Frankie Blue Eyes Gallery

ssh mystery of the year (2018)

To fully document this ssh mystery, first I give the setup:

We have Party-A, which has a black box firewall appliance.

Party-A has ssh-listener-a, a debian server that has port 22 forwarded to it by the firewall, but otherwise all of it’s internet traffic goes through the firewall. So it has an ssh server that sits on the internet as well as the internal network of Party-A.

Party-A also has server-a which is only on the internal network but has outgoing internet access via the firewall.

We have Party-B, which has a debian server server-b sitting on the internet which is a do-everything server and firewall, with an internet IP address (party-b.com) as well as an internal network address, and does all the normal firewall stuff between the two addresses. It also is a file server, email server, database server, and it has home directories on it as well.

Party-B also has desktop-b, which is pretty much what it sounds like, with all internet traffic going through the firewall server-b and no direct connect capability.

Now the symptom:

I ssh from normal user account luser on desktop-b into a normal user account on ssh-listener-a. This connection happens without password, instead using authorized key of luser on desktop-b. From there, I ssh into root@server-a which requires a password. The root account on server-a has only one file in its .ssh directory, and that is known_hosts. No keys and no authorized_keys.

Once logged in, I then do

# scp data-file nuser@party-b.com:directory/

and the scp transfers the file with no password required!

Um, how is that possible? It’s acting as if the nuser@party-b.com account has an authorized key from the root@server-a account, but root@server-a doesn’t have any keys! Nevermind that there’s no such key in the authorized_keys file for the nuser account on server-b ! The nuser@server-b account has exactly 3 authorized keys, all for hosts on the internal network and none for hosts on the internet.

#WTF

RIP `Frankie Blue Eyes’ 4/1/2018

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Alas, beloved Frankie is no longer with us. He passed just an hour or two into April 1, 2018 at the age of 13, the last 10 of which he was with me. I took him in as a rescue when he was roughly 3 years old in 2008. His original name was Guinness, which is a decent enough name, but I could never remember it when I needed to yell at him about something, so I changed it to Frankie, after Frank Sinatra — the original ol’ Blue Eyes — because of Frankie’s very light blue eyes.

In the middle of the night on or about July 1, 2017, Frankie suffered his first seizure. It was hugely traumatic to both of us: him, because he was all mixed up and wasn’t himself, behaving differently than he had his whole life and forgetting things he knew well; and me, because I had to watch him struggle so mightily with it all. Watching a loved one struggle and suffer like that is definitely the worst, hardest thing I’ve ever experienced. But by the end of July, Frankie had regained about 80% of his former self. We put it behind us and started to go back to normal, happy times.

Then, almost 6 months later to the day, he had another seizure in very early January of 2018. For the next 3 months, it was a nightmare. The seizures began to slowly increase in frequency, and as things rolled into February, I was living with the worst sort of terror hanging over me: that Frankie would have another seizure. They were unbearable to witness, and then trying to nurse him back to some sort of normalcy could take many hours at any time of the day or night, usually starting at night and continuing on well into the next day. Often it took a day or two of constant watchfulness to help him recover. Maybe the worst part was he had no idea why or what was happening to him. The vet could find nothing in his blood tests or his ultrasounds or x-rays. They often mentioned the possibility of a brain tumor, but they said the only way to know if it was a brain tumor was to do an MRI, which is prohibitively expensive. And even then, there are only two outcomes: you know he doesn’t have a brain tumor; or you know he does. If he does, the treatment options for a 13 year old dog have an extremely low probability of giving him any kind of respite, but most like would have resulted in even greater suffering and an even earlier demise.

Now, roughly 4 months after his passing, I’ve reached a state of recovery such that I can write about this, and do other related things, like go through the 4,000 pictures I’ve taken of Frankie over the years and clean them out and organize them a little bit. I even created an account on costcophotocenter.com and had a couple prints made. That’s progress people! Here are a few of my favorites:

fuzzy-face Frankie Photo Gallery

Henry Sharp, Jr.
1925 – 2017

Henry and his beloved wife Harriet

Henry and his beloved wife Harriet

Henry Sharp, Jr., born in Illinois August 14, 1925, moved his fledging family with his wife Harriet and their then two children to southern California from Saint Louis, Missouri in the mid-1950s after taking a job as a Sales Engineer in the burgeoning California heating and air conditioning business. Born just outside Chicago, Henry was a life long, dedicated Cubs fan.

