Rhan's World

They're only words.... NOT!

2008-06-08T05:08:00.000-07:00

Words: our words and the way we use them has been on my mind a lot recently and I want to share with you my thoughts about them and their power.

I recently had the pleasure of teaching a music workshop, and one of the first things I discussed was the importance of stating our musical growth in the positive, rather than in the negative.

"I have terrible rhythm" doesn't leave much room for improvement, does it?
Once could just as easily say, "I haven't had much rhythm, but I'm working on changing that," and still be honest in saying so. That at least, leaves the door open for improvement.

Even more recently, while attending a workshop with the incredible Joe Craven, he reiterated this concept, albeit in a slightly different way: he called it the "Aunt Sally" speech.

In his example, he took on the voice of an elderly woman recalling how she had no talent - never did. It all went to her sister, Sally, who could play anything.

"Your Aunt Sally got all the talent,"she would say regretfully.

Joe doesn't go for this approach, and he proceeded to pick someone out of the audience who had never played anything, gave them his fiddle, and taught them how to play rhythm.

Any of us can tap into rhythm and creativity in we would just stop getting in our own way!

Then, on a Dr. Phil show,the host was counseling a family who were complaining about an in-law and in the process, they were calling the in-law all sorts of awful names: evil, catastrophic, etc. He started by pointing out how words can create a situation that is much larger than it really is.

Is it really catastrophic that this woman caused some trouble, or is it catastrophic when a typhoon or earthquake kills thousands of people?

I am talking about the words we use, and how, if we are not conscious of their use, they can adversely effect our lives.

"I have no talent, " does us an injustice.

Calling it an "awful day" when it is indeed only raining puts an unnecessary negative spin on something we have no control over.

"I feel like I'm walking on eggshells - having to watch every word I say," is something I have heard regarding the idea of monitoring our wording.

To that I say this: If you want your words to have the impact they are intended to have, then yes - you must be aware of what you say and while it might seem at first to be a laborious act, I have found that it gets easier as we learn new ways to phrase things and they are incorporated into our vocabulary.

In the book, "Man, The Manipulator" it was said that all of our words have an impact on others one way or another, whether we intend them to or not. To be aware of that impact gives us more control over our lives and the responses we receive.

"Live your life on purpose!"

I heard that just the other day while watching a lecture on television, the speaker discussing how we attract energy into our lives.

On a related subject - I was working at the home of a client that owned two springer spaniel dogs who where quite misbehaved.

Jumping up on the table to beg for food, they were verbally reprimanded while simultaneously given the food they were seeking. At yet another time, while riding in the car with them, one dog kept climbing into the front seat (over and on top of me). My client yelled at the dog to go into the back while he was petting him.

While these examples may seem more likely geared toward animal behavior, they point out how consistency in word and action are important to get what we want in life.

Taking a class to learn while declaring oneself incapable of learning is a lose-lose situation.

Better to search within ourselves and find the truth: "I used to be...," "I am improving," or possibly, "I don't want to learn this."

That puts the power back in our corner and allows us to change our minds should we decide to.

Which brings me to the subject of control: control over our lives as opposed to turning over control to others, real or imagined.

Have you ever heard someone present a problem and then proceed to negate all possible solutions?

"I need a ride to the store but can't get one."
"Well, how about a taxi?"
"Oh, that is too expensive."
"Can you call a friend?"
"Oh, who is going to want to go out of their way to do that?"
"How about checking in the with senior center for volunteers?"
"They're too busy, and besides, some of them make me nervous."
"How about..."

Would it not have been easier in the first place to have simply said, "I need a ride to the store. Would you give me one?" or " I need a ride, but it isn't that important right now to arrange one."

That is being honest and saves a lot of time and frustration for both parties. It also gets the intended response. (Unless of course, there is a game of "Poor Me" going on, which is a whole other subject.)

"Live your life on purpose!"

Remember that as you go about your day. Speak the truth, but better yet, spend some time thinking about what the truth really is. What are you trying to say?

Are you really untalented, or were you told that once and believed it?

You are what you say you are, so tap into that "I can be anything" energy and let that be the truth.

In Memory of Geno

2008-05-02T05:48:00.000-07:00

My friend and fellow ukulele player Geno Galli passed away yesterday morning.

I got the call from Andy, his very good friend and someone who knew I really cared about Geno and would want to know as soon as possible.

The phone call came on my cell phone and that only really matters because I am out in the country in Pennsylvania right now and cell service is spotty. I sensed I knew why Andy was calling me, but wanted to talk on a land line, as sometimes the cell phone cuts off, and I didn't want that to happen as he told me what I though he might be telling me. It worked however, and I learned that Geno had passed away quietly and peacefully in his sleep that morning.

I listened and thanked Andy for calling me and for taking care of Geno these last months, and told him how sorry I was.

It wasn't until I told Rick who was sitting the kitchen, that my voice broke and a tear came to my eye.

Such a long struggle. Such a great guy.

We weren't as close as some - Andy for instance, who had known him for years and years and had together experienced the ups and downs of life and who together had planned on someday being able to hang out with their wives in Hawaii somewhere, surfing and growing old together.

But I knew and loved him nevertheless. Seeing him at the Uke Club meetings, Saturday morning play alongs, and Sundays when I could make it.

I asked him if he would play the part of an Italian waiter for a skit in my Christmas show because, well, he was as Italian and would fit the role perfectly. He happily accepted the part and seemed to have such a great time doing so.

It was just a few months ago that I learned, we all learned, that he was very sick with liver cancer. Several trips to the hospital, transfusions, and all the ups and downs of chemotherapy were all part of his routine to follow.

I didn't get to visit him, or should I say, I didn't make the concerted effort to make it happen.
I guess that at first I thought I had plenty of time to visit and that I would later. Then, little by little I put it off, feeling a bit uncomfortable about not getting around to it, and wondering if I were being selfish for not doing so.

I asked Andy often about his health and asked that he be told that I really cared about him.

Then, as I was getting ready to come to Pennsylvania I tried to see him, but he was just not up for it.

I sent him a card, hoping that he would be reminded of me and that I was thinking of him.

All the while I had been reminded of my late partner, Neil, who underwent months and months of suffering with lymphoma. The tests, the chemo, up and down, in and out of the hospital, wasting away with the most positive attitude he could summon, which was by far better than I could manage under the circumstances.

Perhaps that is why I didn't quite bring myself to visit Geno in time. Though it has been almost six years since Neil passed away, the memory is still right there under the surface. That's what I was referring to when I wondered if I was being selfish. I cold have mustered the strength, made time, and not let fear get in the way, as Geno would advise. But I didn't and I must trust that I made the right choice at the right time.

