"The Jingle Bell Bum" (Read The Touching True Story...please!) Comment at patriciahanrion.com

"The Jingle Bell Bum" (Read The Touching True Story...please!) Comment at patriciahanrion.com
Still available on Amazon for Nook and Kindle, hard copy booklett to re-print November 2013

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

I have OCD, a black thumb and mosquito bite resistance...But that's Okay cuz I got piles!

I am looking at some fake red and blue flowers in a water glass as I type. I put them there so I’m not looking at a blank wall, or the thermostat…If I had real flowers within a very short time they would be dead…so I don’t try to grow them anymore.  I know that sounds like a cop-out, but it’s true. I figure it gives the people who make fake flowers a job.

Now my mom has a really really green thumb…she planted a seed from a grapefruit one time in the back yard when I was a kid after we moved to California from New Jersey...and years later when she moved out to Santa Clarita after my dad passed away…one of the sad things was that she had to leave behind this huge grapefruit tree and the amazing crop of fruit it produced every year. 

At least I can look out the window here at the Chandler Apartment and see some grass…mostly rocks, but some grass and cactus too.  Arizona landscape is done up with rocks, and a few scattered cactus…and the Grackle bird struts about on the rocks;  an intriguing fellow who looks somewhat like a blackbird, but sounds like about 8 other birds and walks everywhere.  Must be too hot to fly!

At my Mom’s condo in Valencia…she has so many plants it looks like a jungle, and I don’t think she does much more than water them…but it must be like mosquito bites…Okay, how does that connect.  It does because it's one of those things no one understands. Some can grow plants...others can't. (mostly I forget to water, then water them too much!) 

The mosquito bite anomaly: (some are plagued by them, others never get a bite) 
I can be camping in an area where everyone is covered with bug bites and I won’t have one.  I’m not sure if they don’t like me, I’m sour or what but, I never get any, no matter how many of the critters are in the area…they just go for other meat!

One time we went camping and Patrick became breakfast, lunch and dinner for every flying insect known to man.  His forehead was so swollen it looked like Frankenstein.
I wasn’t even an appetizer…go figure…the same goes for plants…just not happening for me…go figure!

Well after being here in Chandler for four weeks I have confirmed my OCD.  Now I know I count steps, and have for some time.  This can be extremely annoying especially now that I am in an upstairs apartment.  I know there are 18 steps to get up here…, or 60 steps out to the car in the parking lot...the same as I know there are 13 steps to the landing and three down to the floor at our house in Calif…however that does not seem to stop me, every stinking time I go up or down…like a mantra in my head 1-2-3-4…for those of you who do not have this malady “count” it as a blessing.  Get it ha! Count.  There must be other symptoms, but mine are sporadic, so maybe my case is transitory.  Don’t expect my house to be spotless, like they say OCD victims have their homes...I have piles. It's the way I can be neat, and organized...Piles.

Piles of bills, piles of sewing and craft projects…piles of paper with half finished poems, or ideas for stories all over the place…don’t move one of my piles!  I will get to it eventually.  In fact while I’ve been here in Chandler away from distractions ...somewhat…I have completed several of my piles.  

I brought an entire suitcase of piles with me to work on.  You see...I start a project, and before it’s done move to another.  Sometimes it is years before I get back to that particular pile, but eventually I do.  Really I do!  Yes...I’ve finished several of the piles I brought with me, but sorry to say, I have started a few new piles…I like piles.  it's a way to be able to work on several things at once. I cannot sit still. I don't know why and have a terrible time sitting for 3 hours in church...I just must multi-task to keep from jumping out of my own skin. Watching TV and sewing, knitting and listening to a book, writing a book and thinking about my next nursing class.

 I know my kids for years have said I never sit down, or if I do it's not for long.  But with five kids, I got an amazing amount of stuff done because of multitasking and my piles, and pretty much doing two or three things at once.  Like today, I'm sewing, listening to a book and doing laundry...maybe some vacuuming too.

So in the long run, for me anyway, I guess OCD and a few other odd things have been a blessing, no mosquito bites, and I can just leave the plant growing to others with that special something...I don't have.  I have enough to do anyway. I Got Piles!






