Freeing God’s Slaves: The Emperor Wears No Clothes ~

“Is anything god’s work? God doesn’t do any work – he just gets his peasants to do it for him.”

- Wonder Boy, Aged 8

Humans (domesticated primates) have long been trained to worship externalised gods – a dangerous addiction humankind has carried forth from its primat-ive childhood; a merely imagined need that usually serves to only impede progressive change and unfolding evolution. Protective and instructive deities are nothing more nor less than the parent figures all children crave. All wise kids eventually learn that obeying the often arbitrary dictates of others who are actually just overblown, overgrown, adulterated children is a dumb idea.

Respect must be earned. Most elders in modern societies have far less of value to impart to subsequent generations than did their more ‘primitive’ tribal counterparts. Many older people are the same simpletons and ignoramuses they were when they were young. Those who claim to be today’s authority figures are almost all control freaks at best, and clinical psychopaths at worst. Almost all conspire to fatten themselves on poisonous excesses at the expense of the ecosystem that truly nourishes their children; mindlessly slaving away at tasks which destroy the planet and alienate them from their loved ones, with the idiot excuse that they’re ‘supporting their families’.

In the modern world ‘bosses’ are actually parasites, sucking life from the host of workers who labour under their dictates. CEOs are nothing more than common enemy overlords. The further up the ‘ladder of success’ one progresses, the more excesses and crimes of omission are committed. And everyone who toils on that ladder is equally culpable, supporting and maintaining a loathsome system with their precious time and effort.

Many ‘bosses’ earn fantastically higher wages than those who toil at much harder jobs – as intrinsically unfair, untrue and unjust as any racist dictate of classic caste or class systems. Those who crave power are those who deserve it the least. Anyone who sucks and arse-kisses their way up the totem pole is best pitied and avoided – not praised. Independent contractors and others who are their own bosses are the freest workers in the modern feudal wage slave era.

Those who remain inside institutions beyond their maturity are insecure timeservers who are happiest locked inside a comfortably familiar prison. Anyone with a PhD is automatically suspect as an institutionalised ignoramus. Most are overeducated buffoons who never realised that throwing away all the best years of their lives to conform and confirm the lies and misapprehensions of other fossilised brainwashed academics is a stupid idea. Most are just insecure kiddies afraid of stepping out into the great wide world – afraid of nature and their own unexamined nature; afraid of their own shadow.

Most people are carefully convinced by society to show more respect – and give more money – to a domesticated primate with the word ‘doctor’ (or some other aggrandising title) in front of their name than to anyone else. We’re trained to think that the work done by someone who has spent many years ‘studying’ is somehow more worthwhile – and worth more – than work that’s considered more ‘common’, such as planting and nurturing trees, growing organic food, building homes or educating young children. We’re entrained to believe that one person’s time can be worth more than another’s.

A cogent way to remove this classic conditioning can be to avoid calling anyone ‘sir’, ‘doctor’ or (heaven forfend) reverend. Such aggrandising titles are far too damaging for any egocentric wannabe leader to hear and only serve to establish subservience. If you always refer to so-called doctors as ‘docturds’, and discourage anyone from trusting the words of such moneygrubbing, authoritarian, self-inflating egotists, you can train yourself to stop supporting an intrinsically unethical system. Avoid using made-up titles entirely; why not simply call a person by their name?

Almost all docturds are only in it for the money – shamelessly rorting medical insurance systems to squeeze every drop from society. The rest is hopeful confabulation on the part of their desperate victims. In most cases, people actually heal themselves (there are exceptions – see below).

They target the most helpless and vulnerable groups of humankind above others, foisting their theoretical practices on women and children in particular. Female humans are thoroughly entrained to entrust their bodies (and minds) to paternalistic authority figures. From a very young age they’re taught to visit docturds regularly, and to trust them with every intimate detail of their lives. Women (in particular) are trained to have ‘regular tests’ for ‘abnormalities’ – tests which actually cause the very ‘abnormalities’ they purportedly search for – and to enrich the coffers of white coated professionals with ‘preventative’ and ‘elective’ surgery and toxic chemical intervention. Pap smears, mammography and the treatment of ‘abnormal’ cells produce more false positives (fake results) than accurate ones and the docturds and their pathological host of pathologists apologise all the way to the bank after each mistimed misstep and misanthropic mistake.

‘You know them by their fruits’ – and most of the fruits of ‘medical professionals’ are rotten and poisonous. More people die from medical (t)errors than from any other cause. Pill-pushing salesmen for chemical industries deserve the OPPOSITE to respect, as do ‘scientists’ who lend their time to the industrious military establishment, or to corporations of ignorant savages who randomly interfere with healthy biological processes to make money from poisoning the food chain and planetary ecosystem with pesticides or genetically modified ‘products’.

Surely we all know better than to show any respect to banksters by now. The most lame offenders of all are probably so-called ‘economists’ who peddle a pseudoscience that every taxpayer is brainwashed into believing, even though their ‘forecasts’ are even less accurate than those of the average 20th Century weatherman. So-called news reports overflow with their senseless, tedious effluvia, drowning out any meaningful news or information beneath their hazy bullshit and babble.

The biggest (and potentially most dangerous) liars of all are ‘religious’ people – conmen and women who peddle superstitious pernicious sexism, racism and utter bald faced balderdash to the most ignorant and insecure people on the planet, offering filthy lies to those suffering from the greatest terror on Earth – the fear of death; just like docturds.

Those who profit from other people’s misery deserve no respect whatsoever.

photo Motive is everything

This writer now observes the world from a remote forest, but once lived directly opposite the medical school of a major metropolitan university, with the opportunity to meet many up and coming young docturds. Whenever the chance arrived to converse with a medical student in private I asked each of them the same innocuous question; ‘Why did you decide to become a medical professional?’

Over the course of several years literally scores of these young professionals had the same opportunity to present their case. Not a single one replied; ‘Because I wanted to help the sick’ or ‘to be a healer.’ Not one claimed to have a particular interest in anatomy or biology. None even bothered to feign any real interest in medicine. Without exception their replies were almost identical; “Well, I was going to be a lawyer but my mother/father thought there’d be more money in medicine.’

When I asked if they’d taken the Hippocratic Oath (which simply requires medical practitioners to ‘do no harm’ and to help the sick and suffering regardless of payment), they all simply stared at me with an expression that seemed to say, ‘Are you really that naïve?” I never allow a docturd to come anywhere near me. I’ve set my own bones, healed internal bleeding and cancerous conditions without subjecting myself to their ignorant meddling (and am still alive and healthy as a result).

Surgeons who capably repair damaged individuals and those who genuinely care for and look after the sick and injured – like nurses – naturally deserve respect. But most docturds are self aggrandising arseholes at best, and outright dangerous nincompoops at worst. Few include things like diet and lifestyle in their diagnoses and routinely prescribe inappropriate but profitable poisons to desperate people.

Those who profit from people’s misery are nothing short of despicable.

Like many or most purveyors of ‘professionalism’ a large number cheated their way through school. They don’t deserve your trust or respect. Don’t take my word for it. Just ask virtually any nurse you happen to meet; they know what’s going on!

Those who can, do

‘Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach.’ This old truism needs to be revived and spread far and wide. Very few ‘teachers’ are anything but institutionalized time servers who’ve been trained to brainwash others with gormless mind control served up as ‘education’. They have no life experience and know nothing but what they’ve been told to believe. All their textbooks were hopelessly outdated even when they were newly published.

The great technological and social advances of humankind have all been brought about by people without doctorates – in many cases without any formal ‘education’ at all. Tesla, Einstein, Edison and most celebrated creative thinkers achieved the improbable despite the ‘education’ institutions they were subjected to (and escaped while still young), not because of them.

Creative thinking suffers from regimentation. Authority poisons it. Once a child can read, write and understand basic mathematics they are capable of choosing their own path to knowledge and remain individual enough to have unique creative insights. As all teaching institutions are automatically outdated and operated by superannuated time servers, all a person can really expect to learn in ‘higher education’ institutions is conformity – and how to babble to other cocooned minds in obscurantist jargonese.

Don’t put off living your life until later! There’s no time BUT the present. What do you really want to do with your precious time? Do you really want to serve the obnoxious dweebs who are destroying the planet with their ‘efficient’ industries and ‘profitable’ pastimes? Start something new, fresh and original instead – away from their pernicious influence, where you can’t feed them with your efforts.

Around two generations ago people in advanced nations were informed that by the 21st Century they’d have to learn how to make use of their coming abundance of ‘leisure time’. Automation would ensure that fewer and fewer people would be able to ‘earn a living’ by toiling their lives away and an era of plenty and freedom was dawning. The need for anyone to work full time would soon be redundant. People were told they’d have to learn how to share the shrinking pool of jobs that remain – and to learn to share everything else as a result.

Everyone needed to learn how to best use their newfound freedoms. Guess what? It’s the 21st Century! Wake up and smell the flowers.

Me? This time of year I shovel clean dry horseshit by day to provide healthy, honest, wholesome food for myself and those around me. You can’t buy clean manure – almost all animals are filled with poisons and only the ones you feed and look after can be trusted to provide clean fertiliser. By night I shovel bullshit out of the way on the worldwideweb to make way for the growth of truth. The evolution of the internet is doing away with any need for the fossilized ivory towers of ‘education’ institutions.

Every time someone uses anything fuelled by poisonous fossil fuels – every time you turn on a light, drive in vehicle, borrow money, use anything made of plastic or almost anything created by this toxic civilisation – you are as culpable and destructive as any oil company executive or bankster. Every person who works in an office tower, factory or mine is as bad as the executive who squats atop the totem pole. Every worker who props up the totem deserves to go down in the tower along with their boss. Those who serve pain and death deserve it.

Changing the system is a good idea, in the long run. Yet in today’s world you can only do anything of real worth for yourself and your family by leaving the old workaday system behind and helping it to wither on the vine with your absence. The only real way to succeed is by abandoning the dominant paradigm and creating, living and loving a new way of life – preferably with likeminded change agents.

Turn off your TV and get rid of it (if you refuse to read much watch my Youtube channel instead)! The internet is a great alternative – if you use it for something other than supporting the system with your time and energy.

If you like to learn, become one of the New Illuminati in this new Enlightenment @ nexusilluminati.blogspot.com . Learn how to plant and nurture living things; learn about something worthwhile, such as Permaculture. Ally yourself with life through your thoughts and actions, and object out loud to slaves and bosses who want you to help them saw off the limb you’re perched on. Let them know what you really think of them!

If you want to actually save the world, join any group that’s actively stopping loggers or miners or chemical factories/farmers/poisoners or other corporate slaves from destroying the planet, and get out into the real living world, to experience its actual glorious splendour while you stop the moronic workers from filthying their own nests and yours. Stand in front of a bulldozer driver with other wise souls – and stop them in their tracks.

Above all, take time out to examine your mind and motives. Your thoughts create the world! See where your thoughts/programs/memes actually come from and decide whether you want to own them. Enjoy life (without shopping or spending money). That’s why you’re here. Don’t put it off. Do it now!

Turn on. Tune in. OPT OUT!

Time appears to flow onward…

- R. Ayana

“Before enlightenment, chop wood and carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood and carry water.”

- Buddhist Saying

For more by R. Ayana see nexusilluminati.blogspot.com/search/label/r.%20 ayana

and hermetic.blog.com

Growth:burdock grows near the houses and stables, near roads and heaps of garbage, debris etc.

Body plant used: root and leaves of burdock.

Harvest time: the roots are harvested in March-April spring plants of 2 years and from October to November plants a year.

Burdock leaves without petiole is harvested before flowering in May-June.

Burdock-Natural Treatments

Internal use: for internal use burdock is used to treat acne, gallstones, diabetes, sweating, eczema, enterocolitis, dislocations.

Tea perspiration administered in case of fever, respiratory failure, arthritis, gout, epilepsy.

Drink every day, slowly, 1-2 cups.

External use:in external use, large leaves and fresh burdock, applied as compresses, not just sprains and legs hurt too much walking, but any kind of burning in ulcers, cancerous lesions and stinging wounds.

The roots have anti-pyretic action and were very finder during epidemics of plague.

Usage.

Burdock root tea:a teaspoon of burdock root, put it soak overnight in a quart of cold water and strain morning heats.

Burdock root tea is recommended in the fight against diabetes, because active substances that regulate contains the blood sugar level.

The domestic consumption cycles of 15 days per month, 3-4 cups per day.

Urinary tract infections can be treated with burdock root tea. ... read more ...

I don't know what "ok" is. Ok is only a thing in comparison to other things. Insurmountable or manageable. It's all about your perspective.

I got a bit of shocking news the last week or so. First I had a very small part of my skin cut and biopsied. Something new for me. New with finally having health insurance (and a doctor and ability to assauge your fears about how you're aging and finally feel like an adult and that certain complications that come with your age is ever closer "expiration" date to what is your body), except my fears weren't tempered or soothed, only flared.

I got a call this morning that it is "pre cancerous" — which I can only assume is the hors d'œuvre of the cancer meal. I've been attempting to convince myself that that is a good thing — and it is. That I'll be fine — and I will be. But yet ....

I feel those stitches in my back. And I feel them burn. And I feel them slowly seething into my skin. I imagine this small army of pain devouring whatever is around it and finding paths and avenues into places they're uninvited; ready to make mischief and havoc and damage and hurt. I feel my skin swelter in spots I imagine are slowly being broken down, eaten away and turned into the thing that I don't want to face. Cancer.

