A picture is worth $2170.43 and a couple bad words

Here's the X-ray that shows the bone that Jackson swallowed last week. You can see it quite clearly at the top of his stomach just under the spinal column in the left 3rd of the image. While this is an exorbitant amount of money and I know many of you think I'm crazy to drop it on a dog I am so grateful that this happened. I truly believe that things happen for a reason. He had just had a full check up 2 or 3 months ago and either the tumor wasn't there or it was missed. Unless he became symptomatic we wouldn't have found it for another year. By then there would have been no chance to save him. So as it stands he'll have the gland removed tomorrow and we'll monitor him very closely.

How!

Pigtails, polka dots and penises (sp?) are only acceptable if you're an LA dog! Sounds more like the title of a new Hank Moody novel. Jackson had the ultrasound today to see if the cancer had spread to his lymph nodes. The doctor said it looks clear and they appear to be normal size so we're hoping that removing the tumor will keep a recurrence of cancer at bay. Surgery is scheduled for Tuesday.

"I'm sorry but there is a malignant tumor in his right anal gland"

Life really knows how to wallop you when you aren't expecting it. I must say it was never a thought in my head that my sweet gentle boy who's always been the epitome of health would end up with cancer. I envisioned that he would just walk over the rainbow in his sleep at an old decrepit age. I am sure not ready for this.

All I have to say is thank God he swallowed that bone! He had just been in for a check up a couple of months ago and either they missed the tumor or it has just appeared. It was discovered during the pre-op exam the other night. The doc said she thought something didn't feel quite right to her so she wanted to aspirate it. I fully expected that it was just a way to get more money out of me. When I got the call this morning my heart stopped - ok, sank. So now that I've had some time to digest this unthinkable reality I've made some decisions. Jackson goes in tomorrow for an ultrasound of the pelvic area so we can determine whether or not the cancer has spread to his lymph nodes and beyond. We are praying it hasn't so we can proceed with surgically removing the tumor. I am completely against chemo. and/or radiation therapy. I want my dog live as happily and actively as possible. It is really hard to be in this position to effectively play God. We will intervene where we can as long as it is in the DOG'S best interest.

Pump it up

Just heard from the doc... took him about 3 hours to remove the bone from Jacksie's belly even having to pump his stomach. Thankfully there is no noticeable organ perforation but he said his throat is pretty torn up. I had hoped to bring him home tonight but they want to keep him overnight for monitoring and to regulate his pain meds. My poor baby has had some real trauma this year. He'll probably dream of something other than juicy steak bones tonight.

Here we go again

My dog is SO cute and SO dumb. I guess you can't have everything. Jackson swallowed a 6 inch raw steak bone initiating another very expensive visit to the critical care hospital. They took x-rays to see where and how it was positioned to determine how to proceed. They called in a surgeon who will try to extract the bone, which is currently lodged in his stomach, endoscopically. They are confident this procedure will be successful but if not he will have to have surgery to remove it. Poor baby :[ I know he is uncomfortable and is salivating profusely. They cannot induce vomiting because it could perforate not only the stomach but puncture the esophagus on the way up. So they sent me home and said hey would call when it's over and I may even be able to bring him home tonight.

The Hip

I love Canadian band The Tragically Hip. They've been around for over 20 years, enjoy largess in Canada and sell out huge venues. When they travel west they generally play more intimate clubs to a small Canadian ex-pat crowd in the US. Last week they sold out three nights at the Troubadour and I was fortunate to be in the audience one night. The Hip are hall-of-famers from Kingston, Ontario (not too far from my hometown) and have a kind of bluesy, introspectively lyrical sound. The lead singer/song-writer, Gordon Downie, has a soothing natural verbrato to his voice and a natural gift as story-teller. Even after all these years they still rock! At times, the music was a little too loud for the space but didn't detract from the quality. The guitarist is proud of his collection of instruments and played a different one about 10 times. Two sets, two encores, and over two hours of entertainment made it a very satisfying night. These snapshots are from my iphone so they aren't so great.

