Coming of Age, or, Growing up Straight.

Here's a tale of growing up. A little background first about atmosphere of my family. My father had many friends (can't remember a black one, though). He was a sales engineer in an international firm and although limited to the east coast including New York and Washington, D.C. mixed with people from all over the world. His friends were Catholics, Jews, and Protestants of all stripes. Closer friends were from all over Europe pre- and post WWII. He had a nasty epithet for everyone. Even States were not exempt ( Damn New Jersey driver!!!).

He and my mother were particularly worried that their boys would be accosted by a man (undefined by them to me) and hurt (also undefined but they meant pedophile which to them included all gay men as well. Consider the times - 1940s). So into this atmosphere of verbal intolerance fear and no boundaries what-so-ever within their social or work groups I was born and raised. Jews were kikes, except for our neighbors. Italians were guineas or sheenies, except for our neighbors. You get the point. So I grew up with a clear dichotomy played out.
Homosexuals were never even mentioned except in the abstract and then lumped with pedophiles.
I grew up wary of "those kind of men" that would "pick you up" (don't get into a car with a man, don't go into a strangers house alone etc). When I had my first inseparable friend, John, my mother worried that were too close. Yet, in my school I had friends that were gay (I didn't know it) and at least one gay teacher (we all knew) who was a great guy. I had failed girlfriend relationships (my mother worried) but lots of male friends (my mother worried). So, off to college.
In Miami there was a place called Bay Front Park where the queers cruised. There were queer bars and queer hangouts. By then I knew ( I thought) what queers did. I had friends who went to the park and rolled older weaker queers. I never went with them, but never really objected either. To this day I feel ashamed of that.
One time in 1960 or so a guy approached me outside of a diner that I lived in, showed me a strip of paper with a ruler printed on it and "peter meter" printed on it as well. He asked me if I wanted to see how it worked. I said no and he went away. Life threatening brush with queerdom. My sexuality had solidified by then to raging hetero, and my mother worried because the girls were cheap. No pleasing some mothers.
I had a friend in graduate school, 1963, who trusted me enough to come out to me. In a rush one night in the lab the said "I'm a homosexual. I hope this doesn't change our friendship". I will never forget my wise and insightful response. It haunts me to this day. "I'm OK with that as long as you don't try anything with me", I said. Surprise.He never mentioned it again. We stayed friends.
By this time I also heard of girl queers, but thought that a good stiffie would "cure" them (that's what all my friends thought, all us male assholes). Just a lack of the good old rod. Show'em the way and they will love it and you for ever. Only problem is I never knew if I knew one. I never knew anyone who had "cured" one, but I knew lots of guys that loved the girl-on-girl porno films (8mm in those days).
Fast forward through the 60s (I was there but AWOL on the free love and drug scene). I got a good leadership job in academia and lo and behold, our librarian (in his 50's) was a homo. Great guy, lived with his "brother". We were social friends, close at times, and never once talked about his sexuality (or mine for that matter). He left both the job and his brother and went off with a young blond man on some long journey. I was disgusted to think what they were doing all day in that sailboat. Then epiphany: what ever it was, it was a small part of who he was and didn't change all that I loved about him. So, says I to me, just get over it. I did. Then and there.
Then the 80s hit with a vengeance, and gays were dying of unknown causes. "Gods will" some of my students chanted. For what I asked? For loving someone? For being different? I knew what they meant, and the sadness of this tale is that they are still around and still saying the same thing. Then straights began to fall, AIDS was named and HIV was identified as the culprit.
By now I had gay and lesbian friends and students who were mostly not out but were with me.
I got angry when someone proposed that we have a Baptist Student Union because I don't like exclusivity of any kind, and proposed to sponsor a GLBT student union. I was told the day I did that I would be fired on the spot. So much for ya'll come liberal arts education. "Ya'll come, but some of you stay safely in the closet" was more like it.
So I sponsored the "SafeZone" initiative on campus and quietly pursued organizing the GLBT (we didn't have any T's yet) and became the sponsor. Didn't get fired. But the GLBT students were mostly not interested in a public group, and the organizing student died of a brain tumor, so the nascent organization fizzled.
During this time I made many friends, some of them straight and a goodly number not.
Then my son came out. No surprise there. He told us he was seeing someone. I told him straight up that his love would be unwelcome in my house if he was a - - - - - - - - republican. (he wasn't' but still would have been welcome to our log cabin of sorts).
Matt and John are now married (God bless Iowa) and we love them both. And they love each other. And who cares what they do in bed? I don't.