Tuesday, July 26, 2011

An encouraging thought

Many that live deserve death, many that die deserve life
Be not so eager to deal out judgement before you know which is which
...or if it even matters
And realize before this life is over trials will come to us all
I truly wish they did not and we did not have to deal with such things
But this is not for us to decide, 
All we can decide is what to do with the situation and the time we have been given
And Make choices given to us carefully and with wisdom
Know that there are many forces at work beyond our control, 
Some and really most are much more powerful than evil.
And that is an encouraging thought!

Monday, July 18, 2011

Old friends, good times...Beach Boy re-wind.


video
video

Recently it seems there has been a rush for reunions.  Now as far as I'm concerned high school reunions are a waste of time.  The last one I went to I was in the bathroom and overheard two women talking and one said, "I don't know why I came...that witch...I hated her then and hate her even more now."  Then at a table near where I sat I heard one guy state..".don't tell me what your husband does and how rich you are...tell me what YOU have been doing." 

After that, I look at the notices that arrive from time to time, both for my Husband and myself about reunions and I can say without a second glance they land in the trash...immediately.

My only dear friend remaining from my high school days has lived in Italy with the handsome foreign exchange student she met in the 60's...Lois Heckman, who became Lois Merlotti and I have vowed if we ever go to a high school reunionl...we will go together...and since for several years now she has only come to visit around Christmas time I doubt that trip will ever occur!   Most of the reunions are in the summer.   We have remained friends for many reasons even though the miles separate us.

First and foremost we have always been honest and supportive of each other...through high school, during college and after.  I can truly say I love and adore her even though many years and several wrinkles have caught us, which we both seem to be able to ignore without comment.  Second her two kids are the same age as my first two...Our husbands are great friends and enjoy our Christmas bar-b-Q dinners almost as much as Lois and I do...imagine that!  We were in each other's wedding, and as far as I know we two are the only ones of our gang  (except for Al Fridley who lives in Austrailia and is a  Vet), who have kept in touch since we were in the first graduating  class from Grant High School

...And then the last rather amazing fact is at the same time her daughter went to Pepperdine University to college, and I became her back-up mom, (since her mom was so far away)  my son was a missionary in Milan Italy and she became his back up mom and support, but most of all Renzo, (who is very Catholic), was a cheerleader for our son Patrick in his Mormon missionary efforts.  Interesting as for us anyway we have no choice of where our kids serve missions.  And Chiarra, an Italian talented artist, and beauty as well as a very lovely girl chose to attend Pepperdine in Malibu California out of all the Universities she could attend.

Getting together with them each year has been the extent of my reunion fever...so when we attended a church reunion of a priest group from the North Hollywood third ward it was a shock, to say the least, when we had such a great time we almost had to be swept out of the building at 11:00.  The event was to end at 9:00 and all were having such a wonderful time playing remember when....no one wanted to leave.

One of the families who where there many members strong were the Mason's,  Tommy, Gary...and an older brother who married LaRee Gibb and then connected those families forever.  LaRee's brother Ron Gibb is a photographer and I have seen him throughout the years as he does a lot of the photos for the Hart District where I served as a Board Member for 16 years.  It was such a rush to see them all.

Especially Tom for me as he was the quiet kid who mowed our lawn and raked our leaves, most of the time getting the leaves in a heap and then getting one of our little kids to lay in the pile with him and look at the clouds.  Tom was one I remember working with as he was so scared to give a church talk and I was supposed to be helping tutor those who were to give talks in church.  He was so scared his voice shook, the papers on the pulpit shook and his face was beet red.  I remember he did a great job, and I was so proud...but years later when he was put in as a Bishop in some Utah ward, he called me the night before he was to be sustained to thank me for helping him and being such a support.  Even to this day I get a lump in my throat thinking about that call.  I have seen him a few times since he got married and moved away, but every time I see him I can't see the grown handsome man he has become.  It's weird, he will always be the awkward little kid who was so sweet, obedient and scared to get in front of the congregation to say a few words.

That night it was so fun to see so many old friends....to be continued.

Friday, July 8, 2011

The Chiasmus Cipher, Chapter Three, The toxin spreads!

