color: black;"> enough</span><span style="color: black;"> for one entire family to stand </span><span style="color: black;">on</span><span style="color: black;"> his back for a photograph. (I did not see the photograph.) Incidentally, I recent</span><span style="color: black;">ly hooked the big snappi</span><span style="color: black;">ng turtle of my own Autumn Lake. Fortunate</span><span style="color: black;">ly, he got away.)</span><p></p>
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<div align="left"><p dir="ltr"><span style="color: black;">I drove across the Michi</span><span style="color: black;">gan line, because I could, and (back in Ohio) I stum</span><span style="color: black;">bled upon some 2000-year-old mounds, built by Native </span><span style="color: black;">Americans, Hopewell Indians</span><span style="color: black;">, because (like now) there's not much else to do in what would become Ohio. I had now driven across virtually the </span><span style="color: black;">entire </span><span style="color: black;">state, east to west. Contrary to popular belief, it is not high in the middle. The mounds were round, but not more than 3-</span><span style="color: black;">feet </span><span style="color: black;">high. Perhaps they wer trying to spell out</span><span style="color: black;">" OHIO" for the landing craft, but (being illiterate) could only manage "OOOO".</span></p>
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<div align="left"><p dir="ltr"><span style="color: black;">I tried</span><span style="color: black;"> to avoid the Ohio</span><span style="color: black;"> Turnpike</span><span style="color: black;"> because of the tolls and the fact that the big trucks drive faster than</span><span style="color: black;"> I do</span><span style="color: black;"> in my trailer</span><span style="color: black;"> which is blowing around</span><span style="color: black;"> in the wind.</span><span style="color: black;"> The GPS on</span><span style="color: black;"> my phone</span><span style="color: black;"> had other</span><span style="color: black;"> ideas</span><span style="color: black;"> and kept trying to put me back on the highway to save me</span><span style="color: black;"> 22 minutes. </span><span style="color: black;"> Somewhere along the way, computers took control, when we were dozing. It got me on the highway, where I have to drive under the speed limit, anyway, with the hope of staying in my own lane, when being passed by tandem trailer trucks. So it didn't save me 22 minutes -- and it cost me</span><span style="color: black;"> $13.70. OOOO!</span></p><p dir="ltr"><span style="color: black;">But wait.. t</span><span style="color: black;">here's more...</span></p></div>
<div align="left"><p dir="ltr"><span style="color: black;">When</span><span style="color: black;"> it</span><span style="color: black;"> started</span><span style="color: black;"> to rain, </span><span style="color: black;">my</span><span style="color: black;"> windshield got real streaky and I misjudged the</span><span style="color: black;"> entrance ramp</span><span style="color: black;"> to the highway. The GPS bitch "turn left" but failed to mention that the entrance ramp was also an</span><span style="color: black;"> exit ramp</span><span style="color: black;"> with no dividing</span><span style="color: black;"> median. So </span><span style="color: black;">I turned directly into the path of a state police car getting off</span><span style="color: black;"> the highway.</span><span style="color: black;"> Needless to say, the trooper</span><span style="color: black;"> pulled me over,</span><span style="color: black;"> looked </span><span style="color: black;">at me with a puzzled</span><span style="color: black;"> expression, asked a few </span><span style="color: black;">be ques</span><span style="color: black;">tions, and </span><span style="color: black;">decided</span><span style="color: black;"> I was mostly</span><span style="color: black;"> harmless. So he </span><span style="color: black;">did</span><span style="color: black;"> not ask to see</span><span style="color: black;"> my </span><span style="color: black;">license. I</span><span style="color: black;"> was driving very much like</span><span style="color: black;"> an old lady, </span><span style="color: black;"> really</span><span style="color: black;"> pokey.