For information regarding arrangements and other questions, please go here

First born child Katherine Woods arrived in 1955, and first son Henry III a year and a half later, accompanied them on the westward trip. Andrew Bussian and Edward Robert (1958 and 1961 respectively) are true California natives.

My dad spent 20-something years in the HVAC business in southern California. accoDuring that time, when we would drive around the Los Angeles area, my dad would often point to a building and remark ‘I built that building.’ The first time, eyes wide with wonder, I replied ‘You built that building?!?’ My younger brother might have said ‘All by yourself?’ Whereupon my mother reared her head back and laughed, telling us ‘Your dad is having fun with you. What he really means is that he did the air conditioning for that building.’ Still, he seemed to point to another building every couple of minutes. Perhaps his most marquee accomplishment was winning the bid to do the HVAC for the Queen Mary, which the town of Long Beach had recently purchased and permanently docked as a tourist attraction. Eventually my father and four others from the company bought Acco from Prentiss Fulmore, the original owner.

Hank waited 91 years to see his beloved Cubs take the Series!

Hank waited 91 years to see his beloved Cubs take the Series!


Then in the mid-70′s, after doing relatively well in the HVAc segment of his career, Henry decided to leave the business for good, and signed on to be a high school math and science teacher at the newly starting Chandler High School in Pasadena, California, in 1972.

Henry spent two years at Chandler High School teaching Biology and Geometry, and then took a position teaching Physics, which was his true passion in the academic realm, at the Webb School for Boys in Claremont, California. He commuted daily to Claremont from our home in South Pasadena, and I went with him as I was enrolled as a sophomore at Webb. A year later, with the oldest child already off to college, the family moved into the original Webb house on campus in Claremont.

Henry taught at Webb until 1981, when he retired from teaching, and he and Harriet moved to Santa Barbara, where they had purchased some land with a view of the Pacific Ocean on which

Courtesy of Google Earth

Rancho Harbor Hills, as it is called by the family

they planned to build their dream house. They did build that dream house, where they lived until 2011. The passive, earth sheltered home cut into the Mesa area above Santa Barbara is still owned by the family, and occupied by daughter Kathy with her family. It functions as the local hotel for visiting members of the extended family. In Santa Barbara, Henry settled into the final chapter of his professional life, hanging out a shingle as a registered Financial Planner.

Before my time, on December 7th, 1941 (a date that will live in … well … you know), the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. The man who was to become my father 17 years later to the month, decided he needed to get into the fight, and worked extra hard in order to graduate early from his high school and enlist in the Army Air Corp in early 1944. His ability with math and science quickly caused the AAC to send him to Navigator training, where he learned to navigate a Boeing B-29 bomber. After he finished his navigator schooling and radar operator training, and after flight training with his B-29 crewmates, his airplane 632px-B-29_in_flightwas attached to a combat squadron in the Pacific theatre and received orders to fly to their squadron’s base in the Pacific. But fate had other plans, and before the orders took effect, the only atomic weapons ever used ended the war with Japan. If not for that lucky turn of events, me and my siblings probably never would have existed. After he was mustered out of the Army and honorably discharged, he took advantage of the now famous G.I. Bill and applied for admission to MIT, where he was accepted into the Class of ’50.

There at MIT, he played football and lacrosse. He also majored in General Engineering. My dad became an avid supporter of lacrosse at MIT, and that support continued right up until his passing.

Hank and Harriet loved to travel, and also were avid snow skiers since before they met. We know this because they met playing bridge at the only hotel in Aspen, Colorado at the time, the Hotel Jerome which is still in existence today.

Hank and Harriet in Martina Franca, Italy. October 2009

Hank and Harriet in Martina Franca, Italy. October 2009

Hank, an avid bridge player almost all his life, was playing, well, because he was a bridge enthusiast. My mother admits that she was playing because she wanted to meet interesting men, and besides, there was not always a lot of other things to do in the evenings in Aspen in the early fifties. It didn’t take long before they were skiing in the same group, and my dad admitted that he was impressed with Harriet’s skiing. And her bridge playing wasn’t the worst he’d ever seen, either. They started their courtship soon after returning to St. Louis, and were married later that same year: 1953.