But it is his wife Emily and friend Andy who I think of the most now. Geno is in a better place now - without suffering or worry. But it is those of us living who now must go on without his physical presence, who must wake up every morning and remind themselves that life is forever changed and yet still must go on.

I think of what a wonderful and unique community of friends we, the Ukulele Club of Santa Cruz, have in each other. We are all so blessed.

Geno, I will miss you - your smiling face, leading the group in Capitola, singing "That's Amore" with all the gusto imaginable, and being in my show. Know that you have touched so many people in so many ways and that your spirit will forever be present in all of us.

Idiots and Fools

2008-04-08T09:12:00.000-07:00

Am I angry? Am I resentful? Disillusioned?

No. No. And... yes!

In a crazy burst of creative energy, I recently donned an outfit for a new character I've apparently created and made a video claiming to be the "real" author of a song that is in fact, that of my good friend and client (I'm her manager and producer) Celina Gutierrez.

My "claim" is so absurd - I am in drag, drinking from an oversized brandy snifter I got at WallMart, with other clips of me so obviously bullshitting; yet a few people actually have posted insulting remarks on the video page, thinking I am really claiming to own that song I am referring to.

(Okay, Celina did send out an email saying that this someone, me, was making an erroneous claim to her song, but once there - can't you see it's a joke? C'mon people!)

What really makes me wonder about people, is that there are many posts that acknowledge the joke... right there under the video.

Of course, taking chances with art and creativity will always unearth the least creative, as demonstrated by an email I received from another artist (that I won't bother to go into).

Taking chances is just that - I am taking a chance that people will recognize the inspiration from Jamie Fox, Jim Carey, Milton Berle, and countless others who have created exaggerated characters like this one.

On the other hand, I am happy to have my work strike a nerve in people - it means it is being seen, but I just wish people would take a second to think about something before writing comments like that. It just makes them look stupid.

sigh... here's the video:

Playing God at the Mariott

2008-01-17T07:58:00.000-08:00

Gee, what a mysterious title I gave this post! It might seem as if I held someone's life in my hand while staying overnight at a fancy hotel.

Actually, it's not really about God or holding life, but rather about a landscaping job I just finished at the Mariott hotel.... (this is where the movie fades into a flashback).

A few months ago I was hired to create a small waterfall at a friend's house in Scotts Valley. This friend, "Willie" (I am actually using his real name, but I like the quotes anyway) had recently done some excavating work and there was this hillside that just begged for a waterfall.

I could totally see it in my mind and, after convincing him that this vision I was having for his backyard would be worth it, he gave me the go-ahead.

So I started digging a little here and there, purchased a truckload of rocks, a pond liner, and some plants, and began to create a man made "natural" waterfall.

He mentioned to me in the process that he would have to show it to his neighbor who is also a landscaper.

I thought to myself, "Sure... show it to him and everyone else you can. I love showing off my work. Heck, maybe I will get another job out of it. "

Several days later the pond and waterfall took shape as I hand selected each and every rock, inspected it, turned it over and over and decided whether it would go here or there, or nowhere.

"I am creating and I mustn't be rushed!" I tell myself and anyone else who might have overheard me talking to myself.

Well, a couple of weeks later it was done and I turned it on and "voila!", the water flowed just like I imagined it would. I began planting little grasses and ivies, and ferns from elsewhere in the redwoods, trying to make it look as if it had always been there.

Willie was thrilled, as was I.

Then I got a phone call from Willie saying the the landscaper neighbor saw my work and wanted to hire me to work with him on a project at the Mariott.

THE MARIOTT!!!!!!!???????

Yes, the Santa Clara Mariott. Yes, me.

I went over to meet the neighbor, Toby, and asked him what this was all about.

"I liked the way you placed your grasses, " he said. "I need someone to help install the entryway of the hotel - the most visible and important part of this big landscape we are installing, and I can tell you have the artistic eye to do it."

"You can tell that by this little pond?" I wondered. Okay, we will see...

(There is a whole other story that goes in here about me wondering if I should take this job, as it would change the direction of my life... but that's, as I said, another story.)

So a couple of weeks later I get this phone call saying that I needed to be in Santa Clara at the hotel ready to work at.... 7:30..... AM!

Sorry for those of you who regularly get up and are at work at this time, but for this "artist", I usually get UP around that time and spend the next couple of hours writing emails, puttering around and waking up at my own speed.

This would mean that I would be getting up, dressed, and at work before the sun rose. Yuck!

So I set my alarm, dragged myself out of bed, and got there by 7:30 AM.

As soon as I got out of the car I was greeted with things like:

"Okay, where do you want the boulders? The crane and crew is waiting!"

"Which ones do you want? The forklift driver needs to know..."

"What's it going to look like from the back?"

"It needs to be done by Monday!" (less than a week away)

Remember when I mentioned that this little pond I did took me a couple of weeks?

Well, here was this HUGE project involving cranes, forklifts, and boulders, and it needed to be done in days, not weeks.

I asked for a little time to "get acquainted with the space" and to "see" what it was going to look like and then I would jump in. They moved on to other pressing matters.

I moseyed around the boulders feeling totally lost, until I found "Half Dome".

I ran back to the entryway and saw it's future location, then ran back to the boulders to see if it would work. I could see it! I would create Yosemite right there at the Mariott!!!

I would put Half Dome right there, and then Nevada and Vernal falls would wrap around the back. The Merced river would flow down from the waterfall... up here would be Tuolomne Meadows... it all came into view and I, master of the universe, would create it! (This is where a beam of sun shone down on me through the clouds and a band of angels began singing.)

A couple of workers were sent to help me, and in my best broken Spanish, I directed them to "put 2 rocks there" and to "dig a hole deeper". Little by little the landscape began to take shape and the flight attendants, pilots and valets all started to stop and marvel as this natural wonder took shape right before their very eyes.

It all got done in time, thanks to the work of several hard working laborers, and I managed NOT to get hurt or too sore in the process.

I am glad I forced myself to get up early, and to take the job in the first place. The place looks great and I have had many compliments. My buddy Stan came by to see it and I can't wait to show it off to my other friends over a cocktail or two.

It doesn't look like Yosemite to anyone else, but I see it. I made it.