But I'm convincing myself it'll be ok. It'll be ok. Everything can always be worse. Maybe not comforting, but true. What's comforting is friends. My wife. My kids and their smiles. A sunny day. A good song. A fulfilling meal. A long nights sleep. Who knows how long ANY of us have in this life — healthy or not. Belaboring what isn't possible to change or foresee is pointless.

It'll be ok.

Jasmine loves to play fetch. Here she is with Emory at a park that allows dogs to exercise off leash. Below are some of her other favorite things.

Jasmine will be going to the vet on Tuesday for surgery. One of her "lumps" turned out to be a "Spindle Cell Tumor" and will need to be removed. Thankfully, it is a cancerous growth that doesn't spread. But my vet says it has a high recurrance rate. sigh. After surgery, she will need to be house bound for 7-10 days or when the incision is completely healed. That won't sit well with our high energy dog.

More below.

RIP Bear 1953-2021 (photograph Tyee Marina, Tacoma Washington, 1983 or 1984)

Another Man's Dream, a short essay about Bear I wrote back in 2001

My normal activities and thought patterns were joyously disrupted today by a letter that appeared in my mailbox. I knew instantly from the randomness of the coffee stains, the distinctiveness of the handwriting, the three different pens that attempted to function but were pronounced dead from abuse, and the Australian post mark, it was from my friend Bear. He had reached another port of call in his unique sailing adventure around this planet.

My wife and I spent our first 11 years together living aboard a small wooden schooner. We were attempting to create a life for ourselves, avoiding some of society's pressures while maintaining a level of adventure both of us longed for. During this time I had the good fortune to meet Bear, a person so unique, I immediately came to the conclusion I was meeting a one of a kind individual. At first glance, without seeing the depth of the man inside, any person could be easily rushed to judgment by Bear's outward appearance. Looking past his unkempt exterior, however, one quickly sees many great qualities. He is not judgmental of people, giving each person the benefit of the doubt no matter what predicament he might find them in. He is able to laugh at himself and this world in situations where others would be brought to tears. He possesses a buoyancy that floats him above life's negative moments when other people would be sinking fast.

Late one summer evening while walking through our marina parking lot, adrift in the unconsciousness of my own daily routine, my first meeting with Bear would come as a shock, followed by curiosity, and eventually friendship. With towel and soap in hand and nearly to the shower, I was suddenly startled by loud grunts emanating from a dilapidated station wagon off to my side. Spinning to my left I saw the car rocking from side to side as a huge, hairy man emerged from his sleeping quarters in the back of the wagon. The passage of time has clouded my memory of our exact opening words, but many other details remain vivid and clear. Bear and his dog Poopsy were residing in the car until they could sleep onboard the boat he had recently purchased. Even though the boat's interior was torn apart and lacked floorboards and a berth in which to sleep, Bear had still tried sleeping in the cold dampness of the bilge. This arrangement proved to be too uncomfortable, so the parking lot had become their chosen home. Looking past him and into his car, I noticed that it was filled to the point of overflowing with what looked like junk to my biased eyes. Bear had just emerged from his den, a hole dug into his belongings, tailor made for an exacting fit. His mattress consisted of two gigantic bags of dog food that were surrounded by the remains of three dismantled chain saws. Precious belongings to be sure, but not what most people would consider normal bed partners. Familiar smells of the logging industry drifted from his direction, Bear's cologne for the month. He said he had just gotten through planting trees amidst the destruction of Mt. Saint Helens. He had the look of being in the blast zone himself. Knowing immediately I had never met a man like Bear before, I felt like fleeing, but the friendliness of his eyes, and the laugh that is his trademark, filled the emptiness of the parking lot and kept me engaged. During this first meeting I wondered if he was dealt a full deck. Now almost 20 years later I am wondering if it is not me who is lacking a few good cards.

Bear quickly became a welcomed member of our close community of friends living aboard their boats. These boats varied from our own small classic schooner to large expensive yachts. The people ranged from construction workers to doctors, spanning international boundaries. It was a very diverse group with Bear occupying a niche all to himself on the far end of a spectrum.

He solidified his position on this spectrum the day he took an ax to his boat, removing its cabin and deck upon finding that rot had invaded its structure. It would have been a very sad moment for anyone who had just found decay in their dreams. He lamented very little over losing his shelter and having to spend his meager savings rebuilding. Because I had become a good friend, I was invited to witness and photograph the removal of the boat's topsides. This scene is etched in my brain forever: Bear straddling the top of his beloved vessel, his back-lit silhouette against the blue sky and bay, ax swinging, delivering repeated fatal blows to his home. At the same time that wood chips and sweat were flying in all directions, Bear was verbally questioning his own sanity and wondering whether he was doing the right thing. In two hours what had not floated away with the tidal current was lying in small chunks in the bottom of the hull. Passing boaters must have thought they were witnessing a madman in action. None of our group could believe what Bear had done this time even though we had all grown accustomed to Bear's unique sense of style. For Bear this boat bashing had been a bold statement, rebelling against his own weakness of procrastination. Even though his future remained uncertain, Bear had made sure there was no easy path back to where he had just been.

Rebuilding a boat is a huge project for a trained shipwright. For Bear, possessing no woodworking skills and limited money, it was a monumental endeavor. We all wondered if he would ever complete the task. I tried placing myself in his shoes and found the situation overwhelming and deeply depressing. We all worried what sort of toll this would take on our friend. None of us truly understood how strong willed and determined he was. The drama lay in the fact that Bear was still in the very real process of finding out for himself. Many of us thought there was a good chance that the Saint Jude (named for the patron saint of lost causes) would never see open water again. Few saw any good reason for rebuilding the boat in the first place. Why not let it die like all wooden boats eventually do? It would soon become just another memory like the numerous thirty-five dollar automobiles Bear had abandoned in friends back yards up and down the coast.

For over a year Bear toiled with his dream. He expressed the notion that he not only wanted to make the boat livable, but also strong enough for possible ocean travel. How he maintained a positive attitude we will never know as we watched him each day covered with glue, sweat, and fiberglass dust. Even when Bear was cleaned up, he was covered with gook. Rebuilding proved to be grueling work. He lost his marginally paying job as the marina night security guard, through no fault of his own. Marina politics. Through adversity Bear would soon have a new motto to live by. My wife created a card which included a picture and quote from Bear's mentor, Tristan Jones, a world renowned single-handed sailor who consistently chose adventure over creature comfort. The card was posted overlooking what Bear would call "the destruction zone". It read, "When in danger, when in doubt, hoist the sail and bugger on out". For Bear, words to live by, and words he took to heart. Don't let the pressures of society pull you down. In a life-threatening storm, trust your inner wisdom and your boat. Safety lies in the open ocean, not near the shallows where most people reside and find comfort. Steer your own course, mate!

Part way through the rebuilding of Saint Jude, our liveaboard community lost an inspirational young member to a cancerous brain tumor. Clance had put up an amazing fight for his life. He inspired everyone close to him by accomplishing more in his last year than most of us will in our lifetime. He spent little time asking "why me," instead focusing on making dreams come true. In the midst of his battle with cancer, Clance went off to Nashville and recorded his first music album. Recovering from a second major brain tumor operation, he set off for Australia to see the outback and its people. He bought a small oceangoing sailboat and began making plans to sail around the world when he recovered. Watching Clance, the way he danced around the outside edges of his life, I knew without a doubt he had all the necessary talents to sail across any ocean. All he needed was a fair length of life. Clance never got his chance. Even with his incredibly positive attitude fighting cancer, he lost the battle, never getting the opportunity to fulfill his dream of sailing across an ocean.

Bear and Clance had become close friends through all of this, their unique personalities meeting on a level the depth of which few of us could really appreciate or comprehend. After Clance's death, Bear commented to me that he was going to complete Clance's dream in memory of an individual who had given all of us a gift of fresh perspective and joyous outlook on our precious lives. I knew that Bear was very serious in his comment and not to be taken lightly. Bear's problem was that his seafaring skills were non existent and he possessed a boat which most people would not trust their lives to. From outward appearances, not a very likely candidate for a global adventure -- better left for men and women with huge egos and money to burn on the latest ocean going vessels. Any detractors Bear might have had at this time, he was about to prove wrong and out of touch with the reality he was living in.

Upon the completion of the new Saint Jude, the first test was sailing her down the Washington-Oregon Coast to her new home in Berkeley, California. In October, this is a very serious adventure for even seasoned sailors in well-tuned boats. Few would do it single handed, and I know of only one who would do it in the Saint Jude, that person being Bear. He completed his trip down the coast, an adventure that could fill an entire book. Problems arose on the trip that would have caused most people to flounder, but not Bear. Adversity had become Bear's friend and constant companion, allowing him to function one problem at a time, as if chaos were just a normal fact of daily life. Jokingly, he said his main problem arose while making his life-sustaining coffee during the constant gales. His Coleman stove kept flopping about, threatening to catch his boat on fire while boiling coffee sloshed onto his arms.

I will never forget the day Bear and I were working at the marina refinishing a boat together not long after his coastal trip. Since Bear had worked at the Marina as a security guard, most of the patrons knew him. Few knew him very well, though, and I would not hesitate to say many of them looked down on him. They were not able to see beyond the dirty clothes, dented rusty car, and a boat that looked like many that the marina personnel were constantly in the process of trying to refloat after sinking to the bottom from neglect. They were unable to see past his rough exterior to a person whose parents were both college professors and had raised a college educated son with an imaginative mind. Most only saw a man going nowhere, incapable of generating the necessary money needed for living the good life. On this particular day all the "sailors" were returning in their boats from a big race out on the bay. A couple of them had noticed that Bear had been gone for a good while and asked where he had been. Upon hearing that he had sailed his boat down the coast with no motor, and in October, I could literally see their mouths drop open in disbelief. I saw egos taking huge hits as it quickly dawned on them that this individual, whom they thought they had towered above, had beaten them to the punch. Bear had completed a feat they had been unable to accomplish, even with their expensive, more than capable boats. It takes a unique person who can confront the inner demons that become apparent during any ocean passage; few possess the talent or desire to confront these demons alone. Of those who do, Bear is somewhat unique in that he is very much a people-oriented person.

Bear spent the next few winters living in his home town of Berkeley, California. During the rest of the year he gained knowledge as a sailor working on numerous fish tenders in Alaska. Alaska and the characters it draws were right up Bear's kaleidoscopic alley. He is quickly bored with "normal" people and is drawn to the extreme. He could fill a book with stories just from all the crazy people with whom he has conferred at laundromats and libraries. I believe Bear has logged more time talking to schizophrenics than most psychiatrists and probably has a better understanding of them, too. I know he shares more in common; his dreams attest to that. Dreams which tenaciously survived through long bouts with reality now began to flicker back to life, fueled by self-confidence gained through experience at sea, and a distant voice which would not die away. Just as interplanetary gases coalesce to form stars and planets, Bear's dreams were consolidating into a real concrete form.

A couple of years ago Bear decided that before he himself went over the edge, it was "now or never," concerning his dream to sail the South Pacific. With Clance as Bear's guiding light, Bear set sail on a journey that has taken him through the Marquesas Islands, Fuji, and now to his latest destination, Australia. He has visited many remote islands, entertaining the Native people, I'm sure, as much as they have entertained him. In many ways Bear is a throw-back to earlier times before modern sailing vessels and sophisticated sailors became the norm. Bear is the sort of person kids still flock behind when walking the streets in these remote islands. He is the sort of person these people admire because he has done so much with so little. He is also the kind of person capable of developing friendships so deep that he would devote a major portion of his own life to honoring another man's dream. In some inexplicable way, Bear has taken all his close friends on his journey. I for one would like to thank him for that.

Related video clip I put together in memory of our friend Clance from the story above www.youtube.com/watch?v=2KP7Nykewxw

I have very sad news concerning Gigi. She will be having surgery to have cancerous tumors removed in a few days. Doctors will notify her after surgery if she will need chemo/radiation therapy. Prior to her illness we managed to take a lot of photos and short video clips the past few months. I will be posting them during her resting period. We are asking for prayers and wishes for a full recovery. She looks forward to entertaing you all again with our huge collection of lovely slippers. You are welcomed to send her your best wishes by commenting on any pic you might like or by mail box. She will definitely read them and answer them as long as she is feeling well enough. We thank you from the bottom of our hearts for your support all these years. God bless, Gigi & Duke xoxo.

LIFE is the name of this flower .

I took this picture back in the rainy fall.I took it into program on computer trying to convey my feeling of this day .I took it to the deepest shadow allowed , then three clicks of fill light ..

Today I learned the results of many months of testing for the cancer gene

..in the last year and half I have lost many family members to cancer .. a cousin to lung cancer , she never smoked a day in her life but live with people who did all her life.

A step brother died after learning he had throat cancer that had spread he lived five months after learning.. He never had any signs or warning he had cancer. Then my mother six weeks ago lost a lot of her colon to cancer but is alive and doing well now ......

I began testing for different things after losing my cousin ..then a week ago i had my final test many polyps were found and they were all the per cancerous type ..today I got the final results......no cancer cells ...... but for the next two years I will be tested every six months then there after every two years ...........So today like this flower coming out of the shadow I AM AGAIN whole in spirit and mind

Oh yeah I plan to live to the ripe age of a young 120 years ..is there any one here wanting and invite to my party .................