After moving to Southern California and having two more children, in 1961 Hank and Harriet used their savings to buy maybe the last plot of unimproved land at Lake Arrowhead that had lake rights. The reasons it was unimproved were two fold: it had been divided off the parcel of land next to it, and it was basically a very steep hillside and came with no rights to the parking area right next to it. So if someone were crazy enough to try and build on it, where would they park? Undaunted, a few years later, Hank had an architect design a steep A-frame house that could be built on the hillside, and had an engineer draw up a parking platform that could also be built out over the hillside complete with a flying stair case down to the house. Although in truth the parking platform did come years later. Note supreme frog catching areaThat house just up the hillside from the lake is responsible for a large part of my personality. Harriet would move the children up to the lake house for the summer, and Hank would visit on the weekends. Us children enjoyed what today would be an unimaginable amount of freedom: my usual attire included only one piece of clothing — a pair of cut-off jeans. The family didn’t have money to waste buying swim suits for kids that would soon outgrow them. I rarely wore shoes (flip-flops were not a thing in those days) and usually no shirt, because it would come off for swimming anyway. My two brothers and I, sometimes with our older sister as well, would wander literally all day in the woods around the lake, no supervision, no compass, no mobile phone, and always out of mother’s yelling range, often times swimming for long distances in strange areas of the lake with no adults in attendance or for [what probably seemed like] miles. Absolutely no life jackets or other flotation devices ever crossed anyone’s mind, least of all the parents. My older brother Kris, while splashing around in the lake one day, spied a sunken row boat on the bottom of the lake. He spent many hours slowly dragging towards shore, one breath at a time. When it got close to the tiny beach where we usually swam, my mother told him to leave it alone, but it was too late, he was totally committed. On his own, he repaired it, installed seating areas with floatation foam firmly attached at Hank’s insistence, rebuilt an old outboard motor he got from a neighbor which also had also seen the bottom of the lake (the motor, not the neighbor), and we, by extension of my brother, had what we called a “putt-putt.” Motorized transportation allowing us to go anywhere on the lake in mere minutes. Something my parents had basically told us we couldn’t, and almost certainly would never, have. I could go on for days with these stories. Suffice it to say, a life-long love of sailing, swimming, freedom and self sufficiency was the result. One interesting thing to note was the Hank designed a passive convection heating element to go into the chimney as the fireplace. All but the openings for the air inlets and outlets were bricked up as part of the wonderful fireplace, and most never even guessed at its existence. I believe it was welded up by some journeymen at Acco, and in the winter it could heat up the entire two story open area of the A-frame in just a couple hours.

Hank, as he was called by his friends, is survived by his wife of 64 years Harriet, his four children, and six grandchildren (so far), to count just a few.

 Hank, Harriet, daughter Kathy and her son Rob, and myself (the handsome fellow in the tie)

Hank, Harriet, daughter Kathy and her son Rob, and myself (the handsome fellow in the tie)

Information and arrangements for Henry Sharp, Jr.

Henry Sharp, Jr., 1925-2017, passed peacefully in his sleep the night of October 4th in Santa Barbara, California. He was 92 years old.

Hank, as he was called by his friends, is survived by his wife of 64 years Harriet, his four children, and six grandchildren.

Henry Sharp, Jr. has asked that his ashes be scattered into the Pacific Ocean rather than have a funeral. Arrangements are being made by the Neptune Society.

Messages of condolence may be left on Harriet’s voicemail, or can be left here by registering and posting a message.

In lieu of flowers, the family requests that mourners send a donation in the name of Henry Sharp, Jr. to their favorite charity.

Riding with Shannon from Sue’s Seat

Hello. This is Sue again posting to Andy’s blog. Thank you ANdy.

Today, November 18th, would have been Shannon’s 55th birthday. To celebrate his birth, I will take a solo ride to Gilroy Hot Springs. Shannon hadn’t been there and we had planned to do so the next time when for a scoot.

The story here is about riding with Shannon from my seat. A unique seat.

Many people have been on a ride with Shannon. I believe I am the only one who has also had the privilege and pleasure to ride many thousands of miles with Shannon.

Shannon took me on my first motorcycle ride, which was also our first date. Though out of character for me to jump on the back of a bad boy’s motorcycle, I just knew from the moment I met Shannon that I would be safe while in his company.

Our first ride was up highway 9 and down into Boulder Creek. We rode the VFR since the LT needed tires. Shannon gave me very strict instructions not to hold onto or lean into him. Ahh, all right. Will do.

Without proper riding gear and a very old helmet that had a piece of foam in the top, why did I feel so safe? Shannon is why.

I wanted to be a good passenger. I was so afraid of doing something that may upset the balance of the bike. I tired to sit still and upright. At the same time I wanted to learn how to ride with Shannon.

