Talent

9ofOcean

Recently, I’ve taken up photography and become a “photog,” a tenderfoot photographer. Photographs can make interesting and beautiful again what I often take for granted. My iphone makes photography an accomodating activity because its many pocket cameras are always with me in one truly “compact” device. Supporting stacks of photo editing apps, my phone is essentially a portable dark room that’s neither dark nor room and emits no fumes. I can squander shots because I never run out of film, and the eco-friendly ‘trash’ is just a finger’s throw away. Plain photos can be transformed into works of art if time is taken to develop a camera eye and learn the editing programs, and so much rolling in LoFi mode will likely make me better at shooting with a camera that doesn’t accept calls.

Pawsome Kingdom

When I was a youngin, I would go to Possum Kingdom with my spoiled friend and his family. One summer, R and I dug trenches in the lake’s shoreline sand. We then tightly packed ourselves chest deep in the holes. Such a cool, pleasurable escape from the blazing Kingdom sun … until his older sister and her friend started whacking our heads with those big plastic baseball bats. We were stuck, wholly unable to move or retaliate against the onslaught, which included getting sand kicked in our faces. We screamed, they fled, giggling hysterically down the beach and out of sight.

That night, I couldn’t wear a shirt or lie on my back, my skin was sun burned so deeply. The next morning, I shed my back in sheets the size of a washcloth. And again that evening.

The next day, R and I crouched down in the back of his father’s full throttled speedboat. We were shouting to each other, only able to make out one another’s moving lips. Certain R’s dad couldn’t hear us, not that he cared anyway, we snatched a canned Coors from the ice chest and flat-out gulped it down, half for each. I recall the boat ride seemed much less choppy after. That was my first beer ~ pawsome sauce. I was in 4th grade.

As the creator of original Pawsome Sauce, Tosha, you rule the Pawsome Kingdom.

http://bottledtime.wordpress.com/

Buddhaspeed,

Cary~

Kingdom Sun

© Cary Gossett and Rollin With Outta Colon, 2012. All Rights Reserved.

Resurrection

Today, I resurrected and doctored my Turner mountain bike, which has been hibernating since its last trek in the biking mecca of Sedona, AZ, November 10, 2008. How do I recall the exact day? Can’t forget — the following morning I was stabbed in the left flank while sleeping. I startled awake in excruciating pain, forcing my contracting eyelids open to see the perpetrator. I urgently scanned the room while reaching for my flank to feel the bloody knife (or red-hot poker). I felt nothing, saw nothing, then realized I was having my first kidney stone attack! My eyes rolled back in my head in utter disbelief as another sharply expanding wave of pain and nausea took over. The clock displayed 4 a.m., so Danusia was beyond my door, down the hall, asleep. So, for the next 45 minutes, in a cold sweat, I closed my eyes and focused on breathing deeply through the repeating waves of attacks. After an eon and hundreds of shallow gasps, I heard Danusia moving around. I speed dialed her, and next thing, found myself in the Sedona Urgent Care ER.

Set To Get Rollin

The Tube

A few tips on bike set up, tools, & gear ~

The Curve

Shotgun Phil & his 356 S

Today, I visited my very close friends Linda and Phil. Linda is a painter, a true artist, and a gifted caretaker and advocate of man and animal. Phil is a retired ENT surgeon I worked with in Santa Barbara. We met in 1997 for a case in the operating room and connected on the spot. We had, among many things, mountain biking in common. He detailed the trails to ride in Santa Cruz, which became my favorite biking mecca beginning 2003. Phil retired prematurely because of the unending maze of unnecessary hassles and dire liabilities of medical practice. His early retirement, a choice that too many of the best doctors are making, was a great loss for the medical community, as Phil was a deeply caring and outstanding surgeon. In 2005, Linda and Phil moved to Carmel Valley, a blessing of reunion for us all. I think it’s been 3-4 years since I last visited them at their beautiful property (yet they have since graciously made many trips to see me at my home). Linda showed me walls of her own exquisite paintings, and Phil let me drive his black 1963 Porsche 356 S, a breathtaking car in concours condition. This particular car was made like a Rolex by artisans of the past. If I had a grand pile of Benjamins just waiting to collapse under its own weight, I’d get one.