French postcard by Humour a la Carte, Paris, no. 3713.

Elegant brunette Fanny Ardant (1949) appeared in more than fifty films since 1976. Initially, her youthful beauty brought her popularity in two films by François Truffaut, but over time her sophistication and acting skills have made her one of France's most admired actresses. She was four times nominated for a César, the French Oscar, and won for Pédale douce (1997). Fluent in English, Spanish and Italian, Ardant has also starred in several international films.

Fanny Marguerite Judith Ardant was born in Saumur, France in 1949. Her father Jean Ardant was a military attaché. Fanny grew up in Monaco where her father worked for the Grimaldi family. At 17, she moved to Aix-en-Provence to study at the Institut d'études politiques d'Aix-en-Provence. She was more interested in the theatre and took drama classes from Jean Périmony. In 1974 she made her first stage appearance in Polyeucte by Pierre Corneille. The play was directed by Dominique Leverd, who would be the father of her first daughter, Lumir. Roles in plays by Henry de Montherlant, Jean Racine and Jean Giraudoux followed. Her film debut was a part in Marie-poupée/Marie, the Doll (1976, Joël Séria). For TV she played one of the leading roles in the mini-series Les Dames de la Côte/The ladies of the coast (1979, Nina Companéez) starring Edwige Feuillère. Legendary film director François Truffaut saw the series and invited her to a lunch with Gerard Depardieu, with whom he had just made Le Dernier metro/The Last Metro (1980, François Truffaut). Dépardieu and Ardant had earlier acted together in the film Les chiens/The Dogs (1979, Alain Jessua). Truffaut then cast Depardieu and Ardant as tragic lovers in La Femme d'à côté/The Woman Next Door (1981, François Truffaut). Tom Wiener at AllMovie: “The Woman Next Door has a story line right out of a soap opera. Fortunately, it plays like variations of a half-dozen other intelligent Truffaut films on the vagaries of love. Depardieu and Ardant evince such potent chemistry that it's hard not to root for their characters, Bernard and Mathilde, even as you see them slide toward tragedy.” Her role became her international breakthrough and Ardant received her first César nomination for Best Actress in 1982. During the production of the film, director and actress had fallen in love. Ardant became the last muse and partner of Truffaut. In 1983 she gave birth to their daughter, Joséphine.

By the early 1980’s, Fanny Ardant had turned into a major European film star. Fluent in English, Spanish and Italian, she played serious, passionate roles in several international films. In Italy she worked with director André Delvaux at Benvenuta (1983) as a pianist unhappy in love with Vittorio Gassman, and with Ettore Scola at the award winning family drama La famiglia/The Family (1987). In France, she worked with Truffaut again at the comedy Vivement dimanche!/Confidentially Yours (1984, François Truffaut), a homage to Hitchcock and the film noir shot in black & white. She played a self-assured secretary who helps a murder suspect (Jean-Louis Trintignant) to prove his innocence. For her role she received her second César nomination. In 1984, Truffaut died from a cancerous brain tumour, and left Ardant devastated. However, her career flourished She played several plum roles for major directors. For Volker Schlöndorf, she appeared in his Marcel Proust adaptation Un amour de Swann/Swan in Love (1984) opposite Jeremy Irons, for Alain Resnais in L’Amour à mort/Love Unto Death (1984) with Sabine Azéma, and in Mélo/Melodrama (1986), for Costa-Gavras in Conseil de famille/Family Business (1986) with Johnny Hallyday, and later for Michelangelo Antonioni and Wim Wenders in Al di là delle nuvole/Beyond the Clouds (1995). Among her English language roles were Afraid of the Dark (1991, Mark Peploe) with James Fox, and Sabrina (1995, Sydney Pollack) with Harrison Ford. Over time, her sophistication and acting skills have made Ardant one of France's most admired actresses.

In 1996, Fanny Ardant proved her versatility, playing a comedic role in Pédale douce/Soft Pedal (1996, Gabriel Aghion) for which she won the 1997 César Award for Best Actress. Another major success was her role as the acidic noblewoman Madame de Blayac at the court of Louis XVI in Ridicule (1996, Patrice Leconte). This historic film was also very popular with the public, won the César for Best Film and was nominated for an Oscar for Best Foreign Film. She was then directed by Roman Polanski as Maria Callas in Terrence McNally's play Master Class, at the Théâtre de la Porte Saint-Martin. For her portayal, Ardant was nominated for the Molière award as best stage actress. She portrayed the opera diva again in the English-language film Callas Forever (2003, Franco Zeffirelli). A year earlier, she was nominated for another César for 8 Femmes/8 Women (2002, François Ozon), again a commercial and critical hit. Other films were La cena/The diner (1998, Ettore Scola), Elizabeth (1998, Shekhar Kapur) featuring Cate Blanchett, Le libertine/The Libertine (2000, Gabriel Aghion) with Vincent Pérez, Paris, je t'aime (2006) with 18 seemingly unrelated vignettes by 18 different directors about love in the city of lights, and Roman de gare/Crossed Tracks (2007, Claude Lelouch). In a 2007 interview, she expressed admiration for Renato Curcio, ex leader of the militant Red Brigades (Brigate Rosse), saying that it was good of him to adhere to his principles. She later discovered that it would be difficult to attend a film festival in Venice, as her declaration had created much scandal in Italy. The Governor of Veneto said that he would prefer that Ardant not visit his region. She then pleaded for forgiveness from victims of terrorism. Ardant became a director and screenwriter with Cendres et sang/Ashes and Blood (2009). She also directed the short film Chimères absentes/Chimeras lacking (2010). Fanny Ardant has three daughters: Lumir (1975) with Dominique Leverd, Josephine (1983) with François Truffaut, and Baladine (1990) with cameraman Fabio Conversi. Her most recent feature film was Interno giorno (2011), directed by Tommaso Rossellini, grandson of Roberto Rossellini and Ingrid Bergman. At the time of writing, she is filming Les beaux jours/The Beautiful Days (2012, Marion Vernoux).

Sources: Rebecca Flint Marx (AllMovie), Wikipedia (French, German and English) and IMDb.

NHGRI researchers and their collaborators have identified a specific genomic signature of some aggressive prostate tumors, which may help pinpoint specific treatment options. Findings from the study were published April 15 online in The American Journal of Human Genetics. The new finding focuses on BRCA2 mutations, which are associated with breast and ovarian cancer, but also increase men's risk for prostate cancer. Both men and women can inherit a faulty BRCA2 gene from either their mother or father. When working properly, the BRCA2 gene helps stop cells from becoming cancerous by producing proteins that fix damage to DNA.

Credit: Ernesto del Aguila III, NHGRI.

Monarto Safari Park works with several other Australian zoos to ensure there is an insurance population for the Tasmanian Devil in case there is no cure found for the cancerous facial tumour that is wiping out the native population.

Many bred Tasmanian devils have been released into the wild on Maria Island off Tasmania's coast and none are showing signs of cancer

Like a salt-sore soaked in the sea.

'High-maintenance' means

You're a gluttonous queen

Narcissistic and mean.

Kill me romantically

Fill my soul with vomit

Then ask me for a piece of gum.

Bitter and dumb

You're my sugarplum.

You're awful, I love you!

Love me dead!~♥

www.youtube.com/watch?v=0XH3oMNKApI&feature=related

I've been listening to this song all night last night and all day today... it made me think of these two ♥

And before anyone asks: Yes, Stella's hand is down Ciel's pants ;D

Plastic surgery,

Downtown, Vancouver, British Columbia

Actually, this little big goof is getting bigger all the time. The increase in caloric intake plus the huge decrease in activity brought about by his cancerous leg equals an ever-expanding waist line. Let's just say the puppy is far from twice Bogart's weight now. Yep, he's rather ROUND now. But he loves to eat, one of the few pleasures Bogart has left in life. Who are we to take that away at this point?

[SOOC, f/1.6, ISO 160, shutter speed 1/640, -2/3 EV]

Uninspired.

Too much more going this week...I'm not feeling it. :[

My grandma not only had a stroke this week but we just found out today that she has a cancerous mass in her lung. Tomorrow, we find out if it has already spread. If not, they can operate. If so...we'll see.

So, probably a lot of crappy shots ahead. Sorry, friends.

VIDEO: (Coming soon!)

••• SCRIPT/LYRICS: •••

MOLEMAN'S EPIC RAP BATTLES!!!!!!

SOLAIRE OF ASTORA…

…VS…

…MAJORA'S MASK!!!

BEGIN!

Solaire of Astora:

I praise the son of a bitch who'd dare challenge me in all my gallantry, as for courageousness,

Yet in all other regards, I have naught but indictments for this griefing ghast; let me state the list:

You're a malicious MacGuffin clutched onto a furtive imp's duck-face. Alone, though, you're nothing:

An empty, expressionless shell, carrying nary enough weight to hold down a floor-button!

A child who spoke solely in single-syllable shouts stopped you soundly! Don't even try to win against

This truly treasured tongue, opening up on you with the sickest licking ever seen outside a Mimic chest,

Amid a new-beginning quest, pledged not to be put on pause! Luckily, this should hardly last long:

You'll be shortly abyss-bound to where you belong, and your host back to tooting that sorry-ass song!

Zero chance on our duel's dawning remains for you once I go spitting its first verse;

This big bead-eyed bugger couldn't hope to so much as stunlock a sunbro while emitting his worst curse.

You're a glorified crown of a lost king surrounded by assets derived from vanilla selections,

And rushed to the public to push a peripheral best-known today for gorilla erections!

A warrior out to win gold, I'm a giant who breaks the Twinmold; better call me your daddy!

Your presence, they've said, is oppressive; depressing? I've met mushrooms making for gnarlier baddies!

You shan't out-rap me; why shouldn't I be feeling glad?

With sunshine coursing through my very blood, I've got this in the bag!

Majora's Mask:

Showing up solitary, Solaire? You of all folks should know that it's dangerous going alone;

Try taking this chance to turn back from a dark lord and head homeward, lest you be totally boned!

Of course, I'm no prissy type who'd avoid violence, come lost souls invading my neck of the woods,

And you're getting knocked off your high horse: insert Princess Bride quote here, and brace for a wreck; understood?

Your entire quest's success depends on the obsession another fool finds in some cancerous spider-witch;

Stepping against me? You shouldn't have done that; you stand not a white phantom's chance in Lost Izalith!

Going for gorilla references to keep the pace?

Let's say your whole franchise is getting blasted back to Demon days!

Watch my weapon, a swift-waxing crescent, eclipse incandescence with quickness: know there'll be calamity,

Your very essence, sent violently spiraling, bursting in wildfire; oh, the humanity!

This wannabe war-god's going the way of his patron fierce deity: stricken from history,

So if his covenant had any plans for their new age's dawn, they'd best nix those festivities!

Swapping that "un" out, I'll see your re-deadened husk scream bloody Hell 'til your eyeballs drop out,

And we'll call it a trade in exchange for the new lunar look as we start up what I'm all about!

Seventy-two hours? Come on; indeed, even fifty-four minutes is still in excess

When I'll bring your whole world crashing down in as many mere bars, putting all solar shilling to rest!

Solaire of Astora:

That's enough; cease discharging your load of lame lines: while I've kindled these rhythms, you're dropping dung pies,

So take after the Zora, and slow it down. Better yet: lay an egg! Any trash-talking's unwise;

Can't compare to the flow of Solaire of Astora! It's too convoluted for your comprehension:

No fairy-manchild could manage to map out the myriad maneuvers in store; not a question!

We know the kid behind the mask, but where's the man behind the mask: who even is Majora; what in Gwyn's name is your story?

There's more lore to learn on the lives of these faceless loot-corpses within my in-game inventory.

The far from fully canon trite tale of a dancing wooly dragon's needed for calling thine meager plot whole;

Five Phalanx-farming hours' worth say I'll outnumber its readers by scrawling "Try finger, but hole"!

Check my weapon-artistry: such splendid swordplay; your stiff wooden performances can't match those moves!

Watch me drop it in an empty nest, and see the birds come flocking; hear them croon joyously…

Trading Crow: Yeah yeah, so smooth.

Solaire: How about you take this gesture token, jollily cooperate,

Raise up those scarecrow arms in peace, and call it quits like Watergate?

I hope you brought your orange ring when we dance; my moves ablazing-set the floor!

Pull back from your advance; I hear the moonwalk is in your repertoire!

I've jotted zero notes, but still I've cracked the code for bombing you;

I'm out to get your Goht, and on a roll, at that! What are you gonna do,

When I'm simply too hard to take bullcrap from softies such as your lot?

Mine is a will of blackest iron that one-ups the buffest Goron,

Yet I never Woodfall for your Deku curse; you won't find no scrubs here.

No breadcrumbs, I tell it straight-up as you constantly trail me! What; was that unclear?

Majora's Mask:

Our sun-and-moon meeting's heralding no marriage, for I'm out to break every last piece of heart;

Dragon Kalameet? That garish getup you're sporting tells me you couldn't bring down the Black Beast of

Aaaaaaarrre you Skull Kidding me?! Just look at this massive turd:

I've yet to see a shittier lump deposited by a passing bird!

As your faith in the flame leads you like a moth to alleged destiny, you hold onto that hoping closely,

But I'd deem you hollow, knight: an accursed insect, no gold speck on you to make a token trophy.