So I shut my eyes, put one had on his thigh, and held onto the grab handle with the other. Yes, you may think I was out of my mind closing my eyes. But think about it. No anticipation of the next turn. No fear of a car turning, stopping, or pulling in front of us. As we gilded along, I could feel Shannon’s slightest body input at each transition. Left turn. Right turn. Acceleration. Deceleration. Always as smooth as silk.

Riding the LT was different. I never felt the need to hold on. I could lay my head back on the top case and watch the clouds, birds, and trees go by. I frequently held my arms out as we rode through the twists and turns during the thousand of miles we enjoyed together on that bike.

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Sunday rides. Hardly a Sunday passed without Shannon taking me for a ride. Only weather, sickness, or injury, and yes there were those, got in the way. Even if he went for a ride with the guys, he more often than not would come and get me in the afternoon and take a quick ride. He knew how much pleasure I got from riding with him.

Our usual route took us up Bear Creek Road, into Boulder Creek, up HWY 9, maybe to Alice’s and then home. I recall one particular Sunday. It was the weekend Shannon shaved his head. We’ll save the head shaving for a future story.

We stopped at a wide spot in the road right after we crossed over Skyline Road. I snapped a few photos, including this one, the first photo of Shannon’s shaved head.

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For our first overnight ride we decided to celebrate the New Year by going to Jenner. Though the weather report was for clear skies, we ran into a heavy drizzle. Yikes…my first experience with wet weather on a bike.

We stopped in Point Reyes for a mid morning treat. I don’t recall the name of the bakery but I do remember how yummy the treats were.

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Our route home took us north to Steward’s Point. Shannon wanted to ride by the spot on Skaggs Road where he had broken his leg some years ago. We happily rode by the spot and continued east by Lake Sonoma and into Santa Rosa to visit Shannon’s sister and brother in-law.

A truly memorable trip.

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Our ride down HWY 25 was also another one for the record books. My first, and not my last, 100mph sprint on a bike. I liked it.

It was a glorious early spring day. I packed a picnic lunch. We found a lovely spot along Carmel Valley Road on which to trespass and spread the blanket. A yummy lunch followed by sun-warmed nap made for a picture perfect day.

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The most recent rides we went on where as two riders.

The first was on my two bikes since Shannon’s Triumph was still in the “needs work” mode. Shannon rode Daisy and I rode Iris. We stopped at the Bear in Los Gatos for the traditional cuppa coffee/tea.

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Riding behind Shannon made me giggle. That long body on little Daisy. For him, he was just happy to be riding.

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When I wanted to swap bikes, Shannon face lit up. Having never ridden a SV, Shannon was up on one wheel in a puff of black smoke. Guess the bike needed to be really ridden.

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When we got into Saratoga, he pulled off his helmet and gave me that devilish grin of his. He liked my SV.

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We ended our first ride as two riders back at Shannon’s where he prepared a yummy brunch. We watched a documentary on a moonshiner in Tennessee and then he washed both bikes. A girl couldn’t ask for a more perfect day.

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In September 2009 he surprised a bunch of us by showing up on the annual Larry’s Ride. About 30 of us stayed in Mariposa and took day trips in that beautiful part of California. I planned to take a solo ride into Yosemite. And to my delight, Shannon planned the same ride.

We departed shortly after the group left. We quickly were up highway 140 riding along the Merced River. Shannon zipped passed a car. I was unable to get by so I waved him on. A few miles down the road I got by and Shannon had slowed to wait for me. As I approached him I was engulfed by what felt like a ray of sunshine. Warmth. I knew it was Shannon’s energy. It was so vibrant it took me by surprise. I knew at that moment I was safe.

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As many know, Shannon loved Yosemite. He was enjoying himself as he took in the splendor as we rode into the valley.

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We rode to the Awahenne for brunch. We sat outside on a glorious fall day. With full tummies we took a nap on the lawn.

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The next day we joined the group. As you will guess, I didn’t see hide nor hair of Shannon expect when he passed me doing a wheelie and when we stopped at meeting points.

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His Speed Triple was well appointed. He loved the Isle of Mann TT and attended twice.

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It was a long day ride with temps well into the 90’s. The hotel pool was the first stop when we arrived. Shannon clearly had the best seat in the house.

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And I had the best seat in the house on the way home. Shannon trailered his bike to Mariposa. When I offered to buy him lunch for a spot in the trailer, he quickly loaded up my bike and gear for the trip home.

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Riding with Shannon was an honor and pleasure. Thank you Mon Petite for imparting your love of motor sports on me.

xo

Daily Meditations

Each morning I read a page from “Healing after Loss. Daily Meditations for Working Through Grief”. I have found these reading to be helpful as I move through my sadness surrounding Shannon’s death. With Andy’s encouragement, I will share a selection of those meditations.