</span><span style="color: black;"> He just kind of</span><span style="color: black;"> laughed it off and wished me a safe cross-country journey. </span><span style="color: black;">If I had said "Did I do so</span><span style="color: black;">mething wrong,</span><span style="color: black;"> officer?"</span><span style="color: black;"> , it might have</span><span style="color: black;"> been different. Then my troub</span><span style="color: black;">les began.</span></p>
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<div align="left"><p dir="ltr"><span style="color: black;">I stopped at a rest area</span><span style="color: black;"> and took a nap so I would not have to drive through</span><span style="color: black;"> Chicago</span><span style="color: black;"> during</span><span style="color: black;"> rush hour. I</span><span style="color: black;">t was 9:00pm when I went through the Hog Butcher of</span><span style="color: black;"> the World.</span><span style="color: black;"> I feel like I got mugged without ever getting out of</span><span style="color: black;"> my car --</span><span style="color: black;"> toll </span><span style="color: black;">after</span><span style="color: black;"> toll</span><span style="color: black;"> -- one of which cost</span><span style="color: black;"> $19.60, because I had three</span><span style="color: black;"> axles. Two a</span><span style="color: black;">xles</span><span style="color: black;"> would</span><span style="color: black;"> have cost only $5.70.</span><span style="color: black;"> </span><span style="color: black;"> New Math -- go figure.</span><span style="color: black;"> I think the toll collector was</span><span style="color: black;"> Mayor</span><span style="color: black;"> Lori Lightfoot, herself. </span></p><p dir="ltr"><span style="color: black;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb5ZRZP88YJjbWnhmCcicmbnPRR07TLBkG1eeKBjLmK9jNbUmbsIGGwaiMTuaVRzBGG74AYsXYdhek6z7tk6sk__g2a9E3AzDLEZ4U2r6sPd2GT3Sqg2dL0Qf36-3B2yNJrgTkNFju7X0/s2048/20200930_194236.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1234" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb5ZRZP88YJjbWnhmCcicmbnPRR07TLBkG1eeKBjLmK9jNbUmbsIGGwaiMTuaVRzBGG74AYsXYdhek6z7tk6sk__g2a9E3AzDLEZ4U2r6sPd2GT3Sqg2dL0Qf36-3B2yNJrgTkNFju7X0/s320/20200930_194236.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="color: black;"><br /> Traversing the</span><span style="color: black;"> city was a thrilling ride on a deteriorating roadbed. I get about 10 </span><span style="color: black;">mpg and was near</span><span style="color: black;">ly out of gas. </span><p></p><p dir="ltr"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqDoJFIIz268ffJGj3wO84YH6vDMS47Jkk1kcLk-okdHAUHs-mcDRiDsLBBiFfkF6qAIdu9JS91hyphenhyphena1P0X1CS480Ji8SZAqXFby_Kr1jAH8LJ6AQc7zGvh_tOoxGmJbU_zLCoOJd1DblY/s1560/Screenshot_20201001-003032%257E2.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1560" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqDoJFIIz268ffJGj3wO84YH6vDMS47Jkk1kcLk-okdHAUHs-mcDRiDsLBBiFfkF6qAIdu9JS91hyphenhyphena1P0X1CS480Ji8SZAqXFby_Kr1jAH8LJ6AQc7zGvh_tOoxGmJbU_zLCoOJd1DblY/s320/Screenshot_20201001-003032%257E2.