A long journey from a home built on love but infused with intolerance. My early days with homosexuality were low points for me in terms of tolerance. I was what I learned. But I like to think that as I grew up I grew out of all that and finally arrived at the man I am today. Many shameful moments darkened my early days. I am so glad that those days are over and long behind me. It is often said that you can never go back. Who the hell would want to?

Image: http://www.eastbayexpress.com/imager/b/magnum/3405936/58d2/mg_movies1_3509.jpg

A Few More Rednecks

I was driving along a few days ago, Pandora streaming to the radio, when David Allen Coe came on with his version of A Few More Rednecks. Well, to start with, I love Coe. His rough style and straight up irreverence appeals to me. No, he isn’t even remotely Politically Correct, but who really cares?

I listened to the lyrics and thought “Damn, I agree with most of that.” Me? A Liberal? Yup. Me. The crap about guns is crap. And nobody would want John Wayne as President, seriously. But the core message to me is this:

What most people call a redneck

Ain’t nothin’ but a workin’ man

And he makes his livin’

By the sweat of his brow

And this:

But it makes my temper itch

When my hard earned money goes

To make some politician rich

There is probably a list of slurs, and “redneck” is probably on the list. Most likely it depends on who and under what circumstances it is used. Kind of like “nigger”.  A white person says it, or even says “the “N” word” and gets in all kinds of trouble. But watch “The Wire” or listen to Black people on the street and you will get tired of hearing it.

Rednecks are really just working people, mostly good folks, just trying to get by. The so-called lower class or lower middle class. With very little chance for upward mobility or real wage increases. And yet they vote in startling numbers for the Republican Party, a political party dedicated to making the rich people including most politicians richer, and keeping the poor working class people poor and undereducated.

What the hell are they thinking? Answer: they are not thinking. They are sucking up the poison put out by the rich people. They are lied to every time they turn around. And they don’t seem to be able to see it.

So maybe “a country boy will survive”, but he will always be poor and under educated. Because he votes for the overlords who keep him down, ignorant and poor.

Yes, this is a generalization, and yes, some rednecks actually see the benefit of voting issues rather than just following the party line. But if you look at the Red vs Blue states, you will see a preponderance of rednecks voting in a block for the Republican Party. Boggles the mind.

Image: http://www.city-data.com/forum/attachments/elections/35518d1233792355-rednecks-obama-rednecks-obama.jpg

1. Charlie Denials Band www.youtube.com/watch?v=nF1GiZCcL1o

Did You Hesitate?

Assuming these people truly love each other, then
Should black people be allowed to marry white people?
Should Christians be allowed to marry Jews?
Should Americans be allowed to marry Russians?
Should disabled people be allowed to marry non-disabled people?
Should blind people be allowed to marry deaf people?
Should country people be allowed to marry city people?
Should people with no education be allowed to marry Ph.Ds?
Should people who work for a living be allowed to marry retirees?
Should poor people be allowed to marry rich people?
Should a Gemini be allowed to marry a Leo?
You probably answered "YES" to these questions. You probably thought "Jeez Woody, what the hell is the point here? Marriage is a choice between two people who love each other. DUH."

So what about this:
Should a man be allowed to marry another man?
Should a woman be allowed to marry another woman?

Now, some of you hesitated. You thought a minute and then said "Well, I guess they should"
And some of you screamed "HELL NO". You are the bigoted narrow minded ones. 
And some of you yelled "HELL YES". You are the open minded inclusive ones.
You are right, by the way. 

