Hudson Luke

Getting To Know Me- Its An Epic

You people know i love a meme or two so, in the spirit of particpation, I've decided to take part in Andy's " Getting to Know You Week ". And, in the vein of Andy's most recent post ( involving what may or may not have been a ghostly car chase ) I've decided to tell you all about a small part of my trip to Peru. The spooky part. Sure, the story is not from my childhood, but is from my past which is an integral part of getting to know me, so i'm going to assume Andy wont mind me slightly bending the rules. One or two of you may have heard this story before - for those of you who havent, hold onto your seats....


For those of you who are not up on your geography or world heritage sites, that is Machu Picchu, an ancient Inca city built into the Andes mountains. You may recognise it from Lonely PLanet guidebooks, National Geographic calendars or any of the 1001 travel shows being broadcast around the globe. It is, undeniably, a popular tourist destination - and the best way to get there ? On foot. Yes - foot: a four day trek through the Andes, starting at an outpost known as KM88 and finishing at Machu Picchu ( hopefully at either sunrise or sunset, if you time it right ... ). So that's we're i'll start my story - on the Inca Trail, on the 2nd day of the trek.

I'm not going to lie - the Inca Trail is no easy slog. Its not like i was some kind of ultra-fit, athletic superwoman . I was a slightly-larger-than-I-am-now trekking novice who'd never done anything at altitude before. But it promised to be the adventure of a lifetime, and who was i to turn that down ( even if it did feel like my lungs were going to explode ) ? Just making it into camp on the first day - accompanied by my all-male encouragement troupe, 3 guys i'd only known a few days before who insisted that singing " Eye of the Tiger " would motivate us up the mountain - was a Godsend. Day two promised to be harder. By mid mornng we would be ( slowly, painfully ) making our way to Warminwayusca, or Dead Womans Pass. This pass is 4500m above sea level and, as the highest point on the trek, is considered the toughest part of the journey. With the whole group having reached the summit, we stopped for a snack and a photo opportunity. It was from here that everything went downhill- both literally and figuratively.

My boys, after the trek - i believe they had moved onto Spice Girls songs by then

When our guide said it was time to pack ourselves up and get on the move, i tired sitting up but i felt all lightheaded and lethargic - it was like all the energy had been completely drained out of my body. I took a minute and tired to gather myself together but, when i looked a little wobbly on my feet, my guide and one of the other guys volunteered to walk at the back with me. Within a half an our, not only was i wobbly on my feet but i could barely seem to lift my arms - rather than walking with my walking sick, i was dragging it behind me in the dirt. My trekking buddy, Lachlan, said he'd carry my pack for me and my guide Jugo supported me on one side. I'd been drinking water and we'd only just eaten, so i should have all the energy in the world, but within another half hour, my vision had gone blurry and i was now being supported on both sides. I wasnt so much as walking, as being slowly dragged up the mountain side by an ex-Army recruit and a small Incan man. Mind you, all the guides are trained in first aid and a nurse in our group mentioned she thought i might be dehydrated or could possibly have altitude sickness.

And so we stopped. Jugo radioed ahead for one of the porters to come back with some blankets and he sat me down on a very comfy rock on the side of the trail. He gave me me water and put me on an oxygen tank for 20 minutes. He also made me inhale some foul smelling yuck, which apprently alleviates the symptoms of altitude sickness. All of that and - nada. I could barely breath, by this time could barely see, and felt like both my arms and legs were being weighed down by concrete. To be quite honest, i wuld have been perfectly happy to curl up on that there rock and die. Obviously, leaving me to die on a barren hillside isnt wasnt exactly part of Jugo's job description so... they carried me. Yes, you read that right - Jugo, Lachlan and Alejandro, the young guide who came back with the blankets, carried me. On their backs, They tied me on with the blankets, just like Peruvian women do with their babies.Hell, they even ran! Lachlan was a big guy, but Jugo and Alejandro were typically short, small, Incan men, and they ran with my whole 60kg/150lb of weight on their backs. I was slipping in and out of conscious - the only thing i do clealy remember is catching up to the rest of our group and Jugo telling them they had to get me immediately to camp.