Contrast my forms summoned to prizefighting stages, and watch me smash you unassisted,

Channeling such savagery that Oceiros would never imagine, and crushing this infant!

Mentioning goats? Guy, you're gonna get ganked, like two hellhounds approaching the moment you enter:

I'll sever your every link between worlds; cut off all the Y-posing proponents you mentor!

Of course, you should be used to bridges being burned by now, what with that dragon all up in your shrine,

And I latch onto schmucks, but your foolishness floors me, your trust in some maggot corrupting your mind!

I spit sharp-composed rhymes; your attempt to rap a storm up's falling flat

As a chest most revered when facades are dispelled! What; weren't you informed at all of that?

Forget your princess being in another game, much less merely another castle:

By now, my best guess for her whereabouts would amount to some eldritch blubber's asshole!

Solaire of Astora:

As I set out on my crusade, I unleash lightning lyrics, cast forth with the power to shock;

You're akin to a fragmented sprite next to one of the demons I'll plunge bravely downward to conquer!

Your lunar lunacy won't fly when we fight; see such suckers I've slain in the darkest of gardens,

And so heinous is the squalor of your verse-sin, that Oswald himself would be hard-pressed to pardon!

Your cruel tricks, meanwhile? Unforgivable!

Patches: Ha; well, he must be an absolute cretin!

Solaire: Indeed,

And he'll crumble like crystalline critters to whom the mere sound of my stamping boot's reason to flee!

Voicing now my oath to order that you take one hundred giant strides outbound in any of four cardinal directions,

I'll stand unfazed by what you throw my way; straight-faced for your whole projectile arsenal's deflection!

Majora's Mask:

As chronologies converge, we're in the fallen hero timeline; all of zero lifelines yet protect your wretched ass!

Your resources run drier than Ikana's waters; it's quite a Darksign: you can't get ye Estus flask!

You tap into that talisman when spots get tougher,

But surviving here'll take a miracle ol' Ra himself could never muster!

Survey's saying your transcribed words are unfit for toilet paper;

You'll not get a starker wake-up call in the form of twin gargoylish raiders!

You claim you're some undying legend; my daddy? You'll be mummified by the time they call this gig a wrap,

For you've walked, just as planned, right into the dark moon's line of sight; Anor Londo's known no bigger trap!

Solaire of Astora:

No path toward a Master Sword? No problem: my mere fists should be sufficient

With what knowledge of your weaknesses assists me in my mission;

How'd I learn as much? Hey, I'm no TatlTael who'd go on snitching;

Attribute it to a little bluebird: she insisted that I listen.

This lone wolf has got the guts to take you truly singlehandedly;

I make short work of masked pinheads in whole fusion-freakshow families!

My cuts are like Blighttown: go deeper than deep; watch your tail while I'm coming out swinging!

Commence a new-battle-plus cycle, so I can continue to rail on you from the beginning!

Why should I buy it that the sky is falling from this little chicken

When his so-called horror's most haunting Alex Hallmark was fan fiction?

Dishing disses even Frampt would find it difficult to swallow,

I'm the toughest act in all of time you've ever had to follow!

Majora's Mask:

A stone tower needn't set the stage for topsy-turvy-turning your perspective

When it's upside-down as is: eternal burning's your objective,

And as for a terrible fate, that's one challenging standard to meet with;

I'd be hard-pressed just to press hard enough were your fat executioner's hammer my beatstick!

Start up a cycle, though, and you're in for torment beyond all compare:

Awaking to surefire doom on repeat endlessly, without Sonny and Cher!

Your proud confidence once my plot consummates? Shorter-lived still than your loser death-god;

Piss off this supposed "little chicken", and you face a single-man Cucco revenge squad!

To believe you'll avoid getting snatched up tonight, you must be drinking something far stronger than milk:

Little Romani came back a shell; you'll be left empty-headed as any cartoon of your ilk!

No rewinding is gonna impede this here slaughter: the sole song inverting's from Creedence Clearwater;

The bitch-slapping hand of fate, reaching through space and time, shatters you like the Abyss's dear daughters!

The Ringed City's princess's slumber's disturbance's outcome's the end, where the blood has dried out,

But this egghead is gonna crack unceremoniously, carcass toppling sunny side down!

The apocalypse I've sought's upon us at last; skip the dungeon flashbacks, for there's nowhere to hide

From the sight of the murder-faced moon! Hear the moaning of bells; the bells tolling for all, far and wide!

(*BOING!*)

Uh…

(*BOING!*)

Uh…

(*BOING!*)

I…

…Shall…

…Con…

…SUME!

The Moon:

Sicker than your average impact event:

Terminate Terminans to smithereens; sink kid Links!

The clock tower strikes its final hour,

Thanks to double-M hooligans like Skull Kid!

Your tiny strength ain't enough, clown, to keep me from a touchdown;

Quadruple resistance? Still a brutal hit, bitch!

Natural satellite, crashing this whole battle right!

Black hole sights remind of me; Méliés ain't blinding me:

Time to be violently dying to the giant-leaped titan, peeps!

Why? You see, murdering the Earth is my purpose;

I'll wipe your worthless bloodstain from its surface!

Your Titanite shite is light! I'm tight tonight;

Vaginal-type draconids lack quite the bite.

Harder-gnashing teeth than Havel, your survival's off the table: my arrival's fatal!

Power your chaos-spark witch wouldn't dare harness:

Neil himself could never strong-arm this; I'm true darkness!

The end's here: brace for nuclear winter; what's that make this Sunny Dicker?

The dumbest lord on the cinder!

Solaire of Astora:

I can see that you're no Biggie, and the same goes for defeating you;

No chance of usurpation, I'm prepared for what I need to do.

This jumbo Madball puppet's landing right smack in the garbage;

I'm a supergiant, primed to vanquish you: Canis Solaris!

My dodging prowess is impeccable; one Mr. Piccolo never need lend me his lessons,

But now, like his essence was in my blood, borne, I'll be blowing away the nightmarish moon's presence!

The moment of truth has arrived; time to be a good lord! On what's happening, I'll not be a liar:

The Boreal Valley's not localized within this kiln as I set it alight; I'm on fire!

WHO WON?

WHO'S NEXT?

I DECIDE!

MOLEMAN'S…

(*CRASH!*)

Ganon: YOU DIED!

(*RESPAWN!*)

…EPIC RAP BATTLES!!!

This photo was taken on the 28th of March. The following day was my birthday. It was also the day an old friend of mine finally succumbed to cancer down in Wanganui. Birthdays suddenly seemed frivolous. I turned 42. The same age Grant discovered the lump in his leg was cancerous. 2 years later he would be dead. Grant was a big guy. Never met anyone physically bigger. Ex rugby player, drummer and party guy. That all behind him though, he was known by most people for his larger-than-life smile, personality and enthusiasm. He loved his tiny wife and kids.

He now sleeps awaiting the resurrection. His family though are mourning a huge hole in their life.

If you are a guy and you think you're tough, remember that sometimes it's the little things that will bring you down. Get medical help early. Dont wait. 44 is no age to leave behind your family.

Sometimes the brightest flames burn the shortest.

© Copyright Paul Green 2009. All rights reserved.

Me, Holden, Andrew, and maybe James (he hasn't said anything yet) have decided to make a group account where we can show off our WiPs, things we wouldn't deem "worthy" to post on our individual accounts, or just random shitposts.

Obviously we're using my old Stan Klerk account as the group one and we'll be changing the name and profile pic momentarily. We'll try not to be as cancerous as DaDeltaTCMooseMaticStrike but who knows, we may become even worse o.O

Anyway, I just wanted to give y'all some insight about this account and I hope you give it a follow.

-Quade

Giant Schnauzer

+++ MOST IMPORTANT NEWS!! SCC GENE AND LOCATION CONFIRMED BY NIH. +++

===================================================

Number 3 toe of Lili's left front paw (right image above) with relatively early stage of Squamous Cell Carcinoma SCC. You can see the deterioration of bone (lysis) in the distal phalanx and swelling, compared to the good foot, all hidden under her hair. I caught it early, from her licking, and had the entire toe up to the metacarpal joint removed promptly so she survived another four years, longer than most, enjoying many activities as shown here. www.flickr.com/photos/giant_schnauzer/

This disease is frequently erroneously diagnosed as a bacterial infection or allergy. The resulting delay in proper treatment is dangerous, often with fatal consequences.

A few years later Lili had a cancerous lump removed from the elbow region on that leg. A few years after that it appeared in the foreleg itself. She would lick it profusely at night when she thought I was not watching. She was then eleven and a half years old and would not have been happy with yet another procedure -- taking the leg. It never got into her lungs though. She was on effective pain medication (Tramadol generic from Walmart, very low price.) for the last year or so but then it got worse.

If you have a large black dog, especially GS, Poodle, or Lab, pay close attention to any swelling or licking of the toes as the possible first symptom of SCC, particularly if as with Lili it also afflicted the parents or siblings and half siblings of your dog. Your Vet should ease up a bit on the radiograph exposure so that soft tissue can be seen as well, as shown here. A proper biopsy is as traumatic as amputation so save the biopsy for after amputation. Take the entire toe; you want best margins possible.

This was a "weight-bearing" toe for Lili, especially so on a front foot, but she did very well after recovering from the surgery as you can tell from her active lifestyle. I do miss her still. (Skansen's xxxxxx, daughter of U.P.S., grandaughter of Lucas de Campos de Oro, both known to appear in many pedigrees of dogs afflicted with SCC.)

These X-rays are easier to view than the graphic advanced stages of the disease, seen via a Google Images search for " canine toe cancer. " Early intervention via proper diagnosis is the best approach! Do your large black dogs a big favor. Other dogs have lost multiple toes and/or a leg. Palpate their toes thoroughly every few weeks looking for tenderness or swelling. They will get used to and like the massage...

For post-surgery paw print, see www.flickr.com/photos/giant_schnauzer/5395682012/in/photo...

Mouse over the image above to see degree of amputation.

For valuable information on inherited canine cancer, see these links:

research.nhgri.nih.gov/dog_genome/info_for_dog_owners/ (US Government NIH, making notable progress)

research.nhgri.nih.gov/dog_genome/info_for_dog_owners/pri...

research.nhgri.nih.gov/dog_genome/surveys/SCC_Survey.shtml

www.genetics.org/content/179/1/593.full (Carnegie Mellon University. This is a highly technical article; jump to the Discussion at the end.)

www.akc.org/breeders/resp_breeding/steps_5.cfm (American Kennel Club)

As suggested by all the above scientific research, you would do well to do your own in-depth research before getting a new puppy of one of the vulnerable-to-toe-cancer breeds including:

Giant Schnauzer, Gordon Setter, Kerry Blue Terrier, Standard Poodle, Dachshund, Scottish Terrier, Rottweiler, and Labrador Retriever. (Black dogs seem especially vulnerable.)

Toe cancer doesn't sound all that threatening but it is just the first stage of the process.

Lots of specific information is found in the various breed user groups and forums. Do a Google search as well. You should find out the detailed health history of the parents, grandparents, siblings, half siblings, and cousins of your prospective pup. Don't take no for an answer.

============================================

HERE IS A HIGHLY INSTRUCTIVE EXAMPLE:

I was recently offered a "pick of the litter" GS puppy to fill the void left by the departure of dear Lili. On investigation these facts were uncovered:

1) Lili's Sire, a known producer of toe cancer, appeared once in the pup's pedigree.

2) Lili's maternal grandfather, another known producer of toe cancer, appeared FIFTEEN times in the pup's pedigree. (Yes, in 15 different places!)

3) TWO other known producers of toe cancer also appeared FIFTEEN times EACH in the prospective pup's pedigree. At least one other producer appeared at least once once.

4) The Sire and Dam were half siblings.

5) I rejected the puppy based on my own application of common sense and strong urging of experts in canine genetics.

============================================

NB for Giant Schnauzer owners! There is a wonderful new database online of pedigrees where you can trace dogs back through many generations to 100 years ago and find if suspected carriers of the SCC toe cancer gene mutation are in the line you wish to investigate. www.giantschnauzerpedigrees.com/

I hope this has been useful to you. Am interested in hearing from other owners of dogs with SCC. Have learned of dozens of cases to date, many far worse than Lili's with multiple toes and legs involved.

Useful information from Vet Specialist (no connection) on SCC: www.michvet.com/library/oncology_digital_tumors.asp

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Closing comment: Fully 99% of the viewers of this page arrive here via a search using Google, Yahoo, Bing, etc. and are not Flickr members so cannot comment or contact me. I have no connection with Flickr, but if you did wish to join for purposes of private/anonymous communication it is a simple process. www.flickr.com/ Others have done this to our mutual benefit but more importantly for the benefit of the wonderful Giant Schnauzer breed. You should know how to diagnose SCC at an early stage and act promptly. Most Vets are not familiar with the affliction.

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Good information from Giant Schnauzer Club of America; pay attention to #2 and #1:

giantschnauzerclubofamerica.com/Health-Testing.aspx

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You can email me directly at: giantschnauzertoecancer@gmail.com

Google has removed my access to that old email address ↑, though I know the password, because I do not remember the date the account was opened years ago! So you could instead try 23642@gmx.com.

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.Please scroll down to read some informative comments!