Us Vs. Them - Politics and Life

2008-01-16T15:08:00.000-08:00

As much as I am loathe to discuss politics anywhere, I find myself wanting to comment on it's insidious nature, as demonstrated by a recent gathering I hosted. Allow me to explain:

Recently, my partner and I offered to help a local friend and political candidate by hosting a meet and greet at our house. The objective, in my mind, was to introduce her to some of my friends and acquaintances and offer an opportunity to ask real questions in real time about the political process: hers in particular, and what she was planning to do should she win the election.

It all began quite nicely, I must say. Honest questions about directions she would take and honest answers, it would seem, about the reality of any one politician being able to do a lot in a short time. (Not likely, as I understand it.)

Then the subject changed to a local topic, namely a housing development in a small town in our area. Obviously a hot button issue, I quickly saw the group's energy polarize as one of the guests voiced questions in seeming opposition.

He was answered with statements like:

"Would you rather have 5 McMansions instead of dozens of homes, some of which would be affordable housing?"

The word NIMBYism was thrown about a few times.

And suddenly the room was tense, as this guest continued to ask questions - real questions, thought out, polite and brave, considering the majority of the room seemed to be in agreement to the contrary.

As for me, I certainly didn't feel comfortable voicing my opinions with these friends, as I found myself leaning towards those of the "enemy", as he was later referred to, though for different reasons which I needn't get into.

No, the reason for getting together was to ask and learn about the canidate, not to argue local politics. At least that is what I had been thinking.

But let's put all that aside for a moment and let me opine on what I think is really the problem:
The problem is that we keep expecting a politician to perform for our state or country what we can't even do with a living room full of friends, namely listen and be respectful. To gang up and jump on someone stating their concerns is NOT the way to behave, I am certain.

We don't all agree and that's the way it is. Now what?

For a group of people claiming to represent the little people, the have nots, the less fortunate... for those who decry the intolerance of others.... well, let me say that I saw little tolerance that evening.

Again, allow me to ask the question, "How and why do we expect politicians to do that which we cannot do ourselves?"

Me versus you. Us versus them. Poor versus rich. Gay versus straight. Democrat versus Republican... It's all selfish and bullshit.

We are all one people on one planet and the sooner we stop defending ourselves against each other, the sooner we will see problems diminish. The sooner we stop dividing ourselves among ourselves...

Needless to say, that is the last time I will offer to host anything political again, as it is clear that people weren't really there to learn anything, but rather to find support to further dig their heels in deeper in their beliefs.

But then again, this is just my opinion.

I am still a customer

2007-12-08T00:23:00.000-08:00

This afternoon I got a phone call from a local bakery, THE local bakery if you ask some people, and I was thrilled. That is, I was thrilled until the caller started speaking.

Let me give you a little bit of what preceded this phone call:
As you know, I am putting on a show. My first real show, "An Altared Christmas LIVE" and to pay for my expenses, I have been selling ads in the program. Someone very close to me told me that the owners of this bakery, let's call them Dale and Jo, often advertise in performing arts programs like mine.

So I call up Dale's Bakery and leave a voice mail for the person in charge of donations. That was last week.
So I called up again a few days later and left a voice mail for the person in charge of donations. Still no response.

So today, when I was in Dale's Bakery buying $80 worth of fruitcake for my upcoming show, I asked if this woman was in.
No, but I could leave her a note.

So I did. I explained that I had left 3 messages, and that I was a very good friend of someone who if really good friends with Dale and Jo, that I was putting on a show, and that I would appreciate a phone call back.

I was careful not to say anything about how I thought it was not very good business to not answer business calls in a timely manner. I didn't know if my messages might have been erased by accident, as that is apt to happen from time to time.

I also tried to stick to the facts - how many times I called, who I was, and what I wanted.

So here the phone rings this afternoon, and when I hear it is so and so from Dale's Bakery, I am excited!
WRONG!!!!

"I didn't appreciate your note at all!" was the response. "You called TWICE - I have the saved voice messages to prove it. Once last Thursday, and once on ... We get 50 calls a day for donations and we don't donate to shows like yours. Only to non-profits."

"I am so sorry, " I beg. " I didn't mean to have an attitude. I was just trying to explain..."

"Well, your note DID have attitude. I just have to be honest with how I feel."

So that was my phone call this afternoon. I tried to behave politely, and we ended the conversation nicely - she got to vent about how busy she was, and I begged forgiveness for something I didn't really do.

Now, a few hours later, after a very nice gig at the Kuumbwa Jazz Center, I come home to wind down a bit before retiring.

You know what I think, to be "honest"?

FUCK THAT SHIT!
I am a customer. I have been buying coffee and breakfast at that bakery for 20+ years! I call on their published phone number, enter the extension for the person in charge of donations, and after nearly a week of unreturned phone calls, I leave a decently polite note asking for a call back.

She reads the note, checks her voice mail records, and calls me back. Not to do her job, but to scold me for my note and to complain about how busy she is and how many requests they get for donations.

You know what? I don't care! Perhaps if her message stated that it would take time to respond, or if she called and said that she was busy and would get back to me, or several other professional responses - that would have been good for both of us, and for the reputation of the business she was hired to represent.

Yes, I am a customer, and the last time I checked - I was the most important part of a business! I and my family, my friends, and everyone on my email list, are the most important people to their business, and though I don't really think they should kiss my ass, I DO think they should kiss my ass.

I spent more today on fruitcake that I should have. I could have gone to Costco, spent $20 and no one would have noticed the difference. I did it because I wanted to support a local business. I didn't do it because I wanted them to buy an ad, though it would have been nice.

No. I am a customer, yet I was treated like I was some irritating sore on this woman's work day. Not good for business, I must say. It will be a long time before I drive all the way across town with my mom and sister to Capitola, past The Buttery and countless other places that have wonderful baked goods, just to be another number at Dale's Bakery.

I just had to be honest.

A License to Play The Tambourine

2007-11-29T07:31:00.000-08:00

This is a difficult thing to write about, as I am fully aware of how snobby it can sound. Nevertheless, I will write it and hope that you understand what I am saying.

Twice in the last week I have encountered a situation where someone wonders why they can't play along with my group. I will explain:

The first time this happened, I was at a music gathering at the beach where I go to play ukuleles with a bunch of folk. A woman pulled me aside and asked me if I was one of the "Altared Christmas guys." I replied that I was "THE Altared Christmas guy, thank you, " and she proceeded to advise me to keep my songs shorter for the upcoming Uke Club show, as other people would lose interest and possibly walk out if the songs went on too long.

I listened politely to her comment and explained that I think that people have much too short of attention spans these days, and that I like to challenge that as much as possible.

She then said, "And why can't we sing along? Would it be that bad if we did?"