Image: http://sandraholguin.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/hesitate3-300x182.jpg

Je suis Charlie

If you  love freedom and liberty, you are "Charlie" too. The horror has subsided, but will never go away and French and international police are on the case. The 3 men and one woman have been identified, the men killed, the woman escaped. 
And at home here in America, the new congress is changing the plan to gut the TSA and NSA and now are soundly and loudly behind heightened security. Oh, and still harping on the President's immigration policies as dangerous and ineffective. Oh sure, we should all be worried about a roving band of Mexican terrorists butchering our lawn or roof. What morons. but I digress.
The attacks in Paris cut to the heart of the freedom of the Western democratic countries. And we must be very careful not to yield even more freedom in the name of security. We are probably the safest population in the hemisphere and possible in the entire free world. We have a fine federal, state and local policing capacity. We have a well-armed citizenry. We have excellent border control, unless you lose sleep at night worrying that a 6 foot tall bearded Arab will pass for a Guatemalan. 
But, and a big but, we also have a very open society. No shotgun wielding guards at our banks and malls. No "where are your papers" road stops entering and leaving towns and cities. 
Yet. Yet we are vulnerable at every level. And we have had many terrorist attacks in the last few years. Schools, business, homes, public events and even military bases have been attacked. By home grown terrorists. 
So we are not immune or exempt. We will be hit again and again by both foreign and domestic terrorists. 
WE MUST NEVER YIELD TO THE TEMPTATION TO WITHDRAW INTO A FALSE SENSE OF SECURITY BY GIVING UP OUR FREEDOMS. NEVER. GIVE. IN.
We collectively mourn the journalists who die in the pursuit of news for us. For the commentators who die giving us perspective. And for the police who protect them and us. But WE MUST NEVER YIELD TO THE TEMPTATION TO WITHDRAW. NEVER. GIVE. IN. 

Image: http://akfreedomfighters.files.wordpress.com/2012/07/never-give-in.jpg?w=300&h=225

Old Tortoise and Little A Have a Talk

A Hill Much Like the Burial Place in the Valley

Years have gone by since the boy called “Little A” left the Valley for his own life. He often thought about all his friends there, most, he was sure, would be buried on the hilltop in the woods. He was sad, but one thing made his reminiscing happy: He had become brothers with his friend Rabbit, and so also to all the other animals in the Valley. And since then, he had never lost the ability to talk to animals. Even now, a grandfather himself, he could surprise mice and deer and birds and even snakes (although they were hard to understand) with a comment or observation on their fur or feathers. He had never again had an Animal Good Friend though.

Little A was a very successful Doctor of Veterinary Medicine and the chairman of a Major School of Veterinary Science. He held several patents on drugs and appliances that saved many animals lives, and he was modestly wealthy as a result.

One day he decided to see if the Valley was still there, and drove overnight to see it. It was much the same. He walked over the meadow, kept in condition by grazing animals, and walked to the burial hill. He sat beside the old tree and quietly remembered all his friends, and hoped they lived happy lives and died peacefully. He nodded off, and was awakened by a voice saying “Well Well. Who have we here? Hmmmm? Could it be Little A?” He looked around and saw an ancient Tortoise looking up at him. “Old Tortoise? Could it be you?” “Yep, it is indeed me. The last survivor of the years when you were truly ‘Little’. What brings you back after all these years?”

Little A told him of his life and successes, and Old Tortoise told Little A of the Valley. And the Threat. A developer was trying to buy the entire Valley to turn into a housing development. Old Tortoise had figured that out from the surveyors and sales people. Little A told the old man that he would see if he could help, said goodbye and walked quickly to his car. Well, he found the owners, an old couple who needed the money for medical expenses, and offered to buy the property for more than the asking price, and turn it into a Nature Preserve. They said yes on the spot.

Two weeks later a new sign replaced the “For Sale” sign

. The new sign simply said “Valley Nature Preserve.  Free access to all who want to preserve nature and wildlife. No activates that might endanger the Valley or the inhabitants permitted. Please Respect this Wonderful Place.”

That evening Little A once again sat on the hill with Old Tortoise. But this time there were hundreds of other animals crowded around, all trying to get a look at him, or for the bolder ones, touching him. He told them about the Preserve and called them “Brothers”. And when he left, he took the tortoise aside and told him that he had made arrangements for his ashes to be scattered around the hilltop. And eventually they were.

