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Not Your Garden Variety ANT Farm

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Not Your Garden Variety ANT Farm ©2019 by Lee Frederick Somerstein I had a most remarkable experience the other day, taking a tour of Windy Acres , a five-acre farm and sanctuary in Bellingham, WA. Windy Acres is no ordinary farm, or sanctuary for that matter. Its crop is growing healthier at-risk kids ages 6-18. Volunteers also help the therapists with veterans and seniors. Here’s another thing that makes Windy Acres special; the “therapists” are all animals. From the barn cat to the horse herd and a whole lot in between, these animals are improving people’s lives every day. From their Website: “Since 1999, Animals as Natural Therapy has helped thousands of people find healing through horses and other animals. Additional services include mobile therapy animals, leadership, anti-bullying workshops and team-building experiences.” Why Animals, you might ask? Their work is based on the knowledge that animals can reach a place in the human
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The Car Horn

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Do you remember when the car horn was a metal ring or half-ring inside the steering wheel of your dad’s car? If you do, you’re old like me. My dad’s car horn was in a 1957 Dodge Custom Lancer with a gold and white paint job. There was no shift on the steering column or on the floor. The automatic transmission was a series of big buttons on the dashboard to the left of the steering column. I borrowed that car late one Saturday night in 1962 – all 15 years old of me – and taught myself to drive. I was doing fine for about 20 minutes until I turned onto Elmont Road, just across the New York City line into Nassau County. After I made the legal right turn the light turned green and the next thing I see is a blue and orange Nassau County cop car right behind me. I panicked and with shaking hands immediately pulled over to park on the right. So did the cop. Yup That's Me  It was a costly misadventure. Besides the citation for driving
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To Quote The Doors......

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"This is the end, my beautiful friend...." I posted my  first blog   piece on November 2, 2007. Today, after 165 posts and nearly 45,000 visits, I'm shutting 'er down. I'm sure at least two of you, including my late mother, will be upset by this. Mom, I'm not saying that my creative juices have dried up. In fact, my creative cup runneth over and that is why the blog must end.  I've had an adventurous life. You've read about many of my adventures on this blog. Over the years I've tried to turn these adventures into a book. I've started and stopped writing a memoir at least three times. I want to share my stories and if people find them entertaining, that's great. My real goal, however, is to wrap these stories around a message of hope - 35-years of drinking and drugging and now 20-years of sobriety. If someone reads my book and decides they can make it if that Somerstein guy made it, I will be a successful author. Abou
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Back in the Saddle

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Hi. It’s me, Rip Van Somerstein. I haven’t posted here for a year. I’ve avoided reading, listening and watching any real or fake news for most of that time. I’ve been distracted by the single worst year of my life. That’s the past. It’s time to bring my cynical and critical eyes/fingers back to the keyboard and the so-called real world. Unfortunately it’s a lot of the same crap I left a year ago only in many cases it’s worse. What’s-his-name (whn) is still squatting in the Oval Office surrounded by his criminal buddies, many of whom have been indicted. I can’t wait to see which one will flip first. It seems like school shootings are more frequent – if that's even possible. I’m constantly seeing flags at half-staff. It sickens me. I have no thoughts and prayers going out to the victims’ families. That’s bullshit. SOMEBODY PLEASE DO SOMETHING!   Which reminds me, Congress still has its collective head up its ass with the 2018 mid-term election fast approaching. From my p
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Exit The Valley

©2017 by Lee Frederick Somerstein (Author's note: This is my first post-surgery piece. Hopefully it's my last on this subject, if not forever, at least for a long, long time. I hope I'm not beating a dead cancer cell to death but I am compelled to write because of the magnitude of thoughts and feelings as my brain and body reboot. May 16 was three weeks post surgery. It's been a physical and emotional roller coaster. Hang on!) --- May 5th was much more than my 70th birthday; it was the beginning of the next chapter(s) of my life. It was the first day post-prostate cancer surgery (4/25) that I got out of bed - weak as a newborn. It was the day Dr. Surgeon's nurse pulled staples from the six small incisions spread across my abdomen. I will tell people they are bullet wounds - so much more exciting. I’m slowly recovering physically and mentally. I’ve been pushing myself because that’s what I do and the slightest activity still drains me.
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Quick Shot

Sixteen days since surgery. Steady recovery but, as usual, not at my pace. Shoveled a few days of double canine defacation 💩 this morning, wiped me out for the day.  Dang! Reference book - an actual book - says recovery is about a month.   Ok, time to sleep off my nap.
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Dancin’ With Mr. C: Dr. Ferguson Cuts In

--> ©2017 by Lee Frederick Somerstein (Author’s note: This is the last in my series, “Dancin’ With Mr. C,” at least for now. I hope this was as enlightening for you as it was for me. Do know that your Good Vibrations worked, I know they did!) Let’s get it out of the way, okay. I am officially a cancer survivor, at least for now. Pathology returned from my prostate surgery shows nothing escaped. “The best outcome possible!” exclaimed one doc. They’ll check my PSA number in three months. I am making no assumptions. We weren’t certain of anything at 7:30am April 25 th when Dr. Jeffery Ferguson moved swiftly across the dance floor. “Excuse me, may I cut in?” asked Dr. Ferguson as he tapped on Mr. C’s shoulder and grabbed him around the throat. Even while Mr. C did his best to keep me between he and the Doc, there was no getting away from the determined Surgeon. He went in there like a man on a mission. Even as Mr. C’s grip on me tightened, Dr. Ferguson thrashed awa
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