"How would you know what to sing?" I replied. "I change the song a lot when we perform it. Besides, I don't think there is anything wrong in asking you to simply listen. All of us have so many opportunities to play and sing along together. There are ukulele sing alongs at least three times a week all over town."

She listened to my comments and did say that she understood a little better now that I explained myself.

She had not really remembered me, yet she had held on to this information for a year and felt it necessary to "help me" by letting me know how I could adjust my art so she could be comfortable. She never once said anything that she did like, not the concept, the musicianship, nor how the audience were ecstatic with it in general.

No, she wanted to sing along. She felt it perfectly alright to let me study music my whole life, rehearse the band week after week, haul a truckload of props to the club, set up the PA system, and then invite everyone to join in.

The more I thought about it, the more annoyed I got. Yes, I want to be polite and listen to people's comments, as they are the ones that I am playing for, but there is also a little thing called nerve. On the other hand, I am grateful. Grateful, because now I am even more determined to hold my ground and do what I think is right.

The second incident was not nearly as inappropriate as the first, just another situation - it was suggested that we make available shakers and noisemakers for the audience at a show we are developing. "People like to play along, " it was said.

"That is absolutely the worst possible thing you can do." I replied.

"I have seen a 50+ drum circle completely fall apart in seconds simply because one off-time tambourine player decided to join in. Tambourines can either heal or destroy, depending on the skill of the player. They should be licensed."

The reaction to this comment was less than well-taken.

Now, let me explain one thing: I realize the joy of playing together, and I think that all people of any skill should have the opportunity to join in the joymaking. How else can one learn, if not by trying? And music is not measured by how perfect it is, but by the joy it brings. I certainly would never want to squelch a child's enthusiasm for music by scolding him or her for not being "on time" but teaching a child when it's time to "listen" is a valuable lesson as well.

There are many wonderful situations where one can pick up shakers, noisemakers, and play. Likewise, there are lots of ways to sing along. And many acts want people to join in- their music accommodates that involvement. I encourage everyone to play and make their heart happy.

Just not during a show. Not when someone has worked hard to present something unique. Not when others are around who want to listen. Not when you have not been asked.

Feeling Blessed

2007-11-08T14:40:00.000-08:00

I just got off the phone with Tammi Brown, a singer I have in the "Altared Christmas LIVE" show I am producing in a few weeks.
Nothing special about the conversation - just confirming a rehearsal we are having soon, but when I hung up the phone I noticed that I was grinning like like I had a schoolboy crush.

You see, as I work through the nervousness of putting on a show, I am constantly reminded that I am getting so much positive energy for my work. I feel so truly blessed - feeling that I am able to receive that which I ask for, and hoping... hoping that I am able to return the same energy back to others.

It's as if though I have been hiking up a long, long trail; wondering how long it will take before I get to a level spot where I can enjoy the view I had heard so much about. Suddenly I round a corner and there before me lay an immense vista, so beautiful I cannot help but smile at.

That is where I am at now. Smiling, but still aware that I must be careful not to slip backwards, or worse yet, off the trail entirely.

So many people have come through for me in regards to this show. Business people I know have easily offered to purchase ads for my program, and a couple have offered support in the form of money with no strings attached.

The show is already sold out, due mostly to the wonderful people of the Santa Cruz Ukulele Club. It seems thay rather like what I do and are willing to pay to see me do it. It is an odd feeling for me to experience, but I better get used to it fast, as not having faith in myself will be what could send me slipping off that path I mentioned earlier.

It's all good I remind myself, as I sip on a Chai at the Bagelry in Soquel, CA.

I am on my way up to Tim Prince's Ridgetop Recording studio to give him the final mixes of a CD I am producing for Celina Gutierrez, another blessing I have been given this last year. This is the first of what I hope are many recordings I will be part of in the coming months. It is really an enjoyable process and is really what I have always wanted to do.

So, wherever you are, whatever you are doing - allow yourself to smile at what you are given, and if it is something else you want, then smile with the realization that you are able to begin that journey right now.

There is a beautiful vista ahead of us and a whole life ahead to wander into the valley and explore.

Blessings.

Rhan Wilson

Last Night's Rehearsal

2007-10-24T08:59:00.000-07:00

Good morning Santa Cruz!
No special topic to write about this morning - having my coffee and slowly bringing the world into focus.
Last night I had the first Altared Christmas rehearsal of the year with Bob Burnett, Patti Maxine, and Matt Bohn.

As it seems to be my rehearsal style, I probably talked too much and over explained everything, and the first part of the rehearsal had me thinking, "Oh my, is this ever going to make sense?"

Soon however, after the talking had been done, the break had been taken, and we resumed our places in my cramped, little rehearsal space, the music started again and it began to sound the way I was hoping it would - inspired.

This is the hardest of the music I am doing for the show. It is also the easiest. Not much to it really - jazzy, solos... but it is the connection between the artists that must be there, and to create a connection with just a few rehearsals is a challenge.

I so look forward to it.

I hope you all can make it to the show.

Click on I WANT TO KNOW ABOUT AN ALTARED CHRISTMAS!

Signs of Peace

2007-10-09T07:37:00.000-07:00

It occurs to me from time to time that some people may wonder why I am collecting peace signs on the web (see www.signsofpeace.com). After all, anyone can flash a peace sign or stick on a bumper sticker - heck, it's a trendy thing to do nowadays and even The Gap uses a peace sign in it's advertising campaign.
Shouldn't we be actively protesting the war, getting involved in community projects and visiting schools - educating people?

Of course, those are excellent ways to get involved in our community and thank goodness for people who are doing those very things, but that isn't what my web site is about.

I am simply asking people to take the time to notice what is around them, then to make the effort to take a picture and send it to me. It is that act in itself , I believe, that can bring about some personal awareness of the idea of peace.

Is "peace" a sticker on a car's bumper? Maybe. It took effort of some sort to put that sticker there, and even a little more effort for you (or me) to grab a camera or cell phone and take the picture and email it. Then, when I get it, I spend time on the computer putting it on the web site. Other people look at the site, and tell their friends about it, hopefully.

All this awareness of a "sign of peace" certainly can't hurt, can it?

Does a morning walk on the beach or in the woods bring about an inner peace? Send me a picture!

You see, this isn't really about politics and the war, nasty things as those are. It is about peace and generating more of it, however it may happen.

I don't bring up politics and the war on my site because that seems to bring up all sorts of feelings: aggravation, anger, frustration - feelings that are sort of the opposite of peace.

Instead, I prefer to paint a picture of what I want to see and feel and then think about that.