Chapter 3
2020, Thursday June 13,
St. Johns’ Hospital
Phoenix Arizona

The ICU waiting room was cold and impersonal.  The walls were blank except for a plaque above the reception desk honoring an organ donor.  Not exactly an uplifting environment to spend six hours waiting to see a critical friend.  His broad hunched-over shoulders and folded-hand quiet demeanor didn’t give a hint to the turmoil within his head.  Thoughts raced as Chance went over the past 12 hour nightmare he was trapped in.  The more he thought, the more his head hurt, and he had more questions than answers. 
His best friend and partner in the most worthwhile pharmaceutical research project he had ever known was down the hall behind a door fighting for his life with no clue as to what had happened or what was wrong.  Eddie lay in a tangle of tubes and monitors staring at the ceiling unable to move.  The machine next to his bed hissed oxygen into his lungs expanding with each compression of the bellows.  The tube down his throat through his vocal cords prevented him from any communication.  The last time Chance had been allowed at his bedside; Eddie was illuminated by the eerie green glow of numerous monitors above the bed and looked up at him with petrified eyes. 
“Hey buddy,” Chance had said hesitantly.
“We’re going to take care of this, don’t you worry.  Just a little setback.  I talked to your brother and he’s called your family.  I’m sending tickets to get them over here as soon as possible.”
Eddie stared back, with strange brown tinged tears running down his cheeks.
“Can you move at all?”  Chance leaned over and looked at his friend’s limp non-responsive fingers.  There was no movement, not even a twitch. He had been warned not to touch Eddie, and they had given him a yellow gown, gloves, N95 mask, and clear eye goggles to wear. He was only there for a few minutes when the neurologist came in to introduce himself and then asked him to leave.  He had been in the waiting room ever since.
When Eddie didn’t show up to work or answer his cell on Wednesday, Chance figured he was just having a tantrum.  But when he didn’t show up by late afternoon on Thursday, he was more than mad at his slacker friend and stormed out of the office, making the trip to Eddie’s condo complex in less than 10 minutes.  After banging on the door for a while, he checked the under ground garage and found Eddies’ black Jeep in its usual place.  He went back to the front of the apartment, working his way around to the side of the building and then hurdled over the low wall into the patio enclosure.  The sliding door was unlocked and he called out as he crossed the sparsely decorated living room.  The book case covered walls were loaded with botanical textbooks loose papers and an old microscope.  The computer on the corner desk was blinking the alert that mail was waiting and he saw the bedroom door was open.  Calling out again, Chance hoped Eddie was not hung over with some girl sharing his leaky old college waterbed. 
Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw when he went through the door.  Eddie was sprawled across blood covered sheets looking at him with watery dim eyes.  His mouth chewed at the air and his breath came in intermittent gasps.
“Eddie what happened?  Who did this to you?” 
Chance’s first thought was that he had been attacked or robbed, or someone had tried to get him to tell about their research.  He ran to the phone and called 911. He was worried Ed would stop breathing at any moment.
Eddie was not moving except, for a spasm in his finger and his barely blinking eyes releasing bloody brown fluid.  The blankets seemed to be wrapped around his legs, but Chance was afraid to touch anything for fear of hurting him and kept saying so over and over.
“It’s okay, help is coming, it’s okay.  We’ll find the bastard who did this to you.”
Chance’s mind raced, “What in the world had happened?  Was there a break in?  Did someone at one of the other labs hear about their research and try to beat it out of poor Eddie?”  He knew research espionage was getting as common as carjacking, but this was over the line.
Chance raged inside. “Has Sutton, our other partner, told someone about their success with neuron-blockers for pain and cancer treatment? That guy has been a worry ever since we started the experiments.  He has loose lips, the big slob, always bragging about something or other.  What an idiot!”
Chance had gone over every possible scenario by the time the paramedics arrived which was in just under 5 minutes.  After they moved Eddie onto the gurney, the paramedics asked Chance , “Does this guy have prosthetic legs, or a wheelchair we should take in the ambulance?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Well he’s an amputee, right?”
As they maneuvered Eddie through the door, Chance could now see that his legs weren’t there—they were just gone. What Chance thought were blankets wrapped around Eddie’s legs were just—blankets, and lots of bloody gunk, no legs at all. 
Chance didn’t make it to the bathroom sink before he lost his lunch.  He was only aware of the panic that squeezed his chest like a vice.  When he finally found the hospital waiting room in the maze of halls, he slouched down in the nearest chair and stared at a blurry smudge on the wall.  He was in shock.
2200, Thursday June 13,
NASA Research, Ames Center
Modesto, California
           