Image: https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi80gTHWrKNmq4AiwVEn60fvLk9s2kM2XXlZ6mlHB3RtPWGL-RW0ukfs51zUEUPW91L2p6NJFPkfFdqhLpl5oO3NnIJKqj6u4uS0RtHRL6aMtlVfbpHu6acX2wD3AZpbpFI54cxX1Bo5P4/s1600/DSCF2589.JPG

Fire in the Valley

Tiny Stone for Mouse - Friend of All

Little A ran out into the burned out meadow with great worry for his friend Rabbit. The fire had scorched the ground but went out at the edge of the woods so the damage was limited. As he approached the woods, Little A noticed an old Tortoise slowly walking into the wood, followed by of all things a family of possums, some snakes, some cotton rats and many other animals. He was greatly relieved to spot Rabbit in the crowd and waved him over. “Rabbit! I was so worried about you. The fire moved fast. Are you OK?” “Yes” said Rabbit. “I can run faster than most fires and most animals. But my friend Mouse wasn’t so lucky”. Rabbit then told Little A the tale of Mouse, how she had saved 17 babies and then died from her burns. “Little A? We are all going to help bury Mouse and support her family. Would you like to come along?” “I have never been to a funeral before” said Little A,” but I would like to help her family if I can.” “I don’t know what a “funeral” is, but when one of our Valley friends dies, we bury them in a special place and help their family and friends through the bitter times. Since you don’t know the other animals, you probably should stay back and try to be quiet (not so easy for a human).

And so the new friends followed the others to the burial place, a place on a shady hilltop where quiet and peace seemed to fill the air. “This would be my choice for a grave if I could choose” thought Little A. Badger had already dug a mouse-size hole in the earth and Mouse was gently put into it by her family. Each animal scratched a little soil into the hole and said a few words about Mouse. She was remembered for her quietness, kindness, good weaving and general helpfulness. Little A was surprised that no one mentioned the fire, the babies or her sacrifice. So he stood tall and said “Ummmm. I would like to say something if I may.” There was a shocked silence around the grave, and some nervousness as well. Badger, notorious for leaving his glasses behind said “WHO SAID THAT???” in a fierce voice. Rabbit quickly stood up and explained that Little A was a boy he had met who could talk to animals. His grandfather then quickly added that the boy’s father was the human who had shared so many hours with the elders, listening and telling tales. Tortoise agreed, and added that this human would be a very special friend to the animals in the Valley, and would soon be “one of us”. That perplexed everyone. Badger said “Speak Boy, But Make it Short. Looks like Rain to me.”

Little A then said “I didn’t know Mouse at all. I heard her story from my friend Rabbit and from all of you. I didn’t want her to go to her grave without someone telling of her self-sacrifice and bravery. So I will.” And he did.

Many, many years later, Little A was wealthy enough to buy the entire Valley and turn it into a Nature Preserve. No one who had been to Mouse’s burial except the Old Tortoise was alive by then, so when he muttered to himself “Told you he was special” nobody knew what he was talking about. But he knew, and that was enough for an Old Tortoise.

Image: (this stone can be purchased at) https://img1.etsystatic.com/000/0/5708276/il_340x270.325975135.jpg

A Tale of the Last Baby

Portrait of "Mouse"

Once there was a field mouse named "Mouse". Now Mouse thought she was nothing special as field mice go. She was small and brownish
with popped-out black eyes. She had a scaly tail and sharp nails. She was really a beautiful little mouse, but she didn't know it. And she was really special, too, as you will see. She lived on the edge of a meadow with her extended family, but usually stayed by herself, playing with seeds or twigs, or weaving grass blankets for her nephews and nieces.She had many friends from school and sometimes played with them. But that was all to change.
From a great distance, at least to a mouse, came the smell of smoke. It is true that mice can figure a way out of most troubles, being smart and nimble, but they are terrified of smoke because it usually means a fire is near. And sure enough, a grass fire was making it's way to the edge of the meadow from the road, where a carelessly tossed cigarette had started it. Several of her bigger friends rushed passed in a panic crying "FIRE. FIRE. RUN." Rabbit stopped for just a second or two to tell her of the fire, then ran on. Rabbits fear fire, as should all animals, but could outrun all but the fastest moving fires.
Mouse looked around for her family and saw that they had left in panic, and had left babies behind. "Oh no", thought Mouse. "I must do something. But what?" She had little time to think, as the air was getting warmer and the smoke was getting thicker. She remembered that Tortoise had a burrow not far from her nest, and decided to take the babies there until the fire passed. But she was alone. So, one by one she carried each baby to the burrow. She ran back and forth in the growing heat and smoke. Tortoise volunteered to take care of the babies while she made more trips. She put down a baby and said to Tortoise "One more. Just one more and we will all be safe." Tortoise said "But you have already singed your fur in several places. It is too dangerous to go back." "No" said Mouse, "I must go back. Every baby is precious." And so she ran into the smoke and flames.
Tortoise waited and waited, but Mouse didn't return. It was getting hard to breathe in the burrow when he heard a tiny voice say "Help me Tortoise. I have burned my feet and cannot walk any more. I have the last baby but cannot make it to the burrow." Tortoise went out into the chaos of the fire, found Mouse and dragged her and the baby back to the burrow, narrowly missing being burned to death himself.
Later, after the fire, some of Mouses family returned and found their homes destroyed, and their babies gone. Tortoise told them of Mouses bravery, and where to find their babies. When they saw Mouse they were all ashamed, and appalled at her burns. She had little fur, no toes and a stump of a tail.
She was lying in a nest with 17 babies, making cooing sounds to keep them from getting upset.
She was the most beautiful mouse they had ever seen. She lived long enough to hear them thank her, and promise to be brave in the future. She perished so the babies would live. As she fell into her final sleep, she thought "Well, I have a few burns, but they will heal. I can't wait to see all these babies grow up and be a doting auntie." But, she never did.