I will go back to the day I started reading, July 19th. Each page has a quote from known and unknown people followed by an in depth interpretation by the book’s author, Martha Whitmore Hickman. Then a closing with a suggested mediation for the day. Depending on the mediation, I may or may not include all three pieces. I may also skip a day or two depending on how I feel about the particular day’s offerings.

July 20

My resolve to live “one day at a time” also means “one world at a time”. But where my loved one is, a fragment of my spirit lives, and waits.

July 21

…All those who try to get it sole alone,
Too proud to be beholden for relief,
Are absolutely sure to come to grief.

– Robert Frost

We all need people to help us cry.

July 23

People in mourning have to come to grips with death before they can live again. Mourning can go on for years and years. It doesn’t end after a year; that’s a false fantasy. It usually ends when people realize that they can live again, that they can concentrate their energies on their lives as a whole, and not on their hurt, and guilt, and pain.

- Elisabeth Kibler-Ross

No one is asking us to forget, to turn away from all that we loved and cherished in the one we have lost. We couldn’t do that even if we wanted to.

The task before us, and it can take a very long time, is to incorporate this grief and loss into the rest of our lives, so that it doesn’t continue to dominate our lives. It’s no longer the first thing we think of when we wake up in the morning, or the last thing we relinquish before we sleep.

A child said ot his mother, in regard to the outpouring of kindnesses after his father’s death, “There are so many good things. There’s just one bad thing.”

The “bad thing” will always be there, but when it begins to take its place among the good things life offers, we’re on our way.

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Even in my sadness I will be open to new adventure.

July 24

My heart is in anguish within me…
And I say “O, that I had wings like a dove!
I would fly away and be at rest.”

Psalm 55:46

I will choose my flights carefully – but where might I go

July 26

I am a citizen of this day. Tomorrow will bring its own demands, its own gifts.

July 28

God, bless to me the new day,
Never vouchsafed to me before:
It is to bless Thine own presence
Thou hast given me this time, O God.

Celtic Prayer

May this day be a New Day for me.

July 30

In the point of rest at the center of our being, we encounter a world where all things are at rest in the same way. Then a tree becomes a mystery, a cloud a revelation, each man a cosmos of whose riches we can only catch glimpse. The life of simplicity is simple, but it opens to s a book in which we never get beyond the first syllable.

-Dag Hammarskjold

In the community of love, all are at home.

July 31

Pain has an element of blank.
It cannot recollect
When it began, or if there were
A time when it was not-

-Emily Dickerson

I will be present to the moment as each day unfolds.

Aug 1

Faith is a way of waiting-never quite knowing, never quite hearing or seeing, because in the darkness we are all but a little lost. There is a doubt hard on the heels of very belief, fear hard on the heels of every hope.

-Fredrick Buechner

We recognize ourselves here – “all but a little lost.” Because we can never really be sure of along that the particulars of our faith, our hope, are what we would like to believe they are. But not quite lost, either. Because as sunshine follows rain follows sunshine, faith, as it waits moves from confidence into doubt onto confidence again. So, in a comforting solidarity with the rest of the waiting faithful, we make our conjectures, hope our hopes.

And every once in a while some minor miracle of insight and confidence. Some serendipity with no explanation other than grace, renews us, and we are wiling to relinquish our need to know the details. Instead, we trust that all shall be well.

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I will wait in faith, trusting that One I cannot know, knows and cares for me.

Aug 2

We cannot do everything at once but we can do something at once.
- Calvin Coolidge

I cannot beat to look down the long road of years without my loved one. But I don’t have to. I have today. And I will, today, do one new thing.

Aug 3

Is there no pity sitting in the clouds. That sees into the bottom of my grief?
-William Shakespeare

Grief is one of the great common experiences of human beings, and yet sometimes we feel so alone in out sadness. Even when family members share the same loss, the grief is different for each one. Our history with the person is different. Our place in the family constellation is different. We are of different temperaments. Sometimes our very closeness to one another makes the differences in the way we express grief hard to understand. Yet we long for common understanding.

Or do we? Our grief may be in common, but is is private as well. Our loss is unique, our own turf. No one can feel just as we feel.

Well, is there some other force-some “pity sitting in the clouds”? Some god? Some force of nature? Again, it is our longing to be known, to be accepted, to be comforted.