Which is where i woke up. I woke up with Jugo leaning over me, stroking my head, telling me i was going to be okay, not to worry, he was sending someone into see me. Yep, no worries - zzzzzzzzz. Next thing i know there is a " Hola, senorita ? Hola ? " at the opening to my tent and in comes this really old guy. Here comes the cool part - he props my head up and starts muttering, kind of chanting, in the local Incan language. I was already almost completely out of it, too far gone to make any objection to what he was doing anyway. So the old guy keeps up the muttering and then he lights up something a bowl until it starts smoking. Once he had his smoke going, he blew it all over me: directly into my face, over the top of my head, down the front of my shirt, everywhere. He rubbed whatever he'd crushed up in his bowl over my face and arms, finished up with his chanting, said " Buenos noches, senorita ", and disappeared. Two of my female trekking companions them came in and helped me put on more clothing layers and then - blackness. I passed out or fell asleep for a while and then rested very fitfully ( i;d say slept, but i dont think i really did ) for the rest of the night.

Morning comes and .... i feel awesome. I wake up feeling great, go out and eat breakfast with everyone - albeit while copping some very strange looks from my trek buddies. Everyone wants to know how i feel and Jugo takes me aside to make sure i'm feeling okay. And that was it, we set off for the day. No-one rally talks much about the day before, except to say that i looked terrible, all limp like a rag doll and one of our older members thought i might have been dead. No-one bothers to tell me what may or may not have been wrong with me, but it didnt really matter because i was doing fine. It wasnt until our first snack break that anyone decided to let me in on what went on the previous night. So, take a deep breath people, here it comes : I WAS POSSESSED. Don't re-red that to see if it makes more sense, it wont. Apparently, whilst i had been laid up in my tent, delirious, Jugo had taken everyone else aside and told them what was going to happen, because he didnt want them to think i was being taken advantage of or anything. He, and the other porters - all Peruvian indian men - thought i had been taken over by a mountain spirit, spirits that the Incan people believed kept guard over their trail. The elderly gentleman, who turned out to be one of our porters, was also a kind of Incan medecine man, was going to go in an perform some kind of exorcism ritual, and expel whatever spirit it was that had taken me over.

And there you have it - when all the scientific medecines didnt work, when i only continued to get worse, it was decided that i must have been possessed and only pagan magic could save me. And you know what ? It did. The oxygen, the foul smelling inhalant, the water and pills, none of that worked but the chanting and the smoke blowing had me feeling as fresh as a daisy. Not only did i not struggle with the rest of the trek, but i was the second person to make it to the gateway to Machu Pichhu. It was like i'd been suddenly blessed or something. When we had finished our tek and met back up in town with our other tour guide, Jonathon, he told me in full what had gone on. He said he had only heard of two other women in 15 years of leading tours who had got so sick, so suddenly, and in the same spot on the trek ( straight after Dead Womans Pass ), and the same smoke blowing, chanting, praying-whatever worked on them too. You can believe what you want but, having lived the experience and being of a hippie-dippie spiritual mind anyway, i'm like 95% sure something otherworldly happened to me up there.

Either way, it sure beats the hell out of most peoples vacation stories....

To Whom and From Whom

On Thanksgiving Day Americans give thanks to God. Used to be everybody knew that but the multiculturalists among us have done their damnedest to hide it, so it’s become necessary to state it up front. When I ask my students about who is to be thanked on this national holiday, they look puzzled. “Indians?” they guess. That’s a clue about what we’re becoming in the 21st century. Only after discussing it some will a student say, “Wait a minute. Isn’t it God?” Those of us fortunate enough to have extended family members in their eighties can ask them the question as a kind of experiment. My prediction is that they, too, will look puzzled, but not because they don’t know the answer. They’ll be puzzled that anyone would even ask the question.

Americans face uncertainty this winter, but not the kind we thought we’d be facing. Just a few months ago we were worried about high fuel costs when gas prices and heating oil prices were around $4 per gallon. Those costs are back down to manageable levels, but now the economy itself is uncertain. People are being laid off. Nearly all of us know someone who has either gotten a pink slip or whose business has slowed dangerously. The stock market is doing a slow-motion crash. Corporations and banks are failing left and right and few economic advisors are predicting that bottom will be reached anytime soon. Unlike his soaring rhetoric during the campaign, our newly-elected president is sending out spokesmen to damper down expectations that he’s going to fix everything next year, the year after, or even in four years.