Image: http://i.huffpost.com/gen/1793821/thumbs/o-FIELD-MOUSE-facebook.jpg

The Tale of Two New Friends

 J. Scott Hartley’s famous marble entitled “Boy and Rabbit"

A little boy, who had moved into a house near the Valley and met a talkative rabbit, went out exploring to try to find the rabbit again. The boy’s dad had told him many stories of the times he had explored the woods and fields, and the boy was really excited to find his own animal friends.

And the rabbit, a youngster, was also eagerly looking forward to finding the boy again. He had run home and told Grandpa Rabbit of the meeting, and Grandpa said “Why, that man was the boy my great granddaddy talked to. I bet Tortoise still remembers him. Be careful around the boy until you are sure he is not just hunting us.”

And so young Rabbit went out every day looking near the mounds that the humans lived in. And sure enough! One day, there was the boy, just sitting at the edge of the meadow leaning against a tree trunk. Rabbit crept up behind the tree (creeping quietly was a skill many animals had, but Rabbit was the best at it) and whispered “Boy? Can you hear me?”

The boy jumped up and cried “YES!! Where are you?”

Rabbit hopped out from behind the tree and surprised the boy, who scooped him up in a big hug and said “Bunny! I want to be your FRIEND. Can we be Friends? Please?” Rabbit was quite frightened (a trait of many animals as well as rabbits) and in a quivering voice said “Yes, we can be friends, but you must put me down. I am very frightened of humans and have never been held by one. Please?”

Of course the boy put “Bunny” down at once and sat next to him. “Oh, Bunny!” Exclaimed the boy. “We shall have such fun together. We will play hide and seek, chase things, puddle with sticks in the stream. And we will tell each other all about our families.”

Rabbit said “Well, to start with, my name isn’t “Bunny”. “Bunny” is a girl rabbit’s name, and I am a boy. And yes, we can play and tell tales, but we must also learn from each other, and pledge to protect each other. We must be more than friends. We must be BROTHERS!”

The boy was beyond excited. An animal had actually asked him to become a brother. He thought that he would have to talk to his father about this before saying “Yes”. He desperately wanted to have a new brother.

“I am sorry I frightened you, umm, what is your name?” Rabbit thought a minute and said “Well, most animals don’t have names the way humans do. We mostly call each other by what we are, and maybe by our age. I am called Rabbit by my friends and I call them Snake, Hawk, Possum, like that. We always know who we mean. So, you can call me “Rabbit”. What shall I call you? Not “Human” I think, or “Boy” “

The boy immediately said “Oh, my dad calls me “Little A”. The “A” is for Allen, and he is Big A. You can call me Little A. And, I would love to be your brother, but I must talk to my dad first before we can agree on that. It’s getting late, and I must go home soon. I will ask Dad when he comes home from work. “

Rabbit said “Okay, Little A. I like that name. But, we must get on with the friendship, because your kind of animal forgets how to talk when they get older, and I don’t know how long you will have before you will forget how to talk to other animals. Your Dad may know, so please ask him when you see him? Before you go, would you please pick me up gently and let me give you a hug? I don’t think I am frightened of you anymore, and I have never hugged a human.”