In time we will find solace, as we walk around and around this grief, walk through the middle of it, look at it for every angle. But we can do that only if we know that beyond our fingertips, our friends and loved ones are loving us, wish us well. As we do for them.

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I have what I need to see my way through this-if you, my friends, are with me.

Aug 4

Nothing can fill the gap when we are away from those we love, and it would be wrong to try and find anything. We must simply hold out and win through. That sounds hard at first, but as the same time it is a great consolation, since leaving the gap unfilled preserves the bond between us. It is nonsense to say that God fills the gap; he does not fill it, but keeps it empty so that our communion with another may be kept alive, even at the cost of pain.
-Dietrich Bonhoeffer

It is strangely reassuring-this suggestion that the pain of the empty space will always be with us. Because while we do want to feel better, we do not want, ever, to forget.

We will, of course, find new places to put the affection and love and time that we used to pour out to the one we lost. Not to do that would be to turn inward, refuse to be vulnerable-a poor memorial, a poor stewardship for the life left to us.

But our ability to love and care is not limited to some finite number, so that taking on a new love means replacing an old one. Time does not expand, but love does-as with a parent who has three children, and then has another.

What was once loved and cherished is not replaceable.

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Mon Petite, There is a space in my heart that is always yours.

Aug 7

By discovering my own inwardness I am in communion with all other human beings, with nature and beauty and the goodness of all that is.
-Maria Boulding

I am a part of all that is. The great mystery of creation holds me at its heart-as it holds my lost love. In this we are together.

Aug 14

This is not way out, only a way forward.
-Michael Hollings

I stand at the threshold o new life. What will I do? I can stand still. Or I can go forward. Those are my choices.

Aug 15

Can we, in the air that surrounds us, the sunshine that bathes us with its warmth and light, the life that surges in our own being, imagine the abiding presence of our love done?

Aug 23

I am grateful for words that heal.

Aug 25

The moods of grief, like the moods of the day or of the year, are to be honored, and will pass.

Aug 26

I will try to be present to this day.

Aug 29

I was in a garden at the Rodin Museum. For a few minutes I was alone, sitting on a stone bench between two long hedges of roses. Pink roses. Suddenly I felt the most powerful feeling of peace, and I had the thought that death, if it means an absorption into a reality like the one that was before me, might be all right.

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I will watch for my own moments in the garden.

Sept 2

What restraint or limit should there be to grief for one so dear?
-Horace

Only from within me can my timetable of grief be discovered.

Sept 4

This is a land of living and a land of the dead and the bridge is love – the only survival the only meaning.
- Thornton Wilder

I know that love does not cease with the event of death.

Sept 6

Who sees Me in all,
And sees all in Me,
For him I am not lost,
And he is not lost for me.
– Bhagavad Gita

What we are grieved and sometimes terrified by is the sheer fact of loss. The loss of the loved ones’ presence, the loss of his or her love, the loss of his of her Being. How can we be content in a world from which our loved one is forever gone?

But the wisdom of this passage from the Bhagavad Gita, and of passages from other sacred Scriptures, is that the creation continues to embrace us and all those whom we love. We are still somehow bound together in a giant conspiracy of love, mutual care, and ongoing life. As we are not lost to creation, we are not lost to one another.

This is not to deny the pain of separation and the uncertainty of Not Knowing. “Faith, said the apostle Paul, “is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” What we can be fairly sure of, from our own experience and from the experiences of others, is that there is more going on in the universe than we can detect with our five senses. “Now”, Paul also said, “I see in a glass, darkly. Then I shall see face to face.”

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Creation holds us, one by one, and all together.

Sept 8

I know that we live in the lives of those we touch. I have felt in me the living presence of many I have loved and who have loved me. I experience my daughter’s presence with me daily. And I know that this is not limited to those we know in the flesh, for many guests of my life shared neither time nor space with me.

– Elizabeth Watson

All of us experience a kind of spiritual communications with friends who are not necessarily in our immediate physical presence. When we get together after long absences, it seems”as though it were yesterday.” Is this perhaps partly because we do carry one another somewhere in our unconscious minds, though we are separated?

If with the living, why not with the dead? And this sense we have of knowing those whose words we read or whom we hear about, so that if they walked into the room we would know them–is this, too, evidence of a communication of spirits?

The world os the spirit is a world without walls–of time, of space, of physical reality. We can close our eyes, retreat into ourselves, and be at home with the throngs of people we know and love. Surely this is in some way akin to the “communication of saints” of which the mystics write.

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When I am alone, I can choose some company to be with me. Mon Petite, I choose you.