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Schnauzer géant Schnauzer gigante Ризеншнауцер Suursnautseri suuršnautser Велики шнауцер שנאוצר ענק Schnauzer Gegant विशालकाय Schnauzer Schnauzer xigante sznaucer olbrzym ׃riבs schnauzer veliki navcer נ³חוםרםאףצונ Schnauzer ֲׁ¡ֹל Riesenschnauzer big large giant black dog x-ray xray image radiograph phalanx phalanges toe paw foot feet skansen skansens Skansen's toe cancer scc subungual squamous cell carcinoma lose loss inflamed sore weight bearing toe diagnostic veterinary veterinarian amputation amputate surgery symptom lump swelling discharge sign test cancer research reuse reuze tumor neoplasm search photo photograph picture gene genetics mutant mutation NIH Ostrander breed breeder denial oncology image photograph photo picture study malignant genetic mistake disease ジャイアント·シュナウザー 巨型雪纳瑞 거인은 허접 lysis deterioration bone nail nailbed osteolysis manus dorsopalmar distal phalanx soft tissue mass metacarpal joint digit digital health test testing problem issue diet inherited epithelium tumor nail große schwarze Hund Pfote Fuß Zeh Krebs grande pie negro pata de perro dedo cáncer большая черная собака лапу палец ноги рака stor svart hund foten tass tå Iso musta koira jalka tassu toe syöpä wielki czarny pies stopa łapa rak Velký černý pes nohou tlapka prst rakoviny chien noir orteil patte grande cão preto pé pés câncer pata 大黑狗足爪趾癌症 grote zwarte hond voet poot teen kanker symptom sign toenail inflammation pedigree search nail bed infect infection toe paw foot squamous cell carcinoma disease swollen licking prevention diagnosis chien hund perro removal remove Canine Dog Toe Cancer SCC X-Ray Giant Schnauzer Squamous Cell Carcinoma one two three four Lily Lilly Lilli Lyyli neoplasia neoplastic histopathologic evaluation prognosis veterinary diagnostic laboratories clinics outcome diagnosis inflammatory lesions malignant tumor metastatic disease melanoma soft-tissue sarcoma mast cell tumor pathologist pathology Disease-free interval Osteosarcoma OSC clinical SCC melanoma soft-tissue sarcomas mast cell tumors presentation histopathologic diagnosis breed predilection for large breed black-coated dogs Giant Schnauzers Rottweilers Flat Coated Retrievers standard Poodles metastatic euthanize skin dermatology Munchener bony three third x-ray radiograph giantschnauzer Lilli Lily Lilly Lyyli cães cão black negro schwarz noir svart zwart черный czarny 黒 černý néger musta cancro syöpä kræft рак 癌 rakovina rák 癌症 vēzis vėžys vähk câncer rak kanser kanker cáncer Subungual nailbed epithelium Metastasis neoplastic squamous epithelium Limping reluctance to walk ulcer nodule papule lymph nodes biopsy one two three four five six 1 2 3 4 5 6 month year old treatment Skansen Skansen's munchener muenchener munchner muenchner schnautzer Lili Liliput giantschnauzer snaucer snauzer shnauzer

see these walls? see this place, this comfort, this haven from you?

look at you flounder. pathetic and small.

cyanide breath hides under the sills.

tiles creaking, singing songs of sorrow.

open up. i stand here before your door.

i've run so far, can't turn back now.

open up, i know you're in there somewhere.

you fool. you sickly, bloody stain.

cancerous morsel, sweet stinging lies.

this passage way of life and death closes now behind my head.

they hurt me sometimes, i scream and fight.

flying limbs of manic depression.

it's soft now though. these walls. they cushion the blow of my shouting head.

you can let me in now.

open up.

shut up.

shut up.

shut up.

it's never safe.

self

"H. J. Ward sold freelance pulp covers to many different publishers, including Munsey, Dell, Popular, but the majority of his work was published by Trojan Publications. Trojan was owned by Harry Donenfeld and edited by Frank Armer. Ward became their top artist. He created many iconic pulp covers for Trojan Magazines, such as 'Bedtime Stories,' 'Lone Ranger,' 'Speed Adventure,' 'Spicy Adventure,' 'Spicy Detective,' 'Spicy Western,' 'Super Detective,' 'Tattle Tales,' and 'Private Detective.'

"In 1941 H. J. Ward prepared a portfolio of prospective illustrations to show to art editors in a concerted effort to find work in advertising and slick magazines.

"Ward was inducted into the Army on April 13, 1944. He was recorded at induction to be tall, thin, with dark hair, and a heavy smoker.

"Soon after enlistment, Ward began to experience problems with his shoulder. Medical examination determined that he had a cancerous tumor in his lung.

"Hugh Joseph Ward died at age 35 on February 7, 1945."

[Source: www.pulpartists.com/Ward.html]

In this eye-catching image featured in the University of Utah’s 2016 Research as Art exhibition, red indicates a keratin protein found in the cytoskeleton of precancerous cells; green, a cell adhesion protein called E-cadherin; and yellow, areas where both proteins are present. Finally, blue marks the cell nuclei of the abundant immune cells and fibroblasts that have expanded and infiltrated the organ as a tumor is forming. Together, they paint a fascinating new portrait of pancreatic ductal adenocarcinoma (PDAC), the most common form of pancreatic cancer.

More information: directorsblog.nih.gov/2017/06/15/snapshots-of-life-a-van-...

Credit: Nathan Krah, University of Utah

This image is not owned by the NIH. It is shared with the public under license. If you have a question about using or reproducing this image, please contact the creator listed in the credits. All rights to the work remain with the original creator.

NIH support from: National Cancer Institute

We noticed Jasper squinting a bit the last week and his right eye was watering more than normal and excessive eye boogers on his right eye (left on this photo). So yesterday my wife took him to the vet and it turns out he has a wart that's grown UNDER his eyelid. No wonder his eye has been watering. My wife saw it and said it looked like a sea urchin, all pointy and nasty. So tomorrow Jasper goes in for a wart-ectomy. The doc did a prelim test and said it didn't seem to be cancerous, but of course we'll have it biopsied. Poor guy. No food after 6PM tonight. Please send him happy, positive vibes Wednesday. Posting early For 52 weeks this week because I'm leaving for Asia on Saturday, back the following Saturday in time to post for next week :) Regardless of the sad look here, he's still very happy and normal. My wife on the other hand takes on all the worry and tension

I just prepped the back of this potentiometer to take solder by running the stainless steel brush attachment on my Dremel tool over it. There's always some anti-fungal or anti-corrosion coating on the pots (even the ones that say they're prepped for soldering) that makes solder want to run right off 'em. This helps.

The cap you see there is a Russian Paper-in-Oil capacitor. You can tell by the little, "nipples" where the leads come out of the body. That's where the machine injected the oil.

Couple of things about this worth man-splaining to anyone who's unfamiliar with paper-in-oil. First off, those, "reissue" Bumblebee capacitors that retail for over a hundred dollars aren't PIO caps. They're cheap poly caps painted to look like bumblebee caps. Also, modern PIO caps use things like vegetable oil and it doesn't last. The most recent REAL PIO caps were made in Russia in the 90's.

Now, there's a reason for that. The, "oil" in a real paper-in-oil capacitor is a Monsanto PCB called Aroclor. Monsanto started selling that stuff in the 30's and it was the go-to dielectric for capacitors right up until the 70's when the world discovered that Monsanto had been burying reports that it was a health hazard. BTW, it wasn't just used as a dielectric. Aroclor was used for ALL kinds of stuff. It was used as hydraulic fluid and it was used in heat-transfer systems and it was used as a lubricant in vacuum pumps and it was in carbon paper and fire-retardant tiles and it was even used as a preservative in insecticide, which meant we all ate it.

The, "biphenyl" part of, "polychlorinated biphenyl" (PCB) was a pair of benzene rings with some chlorine atoms substituted. So mutant chlorinated benzene that turned out to be an endocrine disruptor, which can cause cancerous tumors, birth defects, and other developmental disorders. So the United States banned PCBs in 1979 (after I'd been eating them for nearly 15 years). Monsanto started selling their inventory to Russia and Russia didn't ban PCBs until the 90's. I could go on about companies like that, but I won't...I guess...although there are companies selling asbestos insulation in India right now because there's no ban. "I know it's evil, but there's a buck to be made!"

Anyway, paper-in-oil caps aren't necessarily dangerous to use. The danger in these is mostly in manufacturing them or disposing of them. They seldom ever leak, although they can.

Anyway, the reason people love the sound of old guitars with paper-in-oil capacitors is because they're TERRIBLE capacitors. Heh...which is the case with a lot of stuff that sounds good. I was talking recently about how I hate those nice Mercury Magnetic amplifier transformers. The last thing I want from a guitar amp is more bass response. That's why God (or was it John Dallas?) invented treble boosters in the first place. Heh...no, the best amps (to my ears...and I don't own a 9-string guitar and I don't djent) are things like those old Valco amps that had HORRIBLE little Seeburg jukebox amplifier transformers in 'em. Just crappy little insufficient transformers that made the amps really work against themselves to function properly and it gave them an interesting, "filter" that made the guitar signal sound a little less like it should have sounded. A little perversion of that clean signal that sounded cool and fragile and angry.

So in the case of these capacitors, they turned out to be wholly insufficient for the job of filtering low frequencies. So as a low-pass-filter they'd pass the fundamental frequencies almost untouched. Later poly caps were way better at handling those frequencies, so the Tone controls on guitars seemed to really muffle the, "woodiness" of the guitar because the slope of the filter in these non-active controls was really shallow and extended down much farther than anyone's ears wanted to hear. The, "bad" capacitors avoided that by being terrible. Heh...and I've written way too much about a subject again. I should get back to work.

Magnetic resonance imaging (MRI), nuclear magnetic resonance imaging (NMRI), or magnetic resonance tomography (MRT) is a medical imaging technique used in radiology to visualize detailed internal structures. MRI makes use of the property of nuclear magnetic resonance (NMR) to image nuclei of atoms inside the body.

An MRI machine uses a powerful magnetic field to align the magnetization of some atomic nuclei in the body, and radio frequency fields to systematically alter the alignment of this magnetization. This causes the nuclei to produce a rotating magnetic field detectable by the scanner—and this information is recorded to construct an image of the scanned area of the body. 36 Magnetic field gradients cause nuclei at different locations to rotate at different speeds. By using gradients in different directions 2D images or 3D volumes can be obtained in any arbitrary orientation.

MRI provides good contrast between the different soft tissues of the body, which makes it especially useful in imaging the brain, muscles, the heart, and cancers compared with other medical imaging techniques such as computed tomography (CT) or X-rays. Unlike CT scans or traditional X-rays, MRI does not use ionizing radiation.

In the 1950s, Herman Carr reported on the creation of a one-dimensional MRI image. Paul Lauterbur expanded on Carr's technique and developed a way to generate the first MRI images, in 2D and 3D, using gradients. In 1973, Lauterbur published the first nuclear magnetic resonance image and the first cross-sectional image of a living mouse was published in January 1974. Nuclear magnetic resonance imaging is a relatively new technology first developed at the University of Nottingham, England. Peter Mansfield, a physicist and professor at the university, then developed a mathematical technique that would allow scans to take seconds rather than hours and produce clearer images than Lauterbur had.

Raymond Damadian's "Apparatus and method for detecting cancer in tissue."

In a 1971 paper in the journal Science, Dr. Raymond Damadian, an Armenian-American physician, scientist, and professor at the Downstate Medical Center State University of New York (SUNY), reported that tumors and normal tissue can be distinguished in vivo by nuclear magnetic resonance ("NMR"). He suggested that these differences could be used to diagnose cancer, though later research would find that these differences, while real, are too variable for diagnostic purposes. Damadian's initial methods were flawed for practical use, relying on a point-by-point scan of the entire body and using relaxation rates, which turned out to not be an effective indicator of cancerous tissue.

While researching the analytical properties of magnetic resonance, Damadian created the world's first magnetic resonance imaging machine in 1972. He filed the first patent for an MRI machine, U.S. patent #3,789,832 on March 17, 1972, which was later issued to him on February 5, 1974. As the National Science Foundation notes, "The patent included the idea of using NMR to 'scan' the human body to locate cancerous tissue." However, it did not describe a method for generating pictures from such a scan or precisely how such a scan might be done. Damadian along with Larry Minkoff and Michael Goldsmith, subsequently went on to perform the first MRI body scan of a human being on July 3, 1977.These studies performed on humans were published in 1977.

I am worried that Dottie does not have much time left. She is doing okay, but really moving a lot slower and acts confused, many accidents in the house lately. We got her in 2011 and the shelter said she was about 8. In 2014 I took her to the vet because of a growth on her hip and it was cancerous. She has a large one on her chest now. I feel sad that I work a lot and am not home to be with her or have a yard for her. My life has changed a lot since we got her. I saw this project online where you make paint flowers with paw-prints of your pet. I keep forgetting to do it and a co-worker asked if I had done it yet. I had not, but I went home at lunch to take care of her and did quick paw prints. I tried rinsing her feet off but she has some red stain from the paint left.

I've been spending more time with Sammy lately. A few months back I found a small lump on his leg. Long story short, he had four tumors removed over the course of a month and three were cancerous. He had over 40 some stitches and four very bald spots. The good news was the vet got all the cancerous tissue and he should be good to go for now. The chances of recurrence are fairly high but the vet just said to pet him a lot and feel for new lumps. Sammy seems pretty good with that ;-) He really is a sweet, sweet dog.