What?

Well, if I say to you: "Don't think about lemons!", what is the first thing you think of?

That is why I am simply asking for you to be aware of "signs of peace" and then make the effort to get pictures to me. It is that effort that I really want from you. Please don't point me to a web site with peace signs or tell me the address of a house that is near you that I should take a picture of - I simply don't have the time to do all this myself, that is why I ask you to help me - to help yourself.

Though this may seem like a guilt trip - begging you to do something - please don't think that. No worries - many of you have sent me photos, and there are many peace signs I have seen and not photographed - all in good time, my friends - all in good time.

It's just that I have been wanting to write about this for some time now. It is a peaceful morning, there is dew on my ginger plants and the bamboo..., well, the bamboo is just amazing this foggy morning... towering high above my garden... so peaceful...

Ukulele Magic

2007-09-21T08:14:00.000-07:00

Hello Folks,

A comment written on yesterday's blog has prompted me to write something I have meaning to write for a long time - and that is that playing the Ukulele in Santa Cruz has been one of the most wonderful things I have ever done.

For those of you who don't know, it was about three years ago that Rick McKee, aka Ukulele Dick invited me to perform one of my Altared Christmas songs for the Ukulele Club of Santa Cruz. I met Rick for 40 years ago (!) when he gave me some of my first guitar lessons. He and his friends were living in one of the apartments my mom owned back then. (More about those times later.)

So Rick, Katie, Sandor and Eric (who I had never met before) and I rehearsed a few times in preparation for this Christmas Party I had been hearing about. I remember clearly the enthusiastic reponse we got when we were done. I remember selling more CDs at one time than I had ever sold before, and more importantly, I remember feeling like I had just made 200 best friends.

That feeling was what brought me back again and again. I was invited to play in the house band, per McKee's recomendation, as a soloist (I didn't know any chords) and I found that easy and fun. Then, as I learned to transpose my guitar chords, I found new joy in playing this little instrument in its full capacity.

One day while visiting Rick at his shop, he informed me that he had a Ukulele that a friend of his wanted to sell. As luck would have it, the owner stopped by and Barry Perlman and I have since become good friends. At the time, I was planning a trip to Ohio to take a vocal workshop from John Cowan, a bluegrass singer I had discovered while at Merlefest. I was not used to singing in front of people, and I wasn't sure about going off to the other side of the country to take a class.

I mentioned to Barry what I was planning, not thinking he would even know who John was when he said, "Oh, John is a wonderful singer. He is a client of ours (Renaissance Guitar Company) and a good friend. You should definitely go!"

I bought the Ukulele, went on my trip, took the workshop, sang, and when I returned, I returned a different person. It was a subtle change, but a change nonetheless. John's simple statement that "singing is a gift to be shared" stayed with me. It gave me permission...

The welcoming and appreciative audience at the Ukulele Club also gave me permission. They offered me a place where I could hone my music skills in a safe environment; away from competition, judgment, and snobbiness.

I have since played in the house band (the band that plays during dinner and before the main act) several times, and played a full set of "An Altared Christmas" last year opening for Ian McKellan. It looks like I am going to do it again this year as well.

Every Saturday morning at 10am another group meets on the Beach near the Crow's Nest; chatting, sipping their coffees and starting off the weekend with two hours of ukulele music.

What I find magical about these meetings is that though the songs may not start smoothly, or even start at all - everyone has a wonderful time. It makes me think again about why I play music in the first place.

Sure, I have always aspired to play with the best musicians possible, and I have. I have played most of the stages in this town and many in San Fransisco, Eugene and Portland. I love plugging in my electric guitar, jamming on soul music, funk grooves, and recording CDs. But now I have added one more qualification to my music, and that is that it must be fun, and must be with a good spirit and with wonderful people. People that I would like to see as often as possible, and people that I would call my friends - my best friends.

And finally, though I often find myself teaching some of these players a trick or two, (I taught my first workshop the other day at Burning Uke) I want you all to know that it is I who have also been learning: learning about community, friendship, and the magic of the ukulele.

Thank you.

Been Awhile Since I've Written

2007-09-20T07:56:00.000-07:00

Gee folks,
It's been so long since I have written anything here - I had to reset my password 'cause I forgot it and seriously, my dog ate part of my password "cheat sheet" along with all my guitar straps that were made of leather (which is all of them).

I have been working on so many things lately, that I decided to write about them here instead of in an email. Really, I want your feedback on my emails - are they too long, too short? Do you like reading, or are you too busy. Anyway, I am writing here now.

I just got back from "Burning Uke" - a weekend of camping, partying and playing the ukulele. What fun, really. Nothing wild like Burning Man, although I did lead a pagan-like ritual where we danced, chanted, and "burned" the Uke. Normally, when there isn't a fire danger, the giant Ukulele actually gets burned, but this time we couldn't. Instead, I hear it will go on a mini tour to be displayed here and there.

Meanwhile, I have been working with Celina Gutierrez on her upcoming CD, acting as producer and studio musician. Our hope is to have it out by the Holidays. So far, the music is sweet and sounding real nice.

Speaking of CDs - Bob Burnett has just released his CD, "When You Hear Music" and it's available at CD Baby. I am on a few tracks playing percussion, and my first ever credit for playing "Glockenspiel"!

And speaking of the Holidays - I am putting the 2nd annual "Altared Christmas - LIVE" show, this time to be performed at the Cayuga Vault in Santa Cruz, CA. There won't be many seats available, so order tickets NOW, seriously! (Official email to come soon.)

My signs of Peace website is coming along, thanks to the many peace signs you have been sending me. Check it out at www.signsofpeace.com. I am always adding new ones as I get them.

Finally, I just got my taxes done for last year. Late. Awful. I felt like Gollum, twisting and writhing with every turn, looking for old receipts, hissing at the thought of having to look up a number. I am trying, really, to get organized. There is just something about it that I am resisting. Perhaps it is the thought of how it binds me to have to write down mileage every time I get in the car. Oh well, I guess I must adjust.

Getting Ready to Say Goodbye

2007-06-12T15:27:00.000-07:00

Two more days and we will be leaving Sweet Valley, Pensylvania to head back West to Santa Cruz, California.

It will be a bittersweet move, as it always is, because though I really love Santa Cruz, I have also become quite fond of our home on Bethel Hill Road; the meadow behind the house, the new forest area, and our new neighbors. There are the little areas of the huge yard that I have been slowly taming, and the general solitude and peacefullness of the area really appeal to me.