Sept 9

On the wings of time Grief flies away.
-La Fontaine

Years from now. I may agree grief flies away in time. But don’t push me.

Sept 10

In the midst of darkness there is light; in the midst of sorrow, joy.

Sept 11

Be still and listen to the stillness within.
-Darlene Larson Jones

I have a place of peace within myself. I can find it…and do.

Sept 12

I want, by understanding myself, to understand others. I want to be all that I am capable of becoming… This all sounds very strenuous and serious. But now I have wrestled with it, it’s no longer so. I feel happy–seep down. All is well.
– Katherine Mansfield

Through this experience I will find in myself new strength and wisdom–perhaps, even, new joy.

Sept 15

Heaven will solve our problems, but not, I think, by showing us subtle reconciliations between all our apparently contradictory notions. The notions will all be knocked from under our feet. We shall see that there never was any problem. And, more that once, that impression which I can’t describe except by saying that it’s like the sound of a chuckle in the darkness. The sense that some shattering and disarming simplicity is the real answer.
– C.S. Lewis

I suspect that a large part of the energy we spend in pondering the various possible scenarios of life after death is just the energy of grief needing a place to go. But since we are given to speculating and since there is a persistent conviction found in many religions that there is life beyond human death, perhaps we could throw our hats into the ring of hope, and surmise that while we don’t know what God is doing in creation, God knows, and will see us through.

In attending to the mysteries of life after death, I will listen for the chuckle in the darkness.

Sept 17

Take rest. The field that has rested gives a beautiful crop.
-Ovid

I will care for myself in honor of my life and all who have shared that life with me.

Sept 19

There is a really no such creature as a single individual; he has no more life of his own than a cast-off cell marooned from the surface of your skin.
-Lewis Thomas

I am organically connected to all of life. I am not alone!

Sept 20

The main impact is just the loss, the incredible loss. The expectations just were gone. The old age that I expected is different. It just never occurred to me that she would not be in the next rocker… At the Catholic school that I went to, the motto was hic et noc, Latin for “here and now.” What they meant was you do what is necessary-here and now.
-Cokie Roberts

This is the only day I have for sure. May I use it well.

Sept 21

I don’t believe you are dead. How can you be dead if I still feel you? Maybe like God, you changed into something that I’ll have to speak to you in a different way, but your not dead to me Nettie. And never will be. Sometimes when I get tired of talking to myself I talk to you.
-Alice Walker

Sometimes the veil between the living and the dead seems thin, and lighter than air.

Sept 22

As I am able , I will reenter the world around me with courage and expectation.

Sept 25

It was coming to John that when the great people in one’s life die, one is forced to be more oneself. One is forced to grow up.
-May Sarton

I will carry with me forever the strength Shannon bequeathed to me.

Sept 27

To keep a lamp burning we have to keep putting oil in it.
-Mother Teresa

I have the power and responsibility to keep my life moving.

Sept 29

Haste, haste, has no blessing.
-Swahili Proverb

With out hurry or panic I will dwell in the house of my grief.

Sept 30

All that we do
Is touched with ocean, yet we remain
On the shore of what we know.
-Richard Wilbur

I trust that what is unknown to me is for my good and my ultimate peace and joy.

Oct 2

All I know from my own experience is that the more loss we feel the more grateful we should be for whatever it was we had to lose. It means we had something worth grieving for. The ones I’m sorry for are the ones that go through life not even knowing that grief is.
-Frank O’Connor

Saddened as I am by loss, my heart lifts in gratitude for the richness, love, and silliness Shannon has brought to my life.

Oct 5

I sit on teh rich,. moist earth, green earth, and draw my knees to my chest. All is not lost. The birds have simply moved on. They give me the courage to do the same.
-Terry Tempest Williams

Can we say goodbye to our loved ones not in the expectation that they will come flying back in the spring, but that, in way we cannot know,. they will continue to be present to us, continue to love us, as we continue to love them?

IN teh turning of the seasons, I find promise and hope.

Shannon’s Garage, another view

Greetings. My name is Sue. Andy kindly gave me access to his blog so that I could share my thoughts and feelings about our mutual friend Shannon Criss. Thank you Andy.

Since Andy has an entry titled Shannon’s Garage, I’ll start by sharing my time in Shannon’s garage.

Though not a regular attendee, I joined in on a few Wednesday nights in Shannon’s garage. I usually only stayed an hour or so since it was clear this was time for the boys to do their stuff. I would sit back and smile as I watched them discuss what needed fixing, how to fix, fix it, not fix it. It was comical, yet organized and manly.