This year, I’m thankful for basic things like life, health, family, food, clothing, shelter, and heat. After several years of idleness, I’ve dusted off my chainsaws, dropped trees, and worked them up with my splitting maul - and it felt good. I’d almost forgotten how satisfying it can be to work on the woodpile when it’s getting cold. It’s simple and meaningful work in a complicated world. When I moved my young family to Maine thirty-one years ago, that became my routine because I had no choice. Oil was too expensive. The kids pitched in and it was all good. On the woodpile, there’s no disconnect between the work you do and the reason you do it. It’s hard work, there’s no better feeling than looking at a full woodshed when snow starts to fly. For a man whose job is to take care of his family, it’s a labor of love.

Back to basics is good. So is self-reliance. There was a time when Americans depended on themselves for just about everything and wouldn’t think of calling on government unless there were an emergency. There were no such things as entitlements. We were strong then because the only thing we felt entitled to was the opportunity to work. We always believed in helping each other, but that help was direct. It was bringing your tools over to your neighbor’s and working with him. It wasn’t in the form of government shaking you down for taxes to be spent on people you believe should be doing more for themselves. There’s no satisfaction in that.

Thanksgiving Day is uniquely American. It started with ordinary people celebrating the fruits of their own labor, working side by side for their common welfare - their life, their liberty, and pursuit of their happiness, all of which they knew were theirs by right. They also knew where those rights came from - from their Creator, not from their government. A century and a half later, their descendants put it down in writing and sent it to the king. On that day back in 1621 however, they gave thanks to God.

My weekend by the numbers: a recap

1 - number of fetes i attended. A fete is pretty much a country fair for all you non-Aussies. I took my neice because i knew she would appreciate the jumping castle and face painting.

4 - times i ate fast food over the course of three days. A serious blow out. The next thing to be blown out ? My stomach.

1 - number of doctors bills paid. Yep, the bill from my wisdom teeth removal.

670 - amount in dollars that it cost to have those teeth removed.

3 - display homes visit. For anyone wondering what a display home is, its a fully built replica of a home you can have built for yourself. I'm kind of thinking of building one, you see - if i can afford it.

245 000 - amount in dollars of the cheapest house and land package being offered in my town right now. Maybe i cant afford it.... but we'll see.

24 000 - amount in dollars the Australian government is offering as a first home buyers grant. Sure helps a bit with that affordability thing....

1 - number of handbags i bought myself. White, textured, Fiorelli tote. Not a Birkin bag by any means, but cute, classy and functional.

3 - number of days i saw my neice this weekend. Yep, that would be every day.

2 - number of days i saw my 7 month old cousin this weekend. Apparently, it was a weekend for the kiddies.

And there you have it. Look forward to next weekends recap - I've taken the Friday and Monday off work because, well, i havent had any actual holidays this year and i figure i deserve a long weekend. The forthcoming recap may or may not involve one or more the following: facials, $10 Tradie Lunch, " Australia ", visits by new reps, trips to the mortgage broker, old houses, new houses, broken hearts and children. Guess which ones i'm looking forward to ?

Perpetual Rainy Day

It was a perpetual rainy day, every day, for her. Not even the hottest days of summer could warm her deeply chilled bones. Why was she like this? No one really knew. On the outside she showed no signs of why her world was in constant rain. She seemingly bore no scars of her past, but they were there, buried deep under the layers of hurts and a trusted umbrella.

Walking down the muddy road that was her life she thought she saw a glimpse of sun. It only turned out to be a light drizzle, but it was not perpetual rain. So she tarried there in his company. This boy, who you could say he was charming and kind, was a welcome rest from her rain. So she set her trusted umbrella down and let him see some of her scars, but he did not care, not even a little bit. She was blind sided. She let down her guard and got hurt. Her slight drizzle turned into a strong down pore, and she was left helpless, soaked and chilled to the bone.

Painfully she bent to pick up the pieces that she had carelessly thrown down. How could she have been so foolish? She knew better than to let someone in that close. So she covered the scars and walked on into her perpetual rainy day, and a trusted umbrella overhead trying to keep dry the already soaked hurts. Never again would she allow her scars to show.

The rainy days of her life slowly got worse growing stronger after that first down pore, until finally she found that even the umbrella and layers of hurts could not keep the down pores away. So one by one they were dropped until she was left there standing bare. All her well-hidden scars left to be seen by all. Yet no one was there to see them or help them heal; no one to comfort her. So her sobs mingled with the rain of her perpetual down pore.