            George Meyers was at his desk, working late, going over reports and reviewing the data about mutated toads sent in by his three field researchers.  The phone rang as he was gathering up for the weekend. 
       “Pick-up George,” the switch board operator said, “I know it’s after hours but this guy sounds panicked.  He says he tried to call the Biohazard team at Fort Detrick but they’re not answering.  They’re three hours ahead of us— they must be gone already.”          
George made the call and the fear in the voice on the other end of the line was tangible, “We have a situation here at St. John’s Hospital in Phoenix.  I’m Doctor Leonard Barnes from the emergency room. Let me give you a description of what we just got through our doors.” He took a deep breath and began his initial assessment details.  “A young Asian male of about 26 years presented in critical condition.  He was found by a friend who was concerned after he didn’t show up to work for two days.  Look, to make it short, I think we may have a form of Ebola.  We’re examining cultures, but so far there’s no evidence of bacteria, so we guess it’s a virus—maybe a toxin, or bio-weapon.  Something’s invaded his body, gone systemic.  We don’t know where or how.  Whatever it is, has liquefied muscle and bone, leaving nothing but a pool of fluid tissue where his limbs were.  This guy evidently went to bed fully intact and woke sometime the next day with no feeling in his body from the chest down.  Difficulty breathing, fluid in his lungs and no movement in the upper body.  Somehow his neuro-system shut down and blocked any sensation of pain.  This guy is dissolving right before our eyes.”
       George, listened and became increasingly alarmed, “Go on.”
      “We questioned his friend who says the subject was on a camping trip last weekend someplace in Southern Utah.  They both work at Alpha Sigma Pharmaceutical here in town.  His friend saw him Tuesday night and says other than feeling tired from the trip, he looked fine.”
        “How fast can you get a sample out here?”
       “I can send an emergency over-night drop, and I’ll send one to Maryland too, even though I couldn’t get a hold of anyone from their bio-epartment.  The bureaucracy there is thick!”  
       “Send the sample to Ft. Detrick, care of Admiral Bernie Albee, attention Bio-Contamination Department.  He’s a long time friend from the academy and I’ll make sure he’s alerted to look for it.  What other symptoms do you see?”
       “We got him on a ventilator as soon as he arrived.  He was close to respiratory arrest. His lungs are full of a brown liquid that has a musty fungus-like odor. I got a negative test for pseudomonas.  He has congestive heart failure, is now paralyzed up to his nose. He can still blink, but his pupils are non reactive to light.  No bowel sounds, I think the stuff is attacking the abdominal wall and may be into the chest cavity, but it’s hard to tell.  The MRI is all blurry—as if he’s a giant marshmallow throwing the scan off.  We’ve been pouring in blood and plasma through a peripheral jugular line, but it runs right out multiple open wounds we’ve tried to cauterize with no luck. He has 4+ edema and his skin is splitting open like he was boiled too long.  He’s not maintaining blood pressure.  Soon after he got here, he went non-responsive so he couldn’t tell us anything much.” 
       “Oh, I forgot to tell you, his friend said he had an itchy rash on his leg the other night.  That’s it so far, but this guy is going to code blue any minute now and everyone is getting spooked.  I don’t think one person will step up to do chest compressions.  If this is communicable, we could be in real trouble.  The paramedics are scared.  We put them in full contact and air borne isolation.”
“Good, keep it contained, what ever ‘it’ is.  Everyone who has been in any minor contact from lab personnel to custodial picking up the trash must be kept on site until I can get a team working on this.  Where did you say he was camping?  I’ll stay here until I get a look at that sample and have some sort of lead.  Now, what did this guy do at Alpha Sigma?  Was he a paper pusher, or on the research team?  Find out if they’re doing anything in toxin studies at that lab.  I know they use a lot of botanicals in their products.  That may give us a clue.” 
“I’ll see if I can find out, I think his friend is still here, but he hasn’t given us very much information.  Let me give you my pager number so you can let me know if you get anything from that sample.”
George pulled out his cell phone and punched the number into the memory.  “What’s the hospital number too?  I’ll see what I can do about contacting Ft. Detrick; you have enough to do keeping everything contained.  Try not to start a panic, but don’t let anyone who has had direct contact leave until we know what we’re dealing with.  I’ll be in touch. Thanks for the heads-up Leonard.”
George sat back and took a deep breath, trying to recall the phone number of his old Annapolis friend.  He hadn’t seen Bernie Albee in several years.  George left the military after his first tour of service was up.  It may have had something to do with his submarine assignment.  His commanding officer tried to guilt him into signing up again, but the close quarters and loneliness of sub-duty didn’t fit his gregarious personality and by the end of his tour he was grumpy and claustrophobic.
Bernie received a much more desirable assignment and stayed in the military, eventually ending up in Maryland at Ft. Detrick.  George remembered from their last contact, Bernie was doing some of the work with anthrax.  He reached across his desk to the worn rolodex and found the section with his college buddies. 
It was past midnight in Maryland and the initial response to the ringing phone was tired and impatient.  Explaining quickly, without pleasantries, George launched into the litany of facts and concerns.  By the time he stopped to take a gulp of air, his old friend on the other end was fully awake and planning a way to lock down the spread of what seemed to be a fast moving lethal organism. 
Bernie was obviously worried.  “Ever since the last incident of Ebola in South Africa, and then the similar one in Vietnam, I’ve been afraid something like this was coming our way.  Not from terrorists, or even a natural spread, but someone fooling around with materials they don’t understand.  Travel is so fast and easy these days, and our borders so porous they’re a joke.”
His voice rose in indignation, “Anyone can get anything in or out if they want.  There’s anthrax missing from one of the military labs right now, and a lobby is under way by the World Health Organization to destroy the last small pox strains we have in the deep freeze.  All we need is some idiot, who has a secret stash, to start an epidemic and then we’re in the middle of an unstoppable outbreak.  Look at Mad Cow, the rise of unexplained encephalopathy and the travel of flu strains from Asia.”
“Yeah, I know Bernie.”
“Didn’t you say the patient was Asian?  Has he been out of the country recently?  Do you know if he’s native, or where he’s from?
“I don’t know, but I’ll try and find out.  Keep in touch and call me when that specimen gets there or if you get any other ideas.  The hospital has the communicable disease unit involved so they’re handling the Arizona end.  Sorry to call you with this one, but I figured you’d have the resources to help me out.”
“Thanks …I think.”
George put back the receiver and knew all he could do now was wait for the delivery to arrive.  Then he remembered he had one of his research team assistants doing work in Southern Utah and pulled up the information on the computer glowing on his desk. It was already past ten and with the hour time difference it was eleven in Utah; he stopped dialing and decided to wait and call Tory Hunt in the morning.