River Rats

I spent a few years of my early 20's, circa 1993, with friends on the Colorado river between California and Arizona down river from Lake Havasu. We would go for the weekend to boat, ski and party. When I met Damon I learned that he practically spent his childhood with family at Havasu. Yet in 13 years we had never been together, until last weekend. One of his cousins has carried the torch of tradition and camps with her family every year on Lake Havasu. We coordinated a meeting place and decided on a Saturday morning pick-up time. It's a five hour drive so we decided to nab a few hours shut eye and leave in the middle of the night to arrive in the am and avoid any traffic. His cousin was on the dock as scheduled and shuttled us back to camp. They stake out a claim called Three Dunes on the Arizona side of Lake Havasu which is the exact same beach that they used to camp on with their grandparents 35 years ago!

One thing I've always found about the river is how relaxed it forces you to be. We sat with our toes in the water soaking up the sun (which we haven't had much of in LA in a month or more), ate amazing food, played in a horseshoe tournament, slept under the stars and bathed in the lake. One night Damon's cousin took the flashlight and headed away from the beach toward the bushes. She let out a scream. Turns out she bumped into a 3 foot long diamond back rattle snake with 11 splines in its rattler. We had kids in our group so our host wasn't taking any chances and took it's head clean off with a shovel. I had no idea that they are blind and use infra-red heat sensors to detect harm.

It was a wonderful weekend full of sun and fun. Damon's cousin has a beautiful Master Craft with all the bells and whistles - skis, wake boards and even an air chair. Damon tried the air chair and got out of the water for a few seconds. Evidently all the rules of skiing need to be forgotten and a whole new way of thinking employed. (He did much better in actuality than the youngsters). Ten of us sat comfortably in the boat, destination: the famous Copper Canyon. Known for it's debauchery, CC is a cove where on holiday weekends so many boats would crowd in that you could literally walk from boat to boat. Since so many people raised hell the police have been barricading the cove on holidays for years. That day we were one of four boats in the cove. It was beautiful surrounded by harsh desert landscape and 40 foot cliffs that we jumped from. I had never been as far as Havasu so it was a real treat for me to float through the channel under the London Bridge which was sold to an American entrepreneur on the 70's and reconstructed brick by brick on site.

There is something very alluring about the desert and it's hard to leave in your wake. We were having such a good time that we decided to stay an extra day. It was a perfect weekend rekindling life-long relationships and making great new friends.

Jo-burg

Okavango's spell is upon us as we depart this morning. Today is destined to be a looonnnggg travel day. We hitch a ride with Dan back to Kasane by plane and then rekindle with Sims who buses us back to Victoria Falls airport for a flight out to Johannesburg. Luckily we didn't have any use for the fire prevention equipment provided at the air strip! I suspect we would have been in trouble.

The ride back to Zimbabwe from Botswana was a somber one. Botswana is bewitching and difficult to shake. But we were happy to see Sims again if only for a short while. We asked if there was anything we could do for him and his family and friends. He instructed us not to send anything to Zimbabwe as it would more than likely be confiscated by the government on route. If it made it through the duty would be so high that the recipient couldn't pay it and the government would end up with the goods anyway.

Sims' kids attend private school but there was some question about whether or not they would return to school after Christmas holiday. The teachers were anticipating a strike because salaries were so abysmal ($3 USD/month) as a result of escalating inflation. To add insult to injury, according to Sims, the government has mandated that only a certain portion of bank withdrawals will be honored. We now know they in fact did strike and that learners were turned away on opening day.

I forgot to mention earlier that when we entered Botswana we had to walk through poison to kill any remnants of hoof and mouth disease coming from Zimbabwe. I remembered this detail because after the plane doors were closed in Vic Falls, en route to South Africa, they announced that anyone suffering from bronchial disorders should take necessary precautions to cover their mouth and all should hide their eyes as the attendants walked up and down the aisle 4 times spraying some kind of fumigating disinfectant. Yikes!