The other times I spent in Shannon’s garage were about he and I. I recall one of my first visits. Shannon gave me the tour. The braces and casts. The tools. The fishing rods. The race leathers. The trophies. The custom-built workbench. And of course the photo collection. I went home knowing much more about this man I was falling I love with and longing to have my photo on his garage door.

On subsequent visit I was sitting on the LT as Shannon was futzing with something. In a pathetic little girl voice I rarely use I said “I’ll never have a photo on the garage door since I am only a passenger”. Shannon stopped what he was doing and walked over to me. He took my hands, said it didn’t matter and asked me what was something I was passionate about. I told him waterskiing. He asked me to give him a photo of me skiing.

I searched through my photos to find the perfect one. On the water. Off the water. In a tournament or not. I finally decided on a photo taken on Lake Shasta. It was at dusk so the lighting was lovely. The spray was a perfect arch.

The next evening I went to Shannon’s to deliver my photo and found him standing at that perfectly built workbench cleaning some sort of motor part. I gave him the photo and told him the story about when it was taken. He handed it back to me and asked to put it on the door. Because the photo is an 8X10, it took a bit of time to find a spot that wouldn’t overlap with another photo. Funny, when I looked for the photo during Shannon’s Life Celebration, I had to giggle at how out of place it looked amongst all the riding memorabilia. But never mind that, Shannon wanted my photo on his garage door.

And I saw something surprising on the garage door the afternoon.

Shannon and I were on a typical Sunday ride. We ended up at the Mystery Spot as I had not been there. What a crazy place that it. Anyway, we picked up a bumper sticker. While we were dating it was on the wall near the door into the house. As the years past, I would visit Shannon but did not spend much time in the garage so I didn’t notice it was gone. I was surprised to see the bumper sticker on the garage door. That day was a special to him as it was to me.

I got a call one evening from Shannon asking me to come over and help him. He said he needed another set of hands. When I arrived I saw the LT lying on its side. Oh my, I was taken by surprise. He looked sheepishly at me and apologized for letting “your baby” I loved that bike, more about that later, tip over. We heaved and hoed and got the LT upright. On occasion I would tease him about it.

Something I don’t think many garage visitors noticed was a map of Great Britain pinned to the underside of the rafter boards above the mailbox. Pushpins marked every place Shannon visited in the Mother Country. Shannon and I have a common love of GB so he set up a stool for me to stand on so that I could add pins to every place I had visited. When I was done, we shared stories about our individual visits and talked about visiting together one day.

I liked to watch Shannon move around his garage. His tool boxes where neat and tidy. Bottles, cans, jars set out in what I assumed was a logical pattern. I know if I wanted the half-inch, wood handled, square, angled, wrench with the nick on the top, OK I made that up, he could walk up to a tool box, open the drawer and find it. That man was orderly.

I received many phone calls from Shannon using a speakerphone he saved from a junk pile at IBM. I could tell he was walking around the garage doing this and that, chatting away about the day’s news. The garage, where he found, and created, happy times.

Shannon loved being in the garage. I can picture him now. Oh, I miss Mon Petite.

Shannon’s garage.

Frankie and racoons

What a funny dog my Frankie is.
Funny faced Frankie

The other day, we got attacked by these two racoons. Lots of fur flying, weird animal sounds, me trying fruitlessly to kick the larger racoon, etc. Lots of unwanted (for me) drama at the end of a nice walk just yards from our gate.

So yesterday, two+ weeks later, Frankie and I were at the pet store buying him food and whatnot, and I see this adorable fuzzy racoon toy. When you squeeze (bite) its tail, it squeaks, and when you squeeze (bite) its mid-section, it goes “wonk.” He’s gonna love it, right?

So, I introduce it to him when we get back home, and he plays with it a bit; seems a tad surprised that it wonks sometimes and squeaks other times, but then doesn’t show much interest after that.

Later that night, as usual, he’s asleep in the front yard while I hack on the computer or watch hulu in the living room in the back of the house. So ungrateful. Anyway, he shows up after a couple of hours at the open door of the living room that leads out onto the back deck. I notice his nose is very dirty. Hey, I asked him if he’d been digging, but like a typical teenager, OK, in dog years technically he’s 21, he refused to answer.

This afternoon, while hacking out on the front porch, I realize I don’t see the racoon anywhere. I start looking for it. I can’t find it. Then, I discover this:
Find the racoon

Yup. The silly git buried the cute little fuzzy racoon toy!
Yulp!