Wednesday, July 6, 2011

What's a Haboo...aboo?

Happy 4th...we went to Fredonia...now Fredonia population about 900 is the only town in Arizona on the North side of the Grand Canyon, besides the polygamist town...Colorado City, Oh! and the Indian reservation for Paiutes.  They are all located on what is called the Arizona Strip.  Anyway Fredonia is a dead city because of the shut down of the lumber industry in the Kaibab forest due to the endangered owl.  

Nearly dead and a few newly wed is what the residents seem to be.  It is a sad junky looking town where most homes are run down with old tractors or cars on the front...ummm.  dirt...very few real lawns.  

There are a few brave dedicated noble residents who continue to try and boost the economy with neat homes and gardens...but not much is there.  It seems to me this town should be as industrious as Kanab, but somehow Arizona has designated it as the red-headed step child of the state...Now...finally it seems the rest stop will open with the new museum of Indian artifacts donated by a man who has collected them his entire life, a sweet and generous fellow named Dixon.

We drove from Chandler Arizona, across the desert some 170 miles to Flagstaff (the kick off spot to the south rim of the Grand Canyon.)  across a mountain pass to traverse the Colorado river at Navaho Bridge, built in 1929, at the same spot Lee's Ferry operated.  It is a narrow spot in the river (figuratively speaking as the Colorado goes) and walla! we were on the North side of the "Big Hole" as the Grand Canyon is often called.  In fact I almost had the same feeling as at Gettysburg when we took the driving tour and once we were at a church near the top of a meadow...we turned back on another road, and discovered we had changed from the Union Side to the Confederate side...it was eerie,  that's almost how this felt.  Cross this short bridge and you're on the North Side of the Grand Canyon...strange.