Right now, as I write, a thunderstorm approaches, causing the dogs to cling to me. Not nearly as intense as the storm last week that had me shaking as I drove home though it - this storm is wonderful and dramatic, coming closer I hope, and should bring another spell of rainfall.

It is warm, fine for now, but generally too hot for me. The little gnats that bite won't be missed at all, nor will the sometimes incessant yapping of one neighbors many, many... many dogs.

I look forward to the foggy Monterey Bay.

Back in Santa Cruz I know everyone and can fill my time easily, stopping by a friend's house, or having guests pop by unexpectedly. Here, 40 miles form town, no one stops by and that is okay, too.

There are a LOT of smokers here, and litterbugs... you can't drive anywhere out here without seeing piles of old garbage in the yard. There is a lot of controversy here about a possible ban on smoking, something I am so grateful for having back in SC.

It is getting darker outside and the storm in definitely getting closer, the distant rumblings turning now to sharp cracks, sending the dogs to my lap as I write - both of them, dogs that is.

I will miss seeing the yard change and if you can believe it, I will miss mowing the lawn - a huge lawn that must be half of the six acres we have here.

The rain just started to pour down with the last thundercrack. Instantly there are little torrents of water running down the hills and around the house. Another flash of light and I wait for the sound...

I will miss this, yet I know that as soon as we leave, I will begin to yearn for the art and music I am involved in back at my other home. My mom is there and will be so glad to see me and the dogs. From there I can connect to my friends, my garden, and a different lifestyle that I equally love.

I will be back, of course, sometime in the fall ,so it isn't forever.

For now, I will just enjoy the storm.

Jim the Biker

2007-06-04T20:12:00.000-07:00

Near Sweet Valley, PA I passed a charming little cottage; new construction, but made from locally milled siding with the bark still on it. Outside in the clearing were little red Japanese maples, ferns, and river rock. There in the middle of it all was a buddha overlooking the garden and the river beyond.
Though I was a little hesitant to knock on a stranger's door, I just had to stop and meet the person who lived there. I imagined several possibilities of whom this might be: a young writer perhaps, a new couple from a big city seeking some peacefullness. I met neither.

After explaining why I stopped and knocked on the door, I learned that Jim was a disabled veteran returning to the land of his youth. He explained that he was a practicing Buddhist, for to claim oneself as a Buddhist was to not be a Buddhist any more, as one is always practicing...

He loved it there, and built this house with timber from his property- the property he loved as a child.

He used to be a biker in either the best or the worst biker gang, depending on how you looked at it. He lived in Albequerque, New Mexico for awhile but it was simply not to compare with the forest and the river - the river who's rocks he had carried up to his garden.

He said that he was exposed to Agent Orange while in the war, adding that "it never happened", as if quoting the officlal government reports.

He also told me that from that exposure he had skin cancer and only expected to live another year or two.

I am glad I stopped.

I can't Believe it

2007-05-16T19:03:00.001-07:00

I can't believe Melinda was voted off.

Taking the tractor to dinner

2007-05-13T04:56:00.000-07:00

Rick had gone into town to do errands, visit friends, and buy materials at Home Depot. I had chosen to stay home and play some music, watch TV, and just relax.

I also had to have dinner...

He had taken the only vehicle that was running at the time and I wanted to go eat dinner down the road. Friday night is Fish Fry night at the Trail's End Restaurant, right on Hwy. 118 near Rickett's Glen State Park, and I wanted some. The place is about three miles from our house; down Bethel Hill road a ways, then down another road another spell. Too far to walk, I could have ridden my bike, but I just didn't have the energy. The only other option was the ATV.

"It's not legal," I thought to myself, and then laughed at that thought. As long as I stayed to the side of the road, went slow, and kept a look out for cars (there are very few cars on this road), then I could make it.

I was amused by the thought of me riding down the road - images of farmers riding down main roads on their tractors came to mind. There I was: camera slung over my shoulder, leather hat, and glasses riding down a country road, wind in my hair... (okay, face), singing to the road. (Okay, I didn't really sing, because that's a good way to eat bugs.)

The drive was hard, as the ATV kept pulling to the right. I had to fight it to stay on the road, and while doing that I was making sure my hat didn't fly off in the wind. Only one car passed me the whole time. I waved to a lady feeding her horses, and slowly made my way there,

Once there, I chowed down on fried fish, mashed sweet potatoes, and beets; washing it all down with lemonade.
The place was crowded with locals - everyone seemed to know each other. Fortunately, no one was smoking near me during dinner (Can you imagine that people still smoke in restaurants?)

After I ate, I hopped on my ride and repeated the experience back the way I came. The horses, the section of the road being repaired... . All in all, I was amused. The event reminded me of a little desk calendar called, "You might be a redneck if..."
I wondered if there was a page that had a guy riding an ATV to dinner.

My Tools are talking to me

2007-05-11T04:43:00.000-07:00

As many of you know, I work a lot with power tools; building walls, floors, decks, etc. Over the last couple of years I have noticed that a few of those tools seem to be talking to me, have an accent, and are creating movie sound effects.

Recently, while working at a shop up in Felton, CA. I was using an old bandsaw. This creature stood probably seven feet tall, was green, and as I ran wood through it, it made the sound of an alien spaceship. Not a modern spaceship though - it was more like the kind in the old movies, perhaps from the 60's. Every time, as I worked that machine, my mind drifted to thoughts of aliens landing in a corn field somewhere and taking over the nearby town. Soon, spacecraft would land all over the world and dominate earth....

Another tool that talks to me is the wet saw we use to cut tile. I swear as I run the tile through the saw it says, "Steeeevieeee Darrroooooowwwww". (Stevie Darrow was a guy in high school that one of my friends had a crush on. A couple of us would tease her by saying his name all drawn out - in an almost incomprehensible way, yet she would realize what we were saying and pretend to get all mad at us.) Everytime we work on a floor I think back to those old days in school.

But perhaps my favorite tool that talks to me is my Italian Router. No, it is not made in Italy, it actually speaks Italian. A router, for those of you who do not know, is a little tool that has a very fast moving bit in the center that is used to, well, rout out wood. Sign makers use them; perhaps you've seen them making signs at the fair. They are also used to create a fancy edge to a piece of trim... anyway, they make this high pitched whirring sound, and as they run along the wood, the pitch changes, speeds up and slows down.

I don't speak Italian (boy, I'd love to) but when I was little, my best friends were Italian, and their mother would make fresh ravioli and speak Italian as she did her chores.

My router sounds just like her, speaking fast and animated, running through the house, yelling at the kids, telling her husband to get off the couch and bring in some wood for the fireplace.