Lately, my world is expanding, opening once more to friends and indelible experiences. I am again beginning to consider the universe benevolent, as opposed to an inscrutable universe that is derisively indifferent to the human condition. Given my past, I don’t expect this steady handful of days to mirror my future, but I do expect to stockpile the spiritual fuel they are generating to quickly propel me through the next off-camber hairpin death curve.

Cary~

Porsche 356 S

Photog ~ Linda.

© Cary Gossett and Rollin With Outta Colon, 2012. All Rights Reserved.

3 Cats & Some Ink: Guest Post by Danusia

“Ink” is putting pen to paper, an octopus defense, a nerdy stain on shirt pocket, and a tattoo. Not “the plane, the plane, boss!” Tattoo, but a permanent (as in forever, as some of us go) declaration of some vision to the world on your skin. Various cultures have practiced this art throughout history. Often, these markings proclaim identity, membership, and ideas. As I have grown, my identity, my membership, and my ideas have evolved. Endurance, survival, and wisdom can be gained from such evolution. As an undergrad dressed in Ralph Lauren attire, I would have shuddered, condescendingly, at an arm with ink. In medical school, I was purely concerned with the physiological results of tattooing, the histology, the complications. In residency and private practice, tattoos were “O.K.” on others, but NOT on me. On and on, ideas evolve.

CATharsis

Danusia, my soulet, rescued our “kids” beginning with Coco in 2008. Her intent was to provide comfort, companionship, and just a little bit of joy during the very dark days of my illness. At first, I didn’t have any interest in having a pet. Getting well and out of pain was my only interest, my only focus–I had absolutely no energy for anything else. But when she came to my bedside and opened the box and I saw this tiny, sweet soul looking back at me, I gave in instantly. Coco was 8 weeks old, but underweight and ill, just like me. She had severe kennel cough, requiring subcutaneous antibiotics and fluids. During the first weeks of her arrival, she would sleep next to me at night and stay by my side as I rested in bed throughout the day. Time passed and she healed while still returning to my side and purring in my lap when I could sit up. She’s become even more affectionate as the years have passed, and of course, I love her more each day. What a gift Danusia gave me.

Coco

2009 arrived and I was no better, so Danusia rescued our second, presenting her as she did Coco. Milo was 12 weeks old and, unfortunately, had to be sequestered for a month due to an intestinal infection that could spread to Coco. Each morning I would make my way downstairs to Milo’s room and lie down for an hour, letting Milo tread all over my back, kneed my side, and push her head into my palm over and over, purring all the while. The time came to unite Coco and Milo, and after a few hisses and head pats, Coco took to Milo like a proud, caring mother. Danusia had given me another tremendous heartfelt gift, as I found some rare joy in observing our two “kids” form a playful, everlasting bond.

Milo

2010 came around and found me worse after more surgeries and hospitalizations, so Danusia made another rescue. This time it was a healthy, melt your heart 10 week old. Not only did Danusia and I fall fast and hard for Echo, Coco and Milo did as well. Echo was special, exhibiting behavior we had yet to witness from a kitten. She would kneed against Danusia’s side for 30 minutes, let herself be held for hours, then bound endlessly from wall to wall in rapid, thunderous flashes.

Echo

And that brings me to their names, which Danusia kindly left for me to change. Oreo became Coco, Wilbur, whom the animal shelter thought to be a boy, became our second girl Milo, and Daisy Mae became Echo, or rather, Echoplex Blaze to reflect her raucous, chaotic speed. 2012, our “kids” are all healthy, as is Danusia, and I’m feeling a bit better each day. Never could I have imagined the healing effect such gifts would bring. So I thank Danusia from my heart each time Coco, Milo, or Echo appears to comfort their “dad” . . .

 

© Cary Gossett and Rollin With Outta Colon, 2012. All Rights Reserved.