The landscape is of course spectacular and would be a great spot for our photographer good friend Glen Singley...he would have gone nuts taking pictures so much so his poor wife Susan would be weary of waiting for him to be finished.
Arriving in the afternoon we picked up the keys for our house in Fredonia, left to us by Patrick's older brother Leon, who built the house, lived in it a few days and then died, never having the chance to enjoy his work.  It is a comfortable house, where the garage is almost as big as the house...a guy thing...and I finally figured the toilet in the master bedroom is handicapped and taller than usual.  Now I'm not short by any means but sitting on that thing with my feet not touching the floor was very uncomfortable!  I finally realized the other porcelain fixture in the second bathroom was of normal height and OK to use with some degree of comfort considering the 6 hour car ride flared up some hidden bottom issues that had been brewing ever since my lady surgery 4 weeks ago.

We attended the parade the next day, where the last down the street lined with eager onlookers was the firetruck.  I guess the neighborhood kids had been planning a retaliation all year as across the street from us about 12 boys waited in ambush the entire parade.

The firemen, ready with water hoses sprayed the crowd...the boys fought back with hoses and well placed water balloons.  Many had constructed shields of cardboard or plastic and were able to get very close to accurately loom their water bombs at the firemen...from where I sat, I called the little altercation a tie...even though the firemen were armed with large fire hoses...the boys with young accurate arms pelted their ammunition with great accuracy and the men standing from their advantage point on the top of the truck were just as wet as the kids.

Other on-lookers had umbrellas to keep from getting wet, but in the over 90 degree weather many just enjoyed the chance to cool off...a good time was had by all.

The rest of the time there we worked cutting down the weeds in the front yard and around the little house.  We may finally have gotten the house into our name and legally able to sell very soon.  ANYONE WANT TO BUY A BARELY LIVED IN HOUSE IN BEAUTIFUL  DOWNTOWN FREDONIA?  It is crazy that when a brother has in his will..."my brother can have my house and stuff after I die", should have to go through such a lengthy process...and spend over $2,000. in legal feels just to get a property changed into the name of the person in the will.  But then what would lawyers do?   And since now we have a child in law school I guess we should understand...and I hope little Pat learns how to avoid all the nonsense and tells us the secret to leaving our stuff to whom we want without loopholes or necessitating our heirs to spend  tons of money.

I also picked up a few copies of the Red Rock Review...a publication of Kanab Utah (located 6 miles across the border) where one of my poems was featured...I was surprised it was on the first page, but after reading some of the other entries...it made sense.  Mine was a story about the area...and was a well constructed poem, many others were not...or did not make sense.  Now I've read a lot of poetry in my time and consider myself somewhat liberal in my interpretation of "poetry", but a few of the entries were a bit off the mark.  There were a few short stories also, and some art work, so I guess it was considered a literary journal of sorts. I'm just happy to be published and in the company of a few good writers.   If anyone is interested in my entry...look for "A good old Stick" in one of the past months on this blog.

Now to haboo, aboo, not sure which is correct yet, but after our seemingly very long ride back to our home away from home in Chandler Az.  We arrived to be hit once again by the 106 heat....in Fredonia we considered it nice to have 90, and cool water coming out of the tap, (instead of turning on the cold and scalding our fingers in the water flowing out the way you do in Chandler!) 

We were lucky we got home about an hour before the aboo hit.  I decided it was time for Patrick to have a hair cut and we were on the balcony doing the deed when I noticed all of a sudden it became dark.  I looked over my shoulder to see what was blocking the sun and could see a wall of brown quickly moving our way.   After a few minutes we were surrounded by dust and went inside to finish the haircut.  Not long after the TV had a news break to announce the haboo...and told everyone to stay inside and definitely not to drive.  The pictures on the TV showed a 2 mile high and at least a mile or two wide wall of dust traveling across the valley.  Halting planes and cars everywhere.  I saw today on the news we should expect 2 or 3 others to pass by us before the monsoon rains in the next few days.  I wish we had gotten the rain to settle the dust, but we were not so lucky.  Today I swept up a huge pile of fine gritty dirt from the patio...can anyone say asthma attack? 

Well this is my report on our little adventure...and today Patrick called from work and said the company is looking for people who are willing to go to another country...he named a few including South America and India, and so far the only one sounding inviting is Canada.  If we end up there after October we will have to speak Canadian....Ayyyy! or French depending where he is sent...right now that is not looking like a real possibility...but you never know!