Most of the time, when I am using the router, in the noise it creates, I talk back to it in pretend Italian, yelling back, carrying on an important conversation and making a lot of noise.

I am glad that I work by myself most of the time, though I guess I don't really care if others see or hear me.

"There is that guy that talks to his tools in Italian!" they would say. "He even thinks that some of them are going to take over the world!"

Mothers would hold their children close to them, walking on the other side of the street if possible, and warning the kids to "stay away from the crazy man who talks to his tools."

But I bet a few lonely souls out there would smile a secret smile, nodding in my direction. They too, have been known to hear things, to take their imagination a step further and create in their minds what is not apparent to the average person.

We are kindred spirits - we talk to our tools.

Rhan's World: Wild Cats and Dogs

2007-05-07T09:51:00.000-07:00

Rhan's World: Wild Cats and Dogs

Wild Cats and Dogs

2007-05-07T06:00:00.000-07:00

Hello and thank you for visiting my new blog site that allows you to comment without creating an account yourself.

Yesterday, while looking for something in the garage, I heard a tiny sound, the fragile mewing of a kitten somewhere amid the clutter. I carefully removed toolboxes and storage crates, trying to make sure I didn't crush the little creature when I found it.
And I did find it - there between a couple of buckets alone save for it's little brother or sister that sadly had died.

It made sense - I had seen a cat going in and out of the garage since we got here. Rick went up in the attic of the garage and found four more kittens, all cute, longhair, and variations of black and white. So small and helpless.

We put them in a cage and are presently trying to catch the mother so we can take them all somewhere where they can be adopted and taken care of. We simply cannot keep them here.

This all reminded me of an incident a couple of years ago involving some abandoned puppies here in the woods. I wrote a story about them and would like to share it with you. Here it is:

The Wild Beagles of Red Rock, PA

It was early Monday morning, Memorial Day to be exact, that Rick returned home from an overnight camping trip. I had thought of going with him, but thought better of it, as I had much to do at home and I figured he might appreciate some alone time with his good friends.
He arrived quite early and mentioned that he might have been even earlier if he had not come across some abandoned puppies on the the side of the mountain road.
“I want to go back there soon to see if we can find where they are hiding, and perhaps give them some food,” he said. He told me how, as he was driving down the road, he spotted three puppies along the shoulder. He turned the car around, parked, and slowly approached the dogs. They were perhaps four months old, he said, and were very scared of people. He managed to get one of them to get close enough for a short period of time to sniff his hand as the others watched from a safe distance.
He could see that at least two of them had encountered a porcupine, the painful quills covering their faces, making it most likely very difficult for them to eat. The third one had possibly a broken leg and was the most timid of the three, and stayed even further away.
During that time a man drove up and told Rick that there used to be four dogs, but one of them had been found dead in the creek. He added that several locals had been aware of them and had been feeding them, hoping to win their eventual trust.
So here we were, driving up to the mountain, a large cage in the back of the truck in case we managed to catch one of them. We stopped in at the local store to buy some dog food.
At the counter, Rick told the lady that he was going up to try to find some dogs up the road and she said, “The Beagles?” Yeah, she heard of ‘em. “Lots of people have been trying for two weeks to get them and haven’t had any luck.”
Beagles, I said to myself. I’ve thought of getting a beagle for a long time. Ever since my dog Lucky started slowing down, I thought that someday – someday when I was ready to get another pet, and it came to me in just the right way. My little Lucky passed away a couple of months ago and well, we’ll see how the day goes. Beagles...