The showcase I was featured in was two days ago! It went really great, I met a lot of other talented artists and hope to collab with a few in the future.

I absolutely hate that I started smoking, it's a really terrible thing and I don't wish it upon anyone.

This was kind of a bit of an experiment, so feedback would be appreciated.

StoryCorps-

is a project developed with The Library of Congress and NPR, to document and capture amazing,interesting and just plain old stories of common folk in America. My 85-year-old

Dad LOVE's telling stories-

and for him-

this day-

was good day.

storycorps.org

Lumpy Tim is a cruel name, I know, but at the moment we're having to keep an eye on anything we think is untoward! Just over a year ago he had a lump on his right elbow removed. The hospital have been very good in following it up, and have told him they want to see him every 6 months for 5 years, to make sure nothing bad happens. A biopsy on the lump revealed that it was cancerous, but they removed it before it looked like it had done anything sinister. They also told him to keep in touch and phone them if any other lumps concerned him.

Around the beginning of September this year, a lump appeared next to his right ear, which at times feels hot and tender. So after trying to ring the number he'd been given unsuccessfully, he ended up going back to the GP, who referred him to a different consultant! A couple of weeks on, Tim had an ultrasound scan and biopsy done on that lump, and yesterday we went to find out the results. The consultant we saw wants to remove the lump, as it irritates Tim - he doesn't think it's dangerous, but is waiting to see which is the easiest way to do it. The scan/biopsy also revealed a lump on Tim's neck that he didn't even know about. The consultant told us he doesn't know for sure if it's cancerous, but said even if it is, it is still very small and not an aggressive form, so is leaving it for 6 months.

I hope Tim doesn't find any fresh lumps, as we'll probably end up with a third consultant at the hospital and more follow up appointments!!

Come see the sinking side of SEARS!

Here's one of three remaining SEARS locations in Florida -- and a total of 12 left in chainwide in the U.S.

Sears, Roebuck & Co, once a commander and icon of American retail is now cancerous and on its last few locations, clinging to scraps of real estate at even the illustrious Gardens Mall in Palm Beach Gardens. Relevance in the retail landscape is also reaching critical levels of scarsity as shoppers forget the dwindling locations counted on two hands, clinging to dear life whereever they can be found.

Will this be SEARS last Christmas?

I get mine from the farmer's market every Sunday. Not that avocados need to be organic, unless you eat the skin......which I don't recommend :-/ I just like the lady I get them from and, her avocados never disappoint. I'm also lucky in the way that I have two dear friends with the BEST avocados and they're generous when it comes to sharing them with me. Thank you Liz and Min :-)

Scott and I share 1-2 avocados a week, maybe more if we have them. As long as they're available, we're all over them. They're high in fat, yes.... but it's the kind of fat you need, the good stuff that lowers the bad stuff and gets you off those pesky meds, especially Lipitor.

Here are ten reasons to add avocados to your diet.

Prostate Cancer Prevention

Avocados have been shown to inhibit the growth of prostate cancer.

Oral Cancer Defense

Research has shown that certain compounds in avocados are able to seek out pre-cancerous and cancerous oral cancer cells and destroy them without harming healthy cells.

Breast Cancer Protection

Avocado, like olive oil, is high in oleic acid, which has been shown to prevent breast cancer in numerous studies.

Eye Health

Avocados have more of the carotenoid lutein than any other commonly consumed fruit. Lutein protects against macular degeneration and cataracts, two disabling age-related eye diseases.

Lower Cholesterol

Avocados are high in beta-sitosterol, a compound that has been shown to lower cholesterol levels. In one study, 45 volunteers experienced an average drop in cholesterol of 17% after eating avocados for only one week.

Heart Health

One cup of avocado has 23% of the recommended daily value of folate. Studies show that people who eat diets rich in folate have a much lower incidence of heart disease than those who don't. The vitamin E, monounsaturated fats, and glutathione in avocado are also great for your heart.

Stroke Prevention

The high levels of folate in avocado are also protective against strokes. People who eat diets rich in folate have a much lower risk of stroke than those who don't.

Better Nutrient Absorption

Research has found that certain nutrients are absorbed better when eaten with avocado. In one study, when participants ate a salad containing avocados, they absorbed five times the amount of carotenoids (a group of nutrients that includes lycopene and beta carotene) than those who didn't include avocados.

Glutathione Source

Avocados are an excellent source of glutathione, an important antioxidant that researchers say is important in preventing aging, cancer, and heart disease.

Vitamin E Powerhouse

Avocados are the best fruit source of vitamin E, an essential vitamin that protects against many diseases and helps maintains overall health.

Awesome huh? :) I enjoy my avocado best shown here, by my handsome hand model... maybe with a little lemon or a light sprinkle of sea salt, but really? Why ruin it?

What are Ear Polyps in Cats and how to treat them: Although an uncommon occurrence, ear polyps can severely damage the ear drum of your cat if they are not treated in time. Ear polyps are neither breed nor sex specific, but they usually occur in cats between the ages of 1 to 4 years. Ear polyps in cats produce symptoms that are almost similar to those caused by parasites like cat ear mites or other ear infections.

In addition to the normal symptoms associated with ear mite infections like scratching and pain on palpating the ear, some of the symptoms specific to or indicative of ear polyps include the following:

Inability to walk in a straight line

A tilted head

Droopy eyelid/s

Partial covering of the eye by the third eyelid

Ear polyps are usually located in the horizontal passage of the ear canal and difficult to see without an otoscope, a medical instrument with a magnifying glass and light used for examining the tympanic membrane. The veterinarian might need to sedate your cat for the examination.

A polyp is actually a small vascular growth on the surface of a mucus membrane that appears almost similar to a squamous cell tumor. The first step in diagnosis is to get a biopsy of the polyp to rule out a cancerous growth.

The most common treatment of an ear polyp is through surgical removal. Usually, the veterinarian pulls up the long stalk to which the polyp is attached and cuts it off. The problem with this simple non-invasive surgery is that the root of the polyp remains within the ear and can resurface within a short period of one to eight months.

A permanent solution is through an invasive surgery that involves the removal of the lower part of the bone surrounding the ear. Known as ventral bullae ostetomy, this is a delicate procedure and should be performed by an expert who is well versed in the risks involved. Although the cat recovers within a matter of a few weeks, in rare cases cats may develop a permanent inability to walk straight and have drooping eyelids.

The exact cause behind the appearance of ear polyps is not known but the common perception is that they occur in reaction to an ear inflammation caused by bacteria or a virus known as calci. Ear infections are one of the most common occurrences in pets; the most common of them being cat and dog ear mites that can develop into serious infections if they are not attended to in time.

The best mode of prevention is by ensuring a regular ear cleaning regimen and periodic removal of accumulated wax using home remedies for dog ear mites. A clean ear allows you to spot early signs of any unusual growth in the ear and therefore helps in early treatment. It’s also appropriate to mention that polyps can also occur in the nasal passages and throat that cause difficulty in breathing or swallowing.

www.nativeremedies.com/petalive/articles/ear-polyps-cats-...

Last December, I underwent surgery to have a cancerous tumor removed from my neck. I finished chemo and radiation treatments at the end of April. I had my post treatment PET scan on Tuesday. Yesterday my oncologist told me "your PET scan looks great" :)

I thank the Lord for every day I'm allowed to see, and I thank the Lord for my friends and my family. And I especially thank the Lord for my wife, who went through every step of this whole thing with me like it was her...

Street art outside St. Georges Theatre promoting The George Harrison Project, a live music celebration of George Harrison's best loved hits from his early Beatles songs, his solo career and The Traveling Wilburys.

George Harrison was born at 12 Arnold Grove in Wavertree, Liverpool on 25th. February 1943. He was the youngest of the four children of Harold Hargreaves Harrison and his wife Louise (née French. Harold was a bus conductor who had worked as a ship's steward on the White Star Line and Louise was a shop assistant of Irish Catholic descent. He had one sister, Louise and two brothers, Harold and Peter.

George attended Liverpool Institute High School for Boys from 1954 to 1959 which is where he first met Paul McCartney

in 1956, his father bought George a Dutch Egmond flat-top acoustic guitar, which according to Harold, cost £3.10s.

McCartney and his friend John Lennon were in a skiffle group called the Quarrymen. George began socialising with the group, filling in on guitar as needed and then became accepted as a member. In 1960 the band were calling themselves the Beatles.

After working in Hamburg, Brian Epstein became their manager in December 1961, he polished up their image and later secured them a recording contract with EMI.[ The group's first single, 'Love Me Do', peaked at number 17 on the Record Retailer chart, and by the time their debut album, 'Please Please Me', was released in early 1963, Beatlemania had arrived.

Often serious and focused while on stage with the band, George was known as 'the quiet Beatle', he embraced Indian culture and incorporated Indian instrumentation and Hindu-aligned spirituality into the Beatles' work.

George's last recording session with the Beatles was on 4th. January 1970, when he, McCartney and Ringo Starr recorded his song 'I Me Mine' for the 'Let It Be' album.

After the band's break-up in 1970, George released the triple album 'All Things Must Pass', a critically acclaimed work that produced his most successful hit single, 'My Sweet Lord', and introduced his signature sound as a solo artist, the slide guitar. He also organised the 1971 Concert for Bangladesh with Indian musician Ravi Shankar, a precursor to later benefit concerts such as Live Aid. In 1988, he co-founded the platinum selling supergroup the Traveling Wilburys.

Rolling Stone magazine ranked him number 11 in their list of the '100 Greatest Guitarists of All Time'. He is a two time Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductee, as a member of the Beatles in 1988 and posthumously for his solo career in 2004.

Georges first marriage, to model Pattie Boyd in 1966, ended in divorce in 1977. The following year he married Olivia Arias, with whom he had a son, Dhani.

On 30th. December 1999 George surviving an attack by

Michael Abram, a 34 year-old man suffering from paranoid schizophrenia, who broke into his Friar Park. mansion at Henley-on-Thames and attacked him with a kitchen knife, puncturing a lung and causing head injuries before Olivia Harrison incapacitated the assailant by striking him repeatedly with a fireplace poker and a lamp. Following the attack, George was hospitalised with more than 40 stab wounds, and part of his punctured lung was removed.

In May 2001, it was revealed that George had undergone an operation to remove a cancerous growth from one of his lungs, and in July, it was reported that he was being treated for a brain tumour at a clinic in Switzerland

On 29th. November 2001, George died from lung cancer at a property belonging to Paul McCartney, on Heather Road in Beverly Hills, Los Angeles, he was 58 years old. His remains were cremated, and the ashes were scattered according to Hindu tradition in a private ceremony in the Ganges and Yamuna rivers in India. He left an estate of almost £100 million.

George's final album, 'Brainwashed' was released posthumously in 2002 after it was completed by his son Dhani and Jeff Lynne.

I am grateful for my mom. I call her "Mammy" and my boys call her "Momoo". My mom is an amazing woman. She has prayed for me every day for over thirty-five years. She has a strong faith which she has passed down to all her kids, grandkids and great-grandkids. She lived in North Africa for three years and she is in her seventies. She is now in Hawaii snorkeling and husband hunting (not really but kind of true.) She just made it through a surgery for a cancerous tumor and was mostly worried about her ability to snorkel. She cracks me up! She has made it through much adversity and I admire her very much. 18/30

30 Days of Gratitude

I know some of my contacts have recently lost their mothers and I want you to know my heart goes out to you. Even if your loss was not in the recent past, it is still a loss and will always be so.

As a portrait artist, feedback on commissions means the world to me. The client's opinion is the only one that matters ...and it matters A LOT.

So it means so much to me when people take the time to let me know what their portraits mean to them, or if they were surprises, how they were received. They don't just brighten my day - they keep me drawing!

This is a pastel portrait of Macy, commissioned as a surprise Christmas present and a poignant project to work on. These are the ones that you don't want to get wrong. Thank you to Lizzie Coltman for giving me the chance to work on such lovely and satisfying project ...and Simon Pilmer for your wonderful feedback.

So here's a little more about Macy: a Rottweiler, Staffordshire Terrier, Rhodesian Ridgeback cross, was an intuitive soul. In her owner's words, 'She was a beautiful girl with a huge heart. I find it hard to describe the bond we shared and just how much she really meant to me. I don't know how but she always knew how I felt and she was always there to support me in her own special way.

She really was quite a character. We had about four acres of land for her to run free, she loved chasing rabbits going for walks on the beach and through woodlands and howling when police sirens passed. We took her everywhere, even punting through Cambridge a couple of times! She had a litter of eight puppies just by accident a few years ago when we rescued a male Spanish Mastiff named "Pablo". She had an amazing life, we all loved her to pieces, but to me and my sister we had a special bond.

Sadly she developed an aggressive cancerous tumor and there was nothing we could do, it was too late. She was eleven years old when she past away and the photo was taken about four months before we lost her. So it's especially close to my heart.'

I feel like I have an amazing monument to her life now. I would have loved to have buried her at the house she spent the majority of her time but sadly that wasn't possible. So we scattered her ashes at her favorite walking spot at Wimpole Hall Estate, but visiting there to pay my respects isn't how I imagined. But now I have this incredible memory of her and her spirit that I can keep as a tribute to her life.'

Thank you to all my clients for enabling me to keep doing what I love.