We touched down in Johannesburg as we had 10 days earlier and reconnected with our Jo-burg guide who drove us into Sandton City's Mandela Square. The affects of Apartheid is still so glaring 20 years later. We passed through shanty towns where electrical lines hang like yarn above make-shift dwellings comprised of any random material available from corrugated metal to tarpaulins. This devastation just one or two blocks removed from gated mansions. Mendela Square itself is surrounded by a shopping center with fancy boutiques such as L.V., Prada, Gucci, and the like again isolated from the neighboring plight of Johannesburg's black citizenry.

The only souvenir of Africa I was interested in acquiring was drums. I had seen some in other locations but all had been a rudimentary interpretation of my vision. We had just enough time after arriving that afternoon to make it to the local marketplace before closing (and a major downpour). We entered the courtyard where peddlers accosted us relentlessly claiming that their bric -a-brac was better, cheaper, more authentic than their colleague's. I strolled around the kiosks, bewildered, until in a corner shop, where the shopkeep was tearing down for the night, I spotted my drums. Way up on a shelf, obscured by tribal masks and animal skins, lay two varying sized Ghana djembe drums - beautifully carved and tautly skinned with the hide of a sacrificial cow. I nonchalantly asked how much the man wanted for each - 900 for the large and 600 for the smaller. The South African Rand is worth roughly 10:1 USD so that would have been about $150 for the pair. That was significantly more than I wanted to spend and significantly more cash than I had on me (we were having a hard time getting cash from the ATM). As I pondered and stewed Patrick and I jabbed each other a little (again with a wonderful sense of humor). He is a gorgeous 30 something year old from Johannesburg. I was trying to grind him down and he was barely budging. I told him what I had in mind to pay but it was less than he was willing to accept. Our banter continued as I plotted how I was going to pay for the transaction. I only had US dollars, which he would have to pay a fee to exchange, and not quite enough of them to meet his demands anyhow so I was trying to scrounge more from my mates. In the meanwhile I said I wasn't going to buy the drums unless he played them for me. He made some excuse about being rusty but finally acquiesced. He played an INCREDIBLE beat for a few minutes and made it look effortless. I've subsequently experienced just how hard it actually is. As I was spouting accolades he impressed on me that a good djembe drummer doesn't just pull it out of the air. He said, at least for him, the inspiration, the beat, the passion comes from deep within and happens spontaneously. With this information we set off on a more spiritual conversation. We finally agreed on the low, low price of 950 Rand for both drums, though there may have been a hint of reluctance on his part. He wrapped them in wads of paper for me so they wouldn't nick during my travels. We were leaving tomorrow for Camp Mala Mala in north eastern South Africa. Mission accomplished. Now I just had to figure out how to transport them! Thankfully Cheryl had a large duffel bag that she had no intention of using and it was a perfect fit. We lugged our newly acquired keepsakes back to our hotel just as the sky opened up to refresh the "greenest city in Africa".

This evening was nothing extraordinarily memorable just the group getting together for drinks and a meal on the square before retiring early so we could make our 6 am wake-up call. But what was memorable is our first night in Johannesburg 10 days or so earlier.

After a 20 hour flight & lost luggage drama we were excited to get out on the town for some fun. We were pumped about being in Africa and in a celebratory mood. Beth had traveled on one of these excursions before and knew that dinners and spending could get out of hand so she talked Cheryl and I into avoiding that scene and going off for a threesome. We roved around the shopping mall a bit looking for the food court. There were lots of interesting choices - no Mickie D's but KFC was there - but we settled on pizza. We decided to share a wood-fired BBQ curry chicken on flatbread pizza. OMG! I'm not a pizza lover but this was THE best pizza I've ever had. Delish. From there we were in search of libations but a side trip to the gelato bar held us up. Outside a few restaurants and bars face the square. A light rain made it feel clean and fresh in the night air and made the Christmas lights sparkle like twinkling stars. We wandered around taking it all in and looking for just the right setting to have a night cap. Settling on Caffe Della Salute the jammin' urban music lured us in. Beth and I wanted to try some good South African wine but Cheryl prefers cocktails. She ordered a banana banshee from the signature menu. Good conversation accompanied by cool grooves and ambiance topped off our first night in Africa and set the stage for what proved to be the trip of a lifetime.