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="color: black;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr"><span style="color: black;">Do you remember the scene in </span><span style="color: black;">National Lampoon's Vacat</span><span style="color: black;">ion when Chevy Chase exited this same Ch</span><u><span style="color: black;">i</span></u><span style="color: black;">cago highway in an RV to ask directions in the ghetto? I do, too, so I stayed on the highway, running on fumes. Event</span><span style="color: black;">ually, I stopped safely in the breakd</span><span style="color: black;">own lane and dumped a gallon of my gener</span><span style="color: black;">ator gas into the tank of the Jeep. When I emerged on the west side of the city, I found a safe gas station, but my two pho</span><span style="color: black;">nes were dead so I had no idea where I was goi</span><span style="color: black;">ng. I disco</span><span style="color: black;">vered that I had </span><span style="color: black;">lost</span><span style="color: black;"> the front wheel of my</span><span style="color: black;"> bicycle</span><span style="color: black;"> on the</span><span style="color: black;"> bumpy highway. Imagine the reaction of drivers of t</span><span style="color: black;">he cars behind me-- OOOO! The</span><span style="color: black;"> latch on the screen door of my</span><span style="color: black;"> RV</span><span style="color: black;"> got broken. </span><span style="color: black;"> I got locked</span><span style="color: black;"> inside the tra</span><span style="color: black;"><u>i</u></span><span style="color: black;">ler </span><span style="color: black;">at the</span><span style="color: black;"> gas station.</span></p>
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<div align="left"><p dir="ltr"><span style="color: black;">I had hoped to make it to Vinnie Ha Ha,</span><span style="color: black;"> Wisconsin (truly)</span><span style="color: black;"> but, </span><span style="color: black;"> ha ha,</span><span style="color: black;"> the joke</span><span style="color: black;"> was on me. S</span><span style="color: black;">o I am now camped at a</span><span style="color: black;"> Walmart</span><span style="color: black;"> in Crystal Lake,</span><span style="color: black;"> Illinois.</span></p>
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<div align="left"><p dir="ltr"><span style="color: black;">Yes... there'd</span><span style="color: black;"> be days</span><span style="color: black;"> like this, </span><span style="color: black;">my mama said.</span></p>
</div><p dir="ltr"></p><br /><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-771782958296738435.post-25765734113513320112020-09-29T14:36:00.004-04:002020-10-05T00:51:29.165-04:00DAY 2 - My Life is Brilliant<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv73E0PfkTI-f6Dw036OGndnCL1GDLlIYn0to2uQMT8c1Ewv939oXZMUaffhqGX5VjxfLGTgzajc8L8XNUjlu_4e-O01r8O9Fv4G41oDvDZ1iY58PqtzGPYg3f70pSPawFQ1w7jLfSnVc/s2048/0929200255.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv73E0PfkTI-f6Dw036OGndnCL1GDLlIYn0to2uQMT8c1Ewv939oXZMUaffhqGX5VjxfLGTgzajc8L8XNUjlu_4e-O01r8O9Fv4G41oDvDZ1iY58PqtzGPYg3f70pSPawFQ1w7jLfSnVc/s320/0929200255.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />DAY 2-- Tuesday am --trying to average 280 miles/day x 10 days...which leaves 4 days for sightseeing or detours around forest fires, Drove 270 miles yesterday, arriving at the Presque Isle Casino in PA (free camping) at 2 am. Won $400 on 50-cent slots before going to bed at 4 am. Note the 240 free games, followed by 50 more. Luck of the Irish? Surely, no skill required.<div><br /></div><div>Tuesday 11pm -- Stopped after 240 miles, near the western end of the Ohio Turnpike, because the Turnpike Authority has thoughtfully provided 10 campsites for RVs, removed from the scores of semis with their idling diesel engines. I rarely pay for overnight stays, but I'm tired after getting caught in Cleveland rush-hour traffic. The modest cost, deducted ftom my gambling winnings, saves me the trouble of starting up a noisy generator. I can use my electric heater (Holy Toledo! It's cool here tonight) rather than burning propane.</div><div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-771782958296738435.post-59709559835844175082020-09-28T18:48:00.002-04:002020-09-29T23:32:51.655-04:00On My Way! DAY 1<p>Thanks to help from friends, Joe and Loral, I'm on my way West. Only a day behind schedule. J Just stopped for a nap near Rochester, NY. Looking for the wormhole to Rochester, MN.