As always, more info on commisions etc can be found on my website:

www.alibannister.com

Limited edition prints of Macy can be purchased here:

www.alibannister.com/cart/macy-p-148.php

Show your son…

So show your son a sunset

before they’re all gone

advised an old Lefty

exhibiting the usual paranoia

of the Left

that has now spilled over

on ecologists

and others of their ilk

always ranting about the ozone hole

and cancer and smoking

and the population of the world

doubling again

by the year two thousand twenty

and about how the earth

is coming to a sudden bad end

Whereas we all know the media and

the oil combines and

the tobacco companies and

the industry scientists and

the industrial perplex in general

are all telling us the whole bull

and nothing but the bull

So no need to worry

“No problem”

as they say downtown

Even if those clouds out the window

look a bit strange

And the droughts all over the world

aren’t really all that bad

because it can’t happen here

as they used to say in the Thirties

And all those jet streams from airlines

really don’t spew more

cancerous exhaust

than a billion cars

And those aren’t really

Sun Dogs in the too-brilliant sun

And sunsets are still sunsets

even if they are only

one-color sunsets

over which pilots are reporting

clouds are lower than they used to be

before the Greenhouse years

Whereas sunsets now are more like “heart events”

with pollution like bad cholesterol

jamming the arteries of the universe

and obstructing circulation

and causing systemic disasters

And our evening spread across the sky

like a patient passed out upon a table

Lawrence Ferlinghetti

This cat had it's ears removed after they became cancerous.

In every cell, DNA is tagged with chemical groups-like flags on the DNA-that make up the epigenetic code and act as guideposts. These flags help the cell's machinery know when to activate or inactivate a gene. In healthy cells, these flags are correctly placed and genes are expressed in the right proportions. However, in many tumor cells the flags are incorrectly applied. One form of incorrect DNA flagging occurs when extreme amounts of otherwise healthy methyl chemical groups, which act like on/off switches for a gene, are incorrectly added to many places on the cell's DNA. Instead of a cell chugging along with its natural, biological jobs, these newly added methyl groups cause the cell to act erratically, leading to the cell expressing genes at the wrong levels, or not at all. This generally disrupts the normal flow of information in the cell. Importantly, these flags can turn off key defensive genes that help protect the cell from becoming cancerous and disrupt other processes. When this occurs, it's called "CpG Island Methylation Phenotype," or CIMP for short. Credit: Darryl Leja, NHGRI.

Cancerous smoke fills the air at the bay of San Fransisco, releasing from three striped chimneys - while the building beneath these pillars is highly industrial in its appearance, it is no factory. It is, instead, a base of criminal operation - that of none other than Eldon Peck, AKA Brother Night.

Peck stands 20 meters away from this headquarters, his feet at the shore. He’s accompanied by four:

To his side, Asher Kelly, AKA Backslash - Peck’s gaunt-faced right-hand man, who wields a sword capable of rewinding time, within 10-second intervals.

This sword is energized by an enslaved fairy, leashed to the hilt - her name is Hannah.

Next in line is Malcolm Tandy, AKA Crowbar - the muscle of Peck’s crew.

And behind them all? Etrigan the Demon. Trapped, in a glowing forcefield - though he does not claw to escape. He merely stands, arms crossed.

A wave rushes over Peck’s shoes, transforming the sand beneath him into mud. He hums a melody, the same one he sang to two Otherkind members earlier - but he soon stops humming, to take a long inhale through his nose. “Oooh, you smell that, fellas? Seawater. Strong, pure-“

“Stinks,” says Tandy, his signature crowbar resting above his shoulder.

“‘Stinks’?” Peck echoes. “It does not stink, Malcolm, it is delightful - believe me, I’ve been all around the world and smelled plenty of harbours. Ever been to Nova Scotia? In that dump, you don’t even have to go outside to smell the sewage!”

“Well, I can’t say I eva’ been to Canada, but I aughta go with Crowba’ on ‘dis one, boss - smells like shite,” Kelly comments, before jiggling his sword and turning to the fluttering Hannah. “Y’got any input for Mista’ Night, Hanna’?”

“I hate you both.” Hannah replies.

Peck faces Hannah and Kelly. “Thanks, Hannah - but for the fiftieth time, Ash, it’s BROTHER Night.”

“As if that’s any better,” Tandy remarks. “Makes you sound like a cultist - more than you already are, I mean.” Him and Kelly both laugh, even Etrigan snickers.

“Ouch! First The Rip and Malcolm 2, now you guys. It’s just one of those nights, eh?” Peck complains.

“Mr. Peck, you won’t let that disrespect go unpunished, will you?” asks Etrigan, with a grin of fangs. “Why don’t you teach them all a lesson, show them what their boss can do?”

“Nice try, Ettie,” Peck laughs, “but I’m not stupid. We’re prepping for a gang war - and thus, I need to keep my gang in-tact.”

“You’ve already lost members before… Why can’t you use your ‘harvested’ souls in war?”

Peck turns to the Demon. “Child souls are for labour, not combat- and wait a sec, you know of the Night Guild’s former rosters? Have we met, before all this?”

“We haven’t met before, no, not quite. But there’s a human man, with whom I share sight. Through my stolen eyes, I saw what your ‘guild’ went through. Tell me, Mr. Peck, is there a Jason Blood you knew?”

Peck’s eyes widen, stricken with both surprise and intrigue. “…Blood? You’re in there? Oh ho ho, that is hilarious!”

“Oh. I remember now,” shares Tandy. “Last time we fought Blood, he shut off the HQ overheads. Heard him whisper some chant, I think? Next thing we knew, some fuckin… Behemoth, showed up. Whooped our asses. Knocked me off a balcony.”

“Haha! Roight, that’s when ye’ broke ya’ fuckin’ colla’ bone!” Kelly cackles.

“Watch it, Aussie,” Tandy growls.

“Can he hear me?” Eldon puts his hand on the forcefield, choosing not to acknowledge his associates’ bickering.

“Only a little, but yes, he can hear and see - his other abilities, though, are instead held by me. He cannot speak, fight, or flee. And yes, my body was once a back and forth, between Blood and I. But this time I’m in control, and I intend for his soul to die!”

Peck laughs. “Oh, now things are getting interesting- nice rhymes, by the way! Music to my ears. Is it by choice, or..?”

“Well, you see-“

“Oh my god, will you just shut up with the backstory?” asks Hannah, before turning to both Kelly and Tandy. “We’ve all been out here for almost 30 minutes, and neither of you two buffoons thought to ask why?”

“Night’s trademark is being all mysterious n’ shit. I’ve learned not to bother at this point,” Tandy explains.

“Well, Hannah,” Peck turns away from the demon, and strolls towards the fairy - here, though, unlike upon the rooftop, his cane gives no knock. Merely a light ‘splat’ in the wet sand. “Since you so politely asked, I am considering our strategic options in the upcoming war!”

“But why here? By the water?” Hannah grunts.

“The brats inside are always howling - and while I love souls for efficiency, they sure can give one hell of a migraine. Not to mention, something about the water is so…” he swiftly turns back the waves, and the bright moon’s reflection in them. “…Peaceful.”

“Yea’. ‘Spite ‘da stink, it’s quite da’ stunna’,” Kelly agrees.

The group has a collective moment of enamoured silence, but only a moment.

Peck spins back again. Claps together his hands, wrapped in black leather. “So, right, Hannah brings up a good point - productivity is important! Let’s do some planning, gentlemen!” He looks to Tandy. “Do you have any ideas?”

“I’ll think on it - might I ask what exactly you told The Otherkind? That’d help me brainstorm.”

“I didn’t say much; just that we have him,” Peck points at the demon, “trapped, in a ‘secret location’.”

“‘Secret location’, aye?” Kelly interjects. “So really, we could hide the bloody bugga’ anywhere, no restrictions, no limits, so long’s we left clues long the way? Fair dinkum cobber?”

“Correctamundo, Captain Kangaroo!”

“Cap’n Kang’roo ain’t even Australian,” Kelly mumbles, disgruntled.

“The water’s given me an idea, actually,” says Tandy. “Don’t we have an old fishing boat in storage?”

“Oooh, I sure do like your thinking, Crowbar! I completely forgot about that old thing - yes, okay, couple nights from now, we’ll put the demon on a boat and swim it out into the ocean. I’ll put out a beacon, you’ll see, so The Otherkind will know to come, and then! We can have one of our classic brawls - which we’ll win, obviously. But before all that,” Peck turns to Kelly. “Backslash, my punctuation-patterned-pal, would you like the honour of delivering a… preliminary strike?”

“Oh, Brotha’ Night, are ya’ proposin’ ’n invasi’n?”

Peck laughs fiendishly to himself, hands behind his back. “Precisely.”

Warts and all. We are I suppose a little vain otherwise we would not do selfie pictures of ourselves which we post here.. Since the growth which was arrived below my nose I have edited the growth out using Picasa. Today I thought this is how I am so sod it I would show it for the first time. I have had a biopsy on it to see whether it is cancerous last Friday. I admit I have been avoiding friends who I would easily go out and about with but I have lost confidence because of the spot. I feel everybody is looking at it all the time.I am enjoying being Linda this Monday morning but wish i had company.

Most of these photographs are of the Big L Blast Furnace in the steel mills of Sparrows Point, Maryland. Not just photos portraying what the Big L looks like, but how some of us feel about it all. Some of us who have had, or still have, our own long personal relationship with those former Bethlehem Steel Company mills and Sparrows Point .

The Big L can be seen from long distances and numerous-various angles of Southeastern Baltimore County and City, Northwestern Anne Arundel County, and the Chesapeake Bay and Patapsco River areas surrounding Sparrows Point. And the damned Big L also dwells somewheres in the minds, hearts and souls of multiples of thousands of us who possess fond - mixed with not at all fond - memories of being, visiting, living and/or working days of our lives, " Down the Point."

On Friday July 23, 2010, the new Russian owners of the old Bethlehem Steel Mills in Sparrows Point, Maryland shut down their only blast furnace - The Big L. That white cloud pouring up out of the top of the Big L is a result of work being done as part of the process to shut 'er down right, so she can be more easily started up again.

Some folks fear, while others hope, that it may never be started up again, though. Steel workers want it, but some ecologically minded folks and others want the entire mills with it's steel making process, heavy pollutions gone.

Big L will be down for at least 90-fugging-days. And it is the American Steel Workers who are getting screwed the worst. Basically, though, all Americans are being screwed over here.

That''s sho-nuff how I see's it - anyways.

I am who I am, owing my very existence to the Bethlehem Steel Company's long gone Town of Sparrows Point, Md.. That was where my life began, and I enjoyed spending a good deal of time there, especially visiting my grandparents several times every month, till the town was torn down, in 1973, when I was 23-years-old. My parents grew up there, our family went to church in Sparrows Point, and my father's parents were some of the last residents to move out of the rental housing in the family oriented, nearly crime free, company owned town, when Bethlehem Steel tore their town down to erect the Big L Blast Furnace.

My only relative to work in the blast furnaces was my paternal grandfather. But other relatives worked in other departments Down the Point. Uncle Philip (Crews) and Uncle Lindsey (Hall) each worked there for around forty-five-years, till they retired. My father worked awhile in the Rod and Wire Mill, as an electrician. Uncle Nelson was a draftsman (?) there for some time. Aunt Donna (Crews/Walcott) and Aunt Martha (Thomas/Clarke) each worked in the main office for a bit. I gotta ask around the family in case others worked there too, and I forgot. Uncle Stanley (known as John Crews to some folks outside the family) was a volunteer firemen in the Sparrows Point Fire Department , but I don't recollect him working in the mills.

My Granddad Crews retired from "The Point" as foreman of the two largest, most powerful and toughest blast furnaces on The Point; - numbers 9 & 10. About ten years after his retirement, I went to work on the Blast Furnace Labor Gang. While there, older men would express to me their high regard of Granddad Crews, of his natural, big ol' West Virginia Mountain Boy strength, and how my Grandmom Crews used to make him great homemade meals for his lunches (each work shift, some men kept casserole dishes of homemade lunch warm on a blast furnace side rim). I also heard of Granddad's personal, even-keeled and thoroughly fair treatment of his blast furnace crew.

Every foremen on every blast furnace could do every single job on a furnace better than any man there - from pushing a broom, using the ever present-shovel, or driving the overhead crane - with it's dangling, oft partly molten hot, cargo being weaved past workers down on the blast furnace floor. I have Granddad Crews' white hardhat from The Point, and it has "Capt. Bob" hand painted with the quotation marks onto the front of the hardhat above the required presence of his name R.E. Crews, because blast furnace foremen are called Captains.

That has something to do with the blast furnace being controlled from a "wheel house", which has a large ship's like wheel (helm) which is spun round during the casting process - when the molten iron and slag are poured into railroad cars; and a blast furnace is something akin to a ship with a hard working crew - working hard at sailing through their work shifts with firm dedication and determination to make and deliver high quality loads of molten iron for various uses that support and enrich the world economy.

During 1973-74, before the Big L Monster ate the Town of Sparrows Point, when there were 10 smaller blast furnaces working Down the Point, I worked on the Blast Furnace Labor Gang. I loved the physical, mental, emotional challenges, safety-self-discipline-or-get-hurt-and-quite-possibly-die hard work; which requires intense common sense, plus a type of serious intelligence that cannot be acquired via any degree of college education. It broils my gizzards when formally educated individuals socially disregard, disrespect blue collar workers of the ilk I know of who work or worked dangerous, sometimes debilitatingly hot and nasty or cold and nasty, mills and factories of this world.