Unforgettable

I suggested in an earlier post that our last night in Botswana was to be a very special one. We followed the hand-made fern arrows to the "mansion" where others were gathered with cocktails in hand and some cool urban African sounds on the stereo. Lori had arranged for a bon voyage soiree for our friends who had to get back to the states. Camp Okavango staff were invited to join us and we spent some time sharing laughs and capturing their images for posterity. And then all of a sudden we heard this thunderous distant sound. As it drew near we realized it was music and chanting from a gathering of on and off duty staffers. They corralled in front of us and shared their sacred traditions. The camp managers had their cameras poised and Benito was enthusiastically jubilant. I said, "you look like you've never seen this before" and he replied, "they've never done it before - I think you all inspired them". It was one of the most memorable nights of my life. They sang and danced and squealed. Ben, donning palm fronds around his shoulders like blades of a warrior, chanted a hand-written song backed up by the cat calls of the ladies. Then Limit took center stage with his reed grass skirt turned percussion instrument as he gyrated to another traditional song. We cheered them on until they ran out of songs. It was magical! They had us all join them in a sort of conga line and we all danced over to the dining room, stopping only for the baby mambo to scurry across our path. I haven't been able to load my video so here are a few stills of the dancers.

They had the dinner tables set up in one long formal banquet style table with white linens and many of the staff tabled with us. The chef presented the beautifully prepared talapia that Harold caught earlier in the evening. It was slim pickin's since it wasn't that big but boy was it good as was the rest of another exceptional meal.

After dinner we took an Amarula (a cocktail made from the fruit of the Marula tree) out to the fire pit and had some laughs and great conversation. You forget being from the Northern hemisphere that there is a whole other sky of constellations. And in the bush night where there is NO pollution of any kind to obscure your view it feels as though you can pluck the stars out of the universe. We observed the Southern Cross and Centaurus among others I'd never seen before. This is where I fell in love with Gabs. He is without question the most beautiful person I've set my eyes on - his perfect physical features that is. I didn't spend enough time with him to know his heart but I found him very intelligent and insightful during conversation even though he lacked charisma and that certain je ne sais quois. Oh well, I guess you can't have everything. Here's his gorgeous face. I have corresponded with Gabs since returning and will continue as a pen pal until I get the opportunity to host him in California. He told me that his only visit to the states was to Orlando, Florida, which is the worst representation of the USA. Hopefully he'll make it to the west coast someday.

Redwood Bar & Grill

Since I first heard of this kitschy little place I've wanted to go and the opportunity arose when a friend asked if we wanted to celebrate a birthday there. Downtown LA has gone through an amazing transformation. It's gone from being a place where mass exodus happens at 6pm to an evening destination. The city developers and planners have done a good job of encouraging people, other than skid row dwellers, to live down there so there has to be something for them to do locally. There's great restaurants, theater, museums, sporting events, shopping and clubs. The Redwood is a landmark and a sort of jumping off point for many bands. Its a cheap cover and if you get there early enough there's usually time to hear four bands play. The door man's a bit of a dick but you can forgive his attitude when you see the decent list of beer they carry.

The Redwood Bar & Grill is decorated in a nautical theme like that of the captain's quarters equipped with with all the loot - wenches, rum casks, skulls. The menu is decent and the prices are fair. If you come late there's standing room only but the band is audible from every nook in the bar. The best viewing, however, comes from the main stage area. One of the best things about this place is the diverse group of people it attracts. The bands are all different so you're bound to run into a quirky variety of listeners.

The first band, Two Dollar Bash, was an eclectic group of Scots and a Frenchman living and recording in Germany with a very folksy, bohemian Irish traditional sound. Huh? But it worked. It worked so well we actually purchased a CD from them. The next band was a couple of freaks from Tuscon called, appropriately, Mission Freaks. They had an interesting sound but used so much strobe lighting I thought I was going to have a seizure. The female singer of the next group had some amazing pipes (rack and back, too) and blew the house away. As did her female drummer. But the last was an old time punker band, unimpressive enough for me to forget their name, with a front man being one of the biggest a-holes I've ever seen. We took this Sid-Vicious attitude as an exit queue and left the building before bottles flew.