We drove on up the mountain to where Rick pointed out where he had first seen them, and then to the steep, rocky side of the hill where they had all run away to.
“Somewhere up there,” he said “is where they must be finding shelter, and during the day they must come down to cross the road so they can drink from the creek on the other side of the road.”
We drove a little ways until we found a turnout where we could park the truck and set out on a fire road behind where we thought they might be, hoping to perhaps espy them from above and approach them that way.
“Looks like it is going to rain,” we said to each other as we quietly walked up the road, the sky darkening above us. I tried to keep my tennis shoes dry for as long as possible, stepping lightly and avoiding the many branches in my way.
In time, we came to a bend in the road at which point we decided that up would be the best route to take. Leaving the path, we quietly scrambled upwards through the bushes, finding the path of least resistence, stepping carefully on the many flat rocks that were often prone to slipping below us.
We whispered directions to each other and used hand signals as we thought that the wild beagles might be within earshot, and didn’t want to scare them off. I watched breathlessly as a young deer bounced by, unaware of our presence, running from something it seemed. The beagles must be near, I thought.
The rain had come, and though the trees protected us a bit, all illusions of staying dry slowly vanished as the rain made it’s way through the leaves and on to ourselves. The wet branches brushed up against my pants and soon I could feel the sloshing of water in my shoes. Still, we climbed the mountain, searching for any sign of our puppies.
Once at the top, we chose a direction to take, hopefully one that would encompass the area we thought the dogs would be in, and began to work our way down towards the road. We worked our way across the wooded hillside in silence, stepping lightly so as not to disturb any plants; so that we could listen for the wild beagles.
I wondered what they looked like. Were they still rather small, or had they grown to adult size? Rick had mentioned that they seemed to be around four months old, but wasn’t sure. And why would someone leave four puppies in the woods, by a winding, heavily used mountain road? How hard would it have been, I muttered, to have taken them to the SPCA, or to have put a notice up at the local stores and gas stations? Did they even try? Did these people have children, and if they did, what sort of life lessons were they inadvertantly teaching them by abandoning these pups out in the woods?
We heard and saw nothing of particular note. No rustling in the woods, no barking, so we decided to work our way down to the road to take a look from down there, perhaps seeing something as we looked back up to where we had been. Rick went first, saying that once down to the road, he could tell me how close we were to the area the dogs were sighted. After quite some time, he emerged on the road and yelled up at me that we should continue to head up the road. I found my way down rather quickly and easily, following a gentle slope to the edge of the road. Rick showed me the path he had taken, a near cliff that he had to scale down.
By now we were completely soaked, the sound of wet tennis shoes accompanying my every step, my wet jeans making it a bit harder to walk; still we walked up the road a bit before deciding that we should turn around and head back towards the truck that was parked down aways.
Down to the left somewhere was the creek that someone said they had found one of dogs, unfortunately dead. We figured that they must visit that area often, as there was no water on the hillside we had just hiked. I decided that I would climb down the hillside to the area the creek was and follow it down a ways, working my way up to the road in a while.
I scampered down the rocky debris at a place where a drainpipe emptied off the road, noticing how much garbage accumulated there. Why, I asked myself, do people feel it perfectly natural to toss out all sorts of crap along a road: cigarette butts, cans, bottles, buckets, the list goes on and on. In some of the most beautiful places, too. Perhaps it takes a special person to be so irresponsible and not think twice, which is why were here in the first place - to find these wild beagles that had been abandoned.
It was beautiful down there amid the lush greenery by the creek. I stepped again lightly, trying to make as little impact on the forest floor as I imagined myself tracking a wild animal. I laughed to myself, recalling a time when I was maybe four or five years old. I lived out on the country at that time, and I used to love to run around practically naked, wearing a loincloth I had made out of a handkerchief or something like that. I would sneak up on things, carrying a spear I had made out of a stick, pretending to be an Indian like I had seen on television shows.
I followed the creek as it paralleled the road high above until I felt that it was time to go up and meet Rick, who himslef was scouting the roadside for signs of the wild beagles.
I climbed back up alongside a trash-ridden drainage spillway; back up to the road.
Once I was up there, I spotted Rick and he pointed out the side of the mountain that he had first seen the dogs retreat to just earlier that morning. We climbed up the steep hillside and began once again to look for the dogs, quessing as to where they might be seeking shelter from the continuing rain. We found an outcropping of rock and as we climbed over it, we looked down, hoping to see them under its shelter, or in one of the small caves that had been created by mother nature herself. As we looked down, I motioned to Rick that I thought they might be down there below us; I don’t know why exactly, I just had a hunch that after all this time, they might finally be found there.
I climbed down around the rocks and started to think to myself that I was probably wrong, and that there far away from us by now, having heard us long ago. After all, here we were, a couple of humans trapsing through the woods, thinking that we could sneak up on three dogs whose ears we all know can hear far better than we can.
I had no sooner thought this to myself, when all of a sudden I rounded a corner of the rock outdropping and came face to face to all three, startled, barking, and very apprehensive wild beagles; three normal, like you’d see in a neighbor’s yard and typically cute teenage beagles. Only instead of running and jumping up on me, they ran away, pausing a moment to look at me. It happened so fast. I tried gently calling for them, thinking I was dealing with domesticated animals, but they ran off in three different directions in the woods.
We could see where they were laying, a matted down patch of leaves under an overhang of rock, safe from the rain. We left them food there, hoping they might associate food with our smell and eventually learn to trust us, or any of the others who were known to be leaving food for them.
We went back to the truck, shoes and pants soaking wet, and drove home, hopeful that our efforts were not in vain. As we drove, I thought about how many people had been involved so far with these dogs: the rangers, the man who first talked to Rick about the dogs, the lady at the store who sold him some dog food, and the several people where were said to be feeding them. All these people, taking time out from their own lives to try to help some poor dogs that had been abandoned by someone who didn’t even take the time to take them to the pound, or post an ad somewhere.
The next day was Rick’s birthday and after work, we stopped in a bar in town, about thirty miles from home and even farther from Red Rock, the area where the dogs were. He was telling us that it would be nice to get one of these dogs on his birthday, as he had gotten one of his favorite dogs on a previous birthday many years earlier.
As we were telling our friend who met us there about the dogs, a man sitting at the other end of the bar looked up and said, “Are you talking about the beagles? My girlfriend has been feeding them and trying to get them to trust her, too.”
We had a short conversation about the dogs and I was even further impressed by how many different lives had been touched by these animals. Lives who probably had little in common but for the love of animals.
The next day Rick left the house early to go up to the mountain to feed the dogs before he went off to work, some thirty five miles or so in the opposite direction. He told me that he would stop by the house on the way back. I had been in the yard playing with Cloud, his dog, for only a few minutes, and when I came back in the house I saw that there were a couple of messages left on the machine.
The first one was from Rick saying, “Are you there? Pick up. Have you already left? I’ll try calling you on the cell phone.”
The second one was again from Rick only minutes after the first one and said, “I won’t be coming home after all. I’ll tell you about it later.”
I was annoyed with myself that I missed those calls, having missed them by just minutes; I wanted to know what was up. I had the conflicting feelings that either something bad had happened, or that he had simply ran late and wanted to save a little time by going straight to work. Either way I was extremely frustrated to have to wait until he decided to call me.
I went to work and tried to have patience. Some things are out of my control I told myself, as I made sure that the cell phone was never out of my hearing. I wouldn’t miss another call, that was for sure.
Fairly soon I heard the buzzing of the cell phone as it vibrated on the desk; I answered it before it started to ring. It was Rick and I could barely wait to hear what had happened.
“Two of them had been hit by a car,” he told me. “One was already dead and the other died in my truck as I was taking it to the vet.” He seemed so tired as he spoke, the emotional effect leaving him somewhat drained, though he didn’t say so in so many words.
“I’m so sorry,” was all I could think of saying. I felt awful; both for the poor dogs that never had a chance, and for Rick, who tried so make things right for them.
I worked the best I could that day, thinking about the wild beagles of Red Rock and all the attention they had received without even trying. I thought about all the people who were trying to save them; people who didn’t know each other, but were nonetheless working together to try to teach these dogs to trust.
I thought too, of the driver of the car who had hit them, and how he or she must have felt. I then thought of the last beagle, alone in the woods, porcupine quills in its face, and likely more scared then ever.
The next day Rick said he was going to go up to the mountain and bury the dog that had died in his truck on the way to the vet’s office.
“Someone’s gotta do it,” he said as if though he had no other choice.
“Thanks,” I said to him.

We didn’t go back to find that last dog. We had been getting ready to go back across the country and were finally ready to leave.
As we drove away that morning I thought about what Rick had said. No, somebody doesn’t have to do anything. People don’t have to care about a bunch of abandoned dogs on the side of the road in the first place. Noone has to take time out of their own busy lives to drive out of their way to feed some dogs that don’t even want have anything to do with them. And noone has to pick up an injured dog and hope that it will make it to the vets, even though its dying eyes are saying otherwise. No, people don’t have to do any of those things, but thank God that they do.
And as for the person who left those young, innocent dogs there to face their fate: you didn’t have to do it either. You had so many other options, though you didn’t take the time to realize it. You could have called the SPCA, placed an ad, or even as a last resort, abandoned them in a safe place where they would have been found by someone who could have then done the right thing.
Perhaps you didn’t realize the many, many lives you would affect by leaving those pups where you did, but you have.
Many lives were touched by those dogs; the wild beagles of Red Rock Mountain.