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-771782958296738435.post-72790591466037861912020-09-24T14:31:00.004-04:002020-09-24T14:34:07.259-04:00Thanks to the generosity of 50 relatives, friends and strangers, RunVinnyRun.Fund is halfway to the goal of $10,000. However, it seems to have reached a plateau. Nonetheless, I'll be soon heading west with faith and hope that the rest will show up somehow. I have about 200 FB friends. About 150 of them are musicians, many of whom have struggles of their own. For example, I'm sure that some of my friends from Open Mic Night at Oswego Music Hall would make a donation if they could. I ask for their prayers, which I will replace in kind. <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB4RMzxV3iBPSyffJH_O3Y8SNtiVx5bAo6Q_qQsnysECDlQ8vBC_8l8tDjnOK2Kd9HS2Y6SNKCrktgLDO4jpsYNv4NBEqDU1Ah6MlVwC0D7Br42-YXoZQQBRoXmjpj-fX7ZysqHVoru08/s234/animated-thank-you-image-0041.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="234" data-original-width="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB4RMzxV3iBPSyffJH_O3Y8SNtiVx5bAo6Q_qQsnysECDlQ8vBC_8l8tDjnOK2Kd9HS2Y6SNKCrktgLDO4jpsYNv4NBEqDU1Ah6MlVwC0D7Br42-YXoZQQBRoXmjpj-fX7ZysqHVoru08/s0/animated-thank-you-image-0041.gif" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-771782958296738435.post-64332507940722975072020-09-13T22:42:00.003-04:002020-09-13T22:48:32.634-04:00If I Had a Hammer...<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEialQ2AAESkf3pCV_coAD_pSmXvvYHIqkPrSvJYrna15sLMHZADQdSrghAu-lt7iy6zpYasq7_Jx9e18YWSKe8vfdWougVs6oaP_jrBEJ1WrXzXurYdUlmD8D5Peai1AbmOmrbkfdN_yXI/s708/Screenshot_2020-08-17-09-51-13.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="477" data-original-width="708" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEialQ2AAESkf3pCV_coAD_pSmXvvYHIqkPrSvJYrna15sLMHZADQdSrghAu-lt7iy6zpYasq7_Jx9e18YWSKe8vfdWougVs6oaP_jrBEJ1WrXzXurYdUlmD8D5Peai1AbmOmrbkfdN_yXI/s320/Screenshot_2020-08-17-09-51-13.png" width="320" /></a></div>An open letter to Home Depot --<p></p><p>Dear Mr Depot:</p><p>In accordance with the "Americans with Disabilities Act", I request that you provide utility trailers for the handicap bumper cars in all your stores. I am usually there at closing time, and assistance is seldom available. "Disabled" people do stuff, you know.</p><p>Sincerely,</p><p>Vinny</p><p><br /></p><p>***Speaking of hammers, "When all you have is a hammer, the whole world looks like a nail. That's my response to the 4 surgeons who recommended amputation, despite the fact that the circulation in my leg is not bad. What about phantom pain? Huh? I am grateful to Dr Pinney, the orthopaedic surgeon at Cleveland Clinic, who referred me to the Exosym program at Hanger Clinic. You can learn all about it here: http://RunVinnyRun.Fund</p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-771782958296738435.post-57712156435786206422020-09-09T08:14:00.000-04:002020-09-09T08:14:58.257-04:00VITRUVIAN MAN WITH A LIMP<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU47WQj5MDlHHZRNBWGHRjVGqiqiXRjPBsb1NrwU200vzCKp6Am8dSuEWyBP8JIGldfcv38nM-tK11Lt5twRsx7OmhoB1ol35xSbRbUkKuWatMHIB-zdMNrkmKXOKjg38owTOSIQtaB5w/s2048/VitruvianLimp2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1506" height="625" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU47WQj5MDlHHZRNBWGHRjVGqiqiXRjPBsb1NrwU200vzCKp6Am8dSuEWyBP8JIGldfcv38nM-tK11Lt5twRsx7OmhoB1ol35xSbRbUkKuWatMHIB-zdMNrkmKXOKjg38owTOSIQtaB5w/w460-h625/VitruvianLimp2.jpg" width="460" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Adaptation by Leonardo da Vinny</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Let's face it, nobody's perfect.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">If you want to help Vinny walk again, maybe even run,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">please say a prayer. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> Sincere thanks to those who made a pecuniary contribution.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We are almost half-way to our goal !