But, I'm more a former Maine Bear Hunting Guide, a current outdoorsman, photographer and writer than a worker in an Iron Ore black dirt and red dust, filthy, reputedly cancerous, steel mill.

But, oh man, it was often thrilling, death defying-hot-blooded-chilling and ever-so-satisfying to make it through a shift on the labor gang to go home knowing I had faced ordeals of steel mills and had helped to produce reliable product to be sold and used in making for a better, stronger, safer world we live in.

Myself, my family, my community here in, and surrounding, Dundalk, Maryland, once believed that those (now ailing, failing) steel mills would provide many people plenty of work forever. Once, tens of thousands of reliable hard workers held gainful employment in the mills. Now, it is down to two-thousand or so who hold jobs there.

The mill's barely working at all. The land it is on along with the water and air around it are terribly, dangerously, deadly polluted in places.

Unfortunately, the future of the steel mills of Sparrows, Point Maryland USA will be decided and delivered by some of America's former, deadly, communist enemies. Former Communists who are now extremely successful, cut-throat Capitalists of the highest order.

Nobody told me there'd be days like these.

© David Robert Crews {a.k.a. ursusdave}

email: ursusdave at yahoo dot com

View my full profile on Wink dot com :

wink.com/p/ursusdave

Pour ceux qui savent que Betsy avait une tumeur cancéreuse à une patte, voici des nouvelles.

Après deux séances de ratiothérapie en décembre, la tumeur semble avoir complètement disparu. Le lundi 12/01 le restant de la tumeur était supposé être opéré, mais comme le scanner ne montrait plus rien, seul le ganglion local (atteint) a été retiré.

J'irai la chercher demain matin (hourra), ensuite à partir du 26 janvier elle partira pour 4 semaines de radiothérapie dans une clinique vétérinaire spécialisée en France (Villeneuve d'Ascq près de Lille). Comme c'est loin de chez moi (280 km) et que je ne peux pas prendre autant de congés, une association locale du Nord de la France (Ch'tis copains) viendra la prendre chez moi le lundi matin et me la ramènera le vendredi soir. Entre-temps ils la conduiront à ses soins et l'hébergeront en famille d'accueil.

J'espère qu'après tout ceci, sa patte et surtout sa vie, seront sauvées, elle n'a que 6 ans 1/2. Merci pour le soutien moral apporté par certains d'entre vous dans cette dure période.

For those who know that Betsy had a cancerous tumour at a leg, here are some news.

After two sessions of radiotherapy in December, the tumour has completely disappeared. On Monday the 12/01, the remaining tumour was supposed to be removed but as there was nothing visible at the scanner anymore, just the local ganglion (that was affected too) was removed.

I will pick her up tomorrow morning, then from the 26th January for 4 weeks she will need other radiotherapy and chemotherapy, done in a very famous French (there is nothing similar in Belgium) vet hospital. As this is far away from home (Villeneuve d'Ascq near Lille), for those 4 weeks somebody will pick her up on Monday morning and bring her home on Friday evening. In the meantime a foster family will take care of her and drive her to that hospital.

I hope that after all this, her leg and her live will be saved, she is only 6 1/2. Thanks for those who have supported me during this bad period.

I am really not one To show photos of my real life self or anything. BUT I do want to show people that There is a Real person Behind Kelpie.

I am A wife and mother Of two Little ones. My 6 yr old Autistic son and my spunky little 4 year old baby girl. This is us on our trip a month ago. (hubby is taking the photo lol)

Despite the smile, I was in A LOT of pain this day.

I have a brain invader. Many have asked me why I call it a brain invader more often then I call it a tumor. Well My doctor tho he said it looks like a Tumor, there is still chance it is Just a very symptomatic Cyst, as you can't 100% tell by Mri images do to where its located (in the middle of my brain.) Also I guess I am hopping for the best that it is a Cyst and not a Tumor. As the chance of a new one coming back if its is a Tumor is more likely. Tho these type of tumors are rarely cancerous, its damaging my brain and taking up valuable space in my brain. I started 'Shopping For Pie' Marathon store to store type event, hoping it may help spread awareness. It has some, we have raised around 200 Dollars in 4 months with the event and private donations in sl alone. Which is amazing to see, But we STILL have long way for me to even be able to afford the out of pocket cost. I know I am a very unknown person, and not well known in the sl community other then for my blogging.. so getting word out has been hard...

So i am asking you all once more for help.

My go fund me: www.gofundme.com/tumorsurgery4april

Shopping For Pie Official blog: teampieslmarathon.blogspot.com/

Shopping For Pie Store ap (you can join at anytime.) : docs.google.com/forms/d/1oyuYsUamh5uF3k4_ULR7p55nD52dYc_p...

Also many thanks to all the store, bloggers and people who have helped be apart of this event, or helped spread work. Thank you From the bottom of my heart!

The German Shorthaired Pointer is a breed of medium-sized pointing dog developed in nineteenth century Germany. It is energetic and powerful, with strong legs and great endurance. It is a versatile all-purpose gun dog suitable for hunting and retrieving on both land and water, with a strong drive to find and chase game. It may also be kept as a companion dog, though as a high-energy sporting dog, it requires significant amounts of exercise.

German Shorthaired Pointers have a short coat that comes in various combinations, generally a mix of liver and white. They have moderately long floppy ears set high on the head. Longer, broad, and strong, muzzles allow retrieval of heavier game. The dog's profile should be straight or strongly Roman nosed; any dished appearance to the profile is incorrect according to breed standards. Their eyes are generally brown, with darker ones being desirable; yellow or "bird of prey" eyes are a fault. The tail is commonly docked, although that is now prohibited in some countries. In competition, they are penalized if the tail is curved either up or down while the dog is moving. When the GSP is in classic point stance, the tail should be held straight out from the body, forming a line with the pointing head and body. Like all German pointers, GSPs have webbed feet, and are known for going after waterfowl in the water.

The German Shorthaired Pointer is a member of the Sporting Group. In 2016, CJ, a three-year-old German Shorthaired Pointer, won the Best in Show award at the 140th Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show.

Appearance

The German Shorthaired Pointer's coat is short and flat with a dense undercoat protected by stiff guard hairs, making the coat water resistant and allowing the dog to stay warm in cold weather. That allows the dog to be an agile hunter, with high performance in both field and water. The coat can be a dark brown with some lighter brown colors, referred to as "liver" (incorrectly as "chocolate" or "chestnut"), black (although any area of black is cause for disqualification in American Kennel Club-sanctioned shows), white, liver roan, or liver and white.

Health

Most German Shorthaired Pointers are tough, healthy dogs, but the breed can be subject to a number of hereditary disorders due to their breeding. Some of these health disorders include, hypothyroidism, hip dysplasia, osteochondrosis dissecans (OCD), pannus, progressive retinal atrophy (PRA), epilepsy, skin disorders and cancerous lesions in the mouth, on the skin and other areas of the body. As with other breeds, un-spayed female GSPs are prone to breast cancer. This risk is reduced if they are spayed.

A genetic form of lupus, termed exfoliative cutaneous lupus erythematosus (ECLE) has also been recognized in German shorthaired pointer dogs.

Care

The GSP has a median lifespan of 9 years in a Danish survey and 12 years in a UK survey. In the UK survey about 1 in 8 lived to >15 years with the longest lived dog living to 17 years.

History

German hunters spent generations crossing different breeds until the GSP came during the 1800s. They were successful to the point that the GSP is among the top-winning breeds in competitive hunting events. According to the American Kennel Club, it is likely that the GSP is descended from a breed known as the German Bird Dog, which itself is related to the Old Spanish Pointer, introduced to Germany in the 17th century. It is also likely that various German hound and tracking dogs, as well as the English Pointer and the Arkwright Pointer also contributed to the development of the breed. However, as the first studbook was not created until 1870, it is impossible to identify all of the dogs that went into creating this breed. The breed was officially recognized by the American Kennel Club in 1930. World War II affected the breeding of GSP. Toward the end of the war many of the breeders hid their gold, diamonds, their GSPs and more. Then the best dogs were sent to Yugoslavia for safe keeping. Today the GSP ranks 19th among the 155 breeds and it varieties recognized by the AKC.

Current uses

Like the other German pointers (the German Wirehaired Pointer and the less well-known German Longhaired Pointer), the GSP can perform virtually all gun dog roles. It is a pointer and retriever, an upland bird dog, and water dog. The GSP can be used for hunting larger and more dangerous game. It is an excellent swimmer but also works well in rough terrain. It is tenacious, tireless, hardy, and reliable. German Shorthaired Pointers are proficient with many different types of game and sport, including trailing, retrieving, and pointing pheasant, quail, grouse, waterfowl, raccoons, opossum, and even deer.

A GSP after a successful hunt for stubble quail

German Shorthaired Pointers are still currently used as versatile hunting and gun dogs. With their high intelligence and athleticism the German Shorthaired Pointer performs well in many AKC sports such as Agility, Dock Diving, and Obedience. German Shorthaired Pointers are also used in law enforcement for nosework such as the detection of illicit substances.

A gust of morning wind swept in from behind and I loved the look. It's Jay's Fauxhawk and it is the happening do in the windswept forest this spring.

And just to let you know, Sammy is doing well after his last surgery. It took him about a month to really get back to feeling his happy sweet self. He had two tumors removed and one was cancerous but the vet once again got it all. He is now thrice lucky.

Portrait of MIT's Nancy Hopkins:

Nancy Hopkins stands out as one of those rare individuals whose scientific contributions are equaled—if not exceeded—by the profound impact of her advocacy. When I photographed her at the David Koch Institute for Integrative Cancer Research at MIT on October 6, 2023, I was struck not only by her sharp wit and boundless curiosity but also by the deep respect she commands in the scientific community. Time and again, as I’ve spoken with other researchers, her name has come up as a hero. Walking through the halls of MIT, I noticed copies of The Exceptions: Nancy Hopkins and the Fight for Women in Science by Kate Zernike on bookshelves, a testament to the enduring influence of her fight for equality in science.

But to frame Hopkins solely as an advocate for women in science is to overlook the remarkable breadth of her scientific work. She has had a career that spans molecular biology, genetics, and cancer research—fields in which she has made fundamental contributions. Early in her career, she studied under James Watson and Mark Ptashne at Harvard. Her work with Ptashne on the control of gene expression placed her at the epicenter of molecular biology’s formative years. Her early work focused on the mechanics of RNA tumor viruses, a key area of research at a time when the very nature of oncogenesis—the process by which normal cells become cancerous—was still a mystery.

Later, at MIT, Hopkins made a dramatic pivot, shifting her focus to developmental genetics. Her pioneering research with zebrafish helped lay the groundwork for an entirely new way of studying cancer. Zebrafish, with their transparent embryos and rapid development, proved to be a powerful model for studying genetic mutations and tumor formation. Hopkins developed a large-scale genetic screening method using zebrafish that allowed researchers to identify genes involved in early development and disease. This approach has since been used to uncover key genes that contribute to cancer and other human diseases, demonstrating the immense potential of model organisms in biomedical research.

Despite these groundbreaking scientific contributions, much of the broader world knows Nancy Hopkins for her role in confronting systemic gender bias in academia. In the late 1990s, she led a group of tenured MIT women faculty in a landmark study that revealed the extent to which female faculty at MIT were systematically marginalized—given smaller lab spaces, fewer resources, and fewer leadership opportunities compared to their male counterparts of similar accomplishment. It was a reality that many women in science had long suspected but had struggled to quantify. Hopkins and her colleagues, armed with meticulous data and an unrelenting commitment to fairness, presented their findings to the administration. The result was an admission from MIT’s president that gender bias was a real and pressing issue, an acknowledgment that sent shockwaves through the academic world.

But Hopkins is quick to emphasize that she did not fight this battle alone. Her women colleagues at MIT were critical to their collective success. “I led them, but we were bonded, and that is what gave us the power to take on an institution,” she has said. Their unity and shared determination made it possible to challenge the status quo and demand change. Among the 17 tenured women faculty she worked with most closely, four went on to win the U.S. National Medal of Science, and 11 were elected to the National Academy of Sciences. These were not ‘affirmative action’ hires, as some critics might have claimed—they were simply outstanding scientists whose brilliance had long been overlooked and underappreciated.

Over the years, the changes Hopkins and her colleagues helped catalyze have had far-reaching effects. Policies that originated at MIT became models for institutions around the world. Many of the women whose careers they helped elevate have gone on to become leaders in their own right. The shift wasn’t just in lab space allocations or tenure-track appointments—it was in the very culture of science. Today, when young researchers walk into the halls of MIT, they step into an environment shaped, in part, by her relentless pursuit of justice.

As I watched her during our session, I couldn’t help but think about the two parallel arcs of her career. On one hand, a scientist who had redefined what was possible in genetic research. On the other, a champion who had reshaped the landscape of academia itself. Both paths were driven by the same core principle: that knowledge should be pursued freely and fairly, without artificial barriers or outdated prejudices standing in the way.

Nancy Hopkins has never been one to seek the spotlight, but history will remember her as both a scientific pioneer and a tireless advocate. And in the quiet, persistent way that true revolutions unfold, the world of science is forever changed because of her.