Little A picked up Rabbit gently and got a warm and furry hug. As he put him down he said “Rabbit, I will be back in the meadow soon. Don’t forget me.” And Rabbit said, as he turned and hopped away, “I will never forget you Little A. Please come back soon.”

And so, the two new friends went on their separate ways, back to their homes and families, with a new and wondrous tale to tell.

Image: http://photoseed.com/uploads/2012/08/02/single-boy-and-rabbit-william-j-mozart-medium-600-600.jpg

Prologue to the Tales of the Valley.

Rabbit whispers to Boy

The Valley is a wonderful place where animals live out their lives facing the usual joys and problems any animals might have. There are prey and predators, accidents, friendships, jealousies, mysteries and other dynamics. There is bravery, shyness, boldness, bullying, learning, fighting loving and dying.  The Valley has a clean stream, a pond, woods, a large meadow, hills and a road. There are also some humans on one edge living in what the animals call “mounds” which we know are houses. There are seasons and weather emergencies like floods and droughts, fires  and freezes.

The animals can all talk to each other since they believe that they can. Some children can talk to them too, before the veil of disbelief cloaks their imaginations. Your storyteller was once such a child, and remembers all the tales told to him by his animal friends during his years living near the Valley. He, too, lost his belief that he could talk to the animals. But he never lost his memory of those wonderful days, when the animals were his friends.

In the Valley, stories are still told of the human child who sat with the elders and listened to their stories, and who often joined in their adventures. Few animals alive remember him, and when a man entered the Valley one day and spoke nonsense, they all ran and hid. They didn't know he was the human they hear about during the cold winters or warm summer evenings. They did sense kindness, and were surprise when a small human called out to them and they understood him. Some of those tales will eventually join the animals own stories.

The child looked with wonder and amazement at a small rabbit, hidden pretty much behind a log, when it asked “Are you going to hurt me?”  “Daddy” cried the boy, “there is a rabbit over there who talked to me.” His father smiled and said, “I know. They once talked to me too. But I can’t hear them anymore. Best you keep this our secret. Okay?” The boy turned to the rabbit and said “My father told me not to tell anyone that I can talk to you, so it will be our secret. I will come back some day and we can talk some more. He told me that when we get home, he will show me the tales told to him by animals in this valley when he was a boy. Bye rabbit. See you soon.”  And with that father and son walked to the road and left. 

Image: http://forum.mflenses.com/userpix/20111/1827_IMGP3356_1024x685_1.jpg

You don’t need “Plenty”. You just need “Enough”

Plenty of Shoes. Too Many?

I was struck the other day by somebody saying that they really wanted “Plenty of” something. To me this means a whole pile of whatever, like way more money that you need, or too many cars or too much fire wood. You get the point? More of a resource that can be reasonably used, or maybe even being piggish about something.

Sal and I have always worked on the “Enough of” basis rather than the “Plenty of” basis. We have never felt the need to maximize our assets to the exclusion of leisure time or desired activities. For example, when we are looking at taking a trip somewhere, we estimate the cost, check the finances and either go or not. Usually we go. If I see something on sale, say BOGO chicken broth or fleece jackets at 50% of with no shipping, I think about what I need. Two broths would be enough for a week or more. Ten would stuff the pantry and sit around unused for a month or two. So I buy 2. Same with coats. I have a good, if somewhat old, fleece coat. Do I need another? Not really. Two coats, one for work and one slightly better for leisure is enough. Three or four would be plenty, but unnecessary.

This is beginning to sound like a sermon, and that isn’t where I want to go. My point is this: In a world full of few who can afford anything, many who have to be careful, and way more who can afford nothing, it is important, if you are in the first two categories, to reflect on your needs versus your wants, and to align them with your “enough” versus your “plenty”. Who the hell needs 50 pairs of shoes, or 15 handbags, or three smart phones? Very few is that answer.

So for this season of “Good Tidings” stop and think. And take into account the Billions and Billions of people who have nothing. Zero. Zip. And be generous for them and to them. Forgo that extra pair of shoes or that cutting edge phone. Keep the coat one more year, or, buy a new one and give the old one to someone who is cold. You don’t need “Plenty”. You just need “Enough”.

Image: https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/44/00/26/440026ea79cd1a91a9aac64d5ccce66f.jpg