</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">If you are able, but have not yet done so, please visit</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">http://RunVinnyRun.fund</div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-771782958296738435.post-63918536906697194162020-09-08T23:36:00.120-04:002020-09-09T07:52:07.588-04:00THE PROMISE OF A NEW DAY<p></p>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsuwLEXmSd4jpXnwfRWHya6JTMyd861IwQdp9cdRxtpzUeLQazggqCruV3d1wsCOBtas4MCKoi0zBRYf9VMPa1G9kuioFEOzPG7Mucjd3ykwxiuEo0Lib6De32dwi532gRaLMlDCwHsi4/s720/FB_IMG_1599622258300.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="405" data-original-width="720" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsuwLEXmSd4jpXnwfRWHya6JTMyd861IwQdp9cdRxtpzUeLQazggqCruV3d1wsCOBtas4MCKoi0zBRYf9VMPa1G9kuioFEOzPG7Mucjd3ykwxiuEo0Lib6De32dwi532gRaLMlDCwHsi4/w500-h281/FB_IMG_1599622258300.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia, utopia, "palatino linotype", palatino, mistral, serif; font-size: 12.32px;"><br /></span><div><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia, utopia, "palatino linotype", palatino, mistral, serif;">I wrote this Haiku 5 years ago.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia, utopia, "palatino linotype", palatino, mistral, serif;">I forgot about it, </span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia, utopia, "palatino linotype", palatino, mistral, serif;"> but Mark Zuckerberg didn't.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia, utopia, "palatino linotype", palatino, mistral, serif;">Thanks, Mark!</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia, utopia, "palatino linotype", palatino, mistral, serif;">It's more appropriate than ever.</span><div><br /></div>
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-771782958296738435.post-55861040822552961672020-09-01T19:06:00.002-04:002020-09-01T19:25:12.543-04:00SHE IS WITH ME ON THIS JOURNEY <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv8RbkxC8ljhkWK_SJ48hgiygqCMmvu4tkjHRq8vWi_UXtClN0kipQDa1W043pt0XAnVeLBggN-UGtBxniA8sAlMjEF0rX4gZVy9T5ELigb9PA2n6ssEPoNuf5ynPAYMIOGzkLfi75XuY/s2048/PicsArt_09-01-06.28.12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1178" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv8RbkxC8ljhkWK_SJ48hgiygqCMmvu4tkjHRq8vWi_UXtClN0kipQDa1W043pt0XAnVeLBggN-UGtBxniA8sAlMjEF0rX4gZVy9T5ELigb9PA2n6ssEPoNuf5ynPAYMIOGzkLfi75XuY/w120-h210/PicsArt_09-01-06.28.12.jpg" width="120" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmrEzbU_NrqSROofkCl0YG5YGu5R6CujpB-SY75bJy90uKiu-uGiGG07vRvErmPJk-r6zilrtheYgp267HgggzDKS21vXMjn8lvYcsLIHdKEOPmOeZ4C1NRqpXJEqoSTn3sC-xs4ib5Bk/s4160/20200901_181756.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3120" data-original-width="4160" height="158" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmrEzbU_NrqSROofkCl0YG5YGu5R6CujpB-SY75bJy90uKiu-uGiGG07vRvErmPJk-r6zilrtheYgp267HgggzDKS21vXMjn8lvYcsLIHdKEOPmOeZ4C1NRqpXJEqoSTn3sC-xs4ib5Bk/w210-h158/20200901_181756.jpg" width="210" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our 1969 Mustang Grande</td></tr></tbody></table></div><br />Pics from my wedding album -- 50 years ago. Note the cane. I'm actually grimacing in pain during the dance. It wasn't fair to Debbi -- she could have been a ballerina. It's been 7 years since she waltzed into a higher dimension. JUST BECAUSE THEY'VE LEFT DOESN'T MEAN THEY'RE GONE. She is with me on this Journey. It was her birthday when I went to Hanger Clinic in Syracuse for my initial evaluation for the new prosthesis. Assuming a successful fundraiser, I'll probably be arriving in Gig Harbor, WA, on October 10, our 50th wedding anniversary.<div><p>I know there are at least a few people who don't really like me, either because I'm a smarty-pants (guilty, as charged) or for some other reason that may or may not be valid. Everyone loved Debbi. So if you're one of them and you have refrained from making a donation to the fundraiser, please do it for Debbi, not for me. After all these years by my side, she is surely tired of hearing me bitch and moan. Thank you!</p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0