Then the sun suddenly shone and she was warmed by an unseen power that washed over her. She opened her eyes to see a man, but not just any man there was something about him that was different. She could tell by the way he looked at her, his eyes where so full of love and kindness. He was wet, soaked to the bone just as she was. He had been there with her all this time. In her despair He was there for every hurt He was there. He was there to help heal them. The Son was there to take them away. All her hurts were no more. Jesus had taken them. They had been left behind in her last perpetual rainy day.

This is a short story I wrote. It was random that I wrote it but I thought I's share it with ya'll.

Is that a challenge ? Double dog dare me ?

Five weeks til Christmas - can you believe that? 35 days to go until the Big Red Man comes and i get to stuff my face with prawns and Christmas icecream ( yes, you read it right - i make Christmas icecream ). And, knowing that there is only 35 days til my Christmas, our branch manager decided today was the day to put all the Christmas decorations in our store. Of course, everyone knows that you risk certain and eternal Christmas bad luck by decorating before December 1st ( yes, this means you too Andy and Capricorn ), but she insisted today was the day. Seriously, you've never seen an office covered in so much Christmas kitsch. It was cute and fun and cheery today, but i 'm guessing by the end of, lets see, next week, its going to be nauseating.

Anyhoo, like i said, decorating the office was quite a cheerful experience for the day, which got me to thinking - why dont i concentrate more often on the cheerful stuff ? Sure, when the big stuff happens - like birthdays or parties or exciting experiences - i'm all about the cheer; but I dont readily acknowledge the everyday things that make me smile and keep me from spending the day with my head under my bed covers. And so, in the spirit of the season i have decided to conduct an experiment - everyday up to and including Christmas Day, I am going find one thing that makes me smile. And, furthermore, I am going to let things slide - dont sweat the small stuff, you know ? Seems to me, after years of having listened to Oprah say it over and over ( hey, so maybe i dont pick things up so easily... call me stupid ) that actively focusing on being happy will..... make you HAPPY. Who woulda thunk it ?

In kicking off the challenge, here is the list of things that made me smile/smirk/giggle/cack my pants with laughter today :
* The radio playing " Run to the Water " by Live on my way to work - i love that song!
* A young girl coming in with her mum to look at sunglasses - she had the most gorgeous curly hair.
* Selling sunglasses - i just really enjoyed the customers today.
* The amount of Santa ornaments my manager has accumulated over the years - its like a Santa City in my dispensary right now!
* A bumper sticker that said " Nurses - We Can't Live Without Them " - thats it. No joke, no punchline. Just nurses are so under-appreciated. Big cyber hugs for the nurses out there...
*Andy and Ben's co-blog - laugh at loud funny.
*Chit chatting with J during work - when we werent busy with customers, we were busy being fools. Laughing makes the day go quicker, thats for sure.
* Eating gooey caramel-ly icecream for dessert - can you say yum ?

Which brings me to now. I'm currently texting back and forth with P while we watch " The Amazing Race " and after that , it'll almost be time for bed. Add one more to the list - sleeping always makes me happy.....

Liberal Racism

Can we finally get rid of “Affirmative Action” now that we have a black president? Barack Obama was freely elected by the votes of more than 63 million Americans with all shades of skin. We know this because our government and our media are obsessed with race. Endlessly, they classify us all even though biologists insist there’s no such thing as “races.” We humans belong to only one race - the human race. Any others are socially-constructed categories based on skin color or other variances within the human species. In other words, they exist only because we insist they do. How many times have you been asked to classify yourself as “White-non Hispanic” or “Black” or “Native American” or “Pacific Islander” or any one of a growing list of “races”?

The Constitution requires our federal government to count us all every ten years for the purpose of apportioning congressional districts according to population. Slave-holding states insisted that slaves be counted so they could have more congressional power. Anti-slavery states didn’t want to count them at all since they were not citizens. A compromise resulted in which only three-fifths of the slave population would count toward seats in Congress. After post-Civil-War Amendments 13, 14, and 15, there was no need to categorize American citizens this way, but it persisted and even expanded nonetheless. Such is the nature of government bureaucracies.

When I was visited by a census taker eight years ago, he sat at my kitchen table and filled out a form as he questioned me. When he got to the part about “race” I watched him as he was about to check off “white.” I said, “Wait a minute,” and insisted that he put me down as human. He said he had to check off one of the categories and there were none for “human.” I said leave it blank then. He said he could see that I was white and he marked it. I let it go, but I won’t in 2010 when census-takers come around again. I’ll refuse to cooperate when my government discriminates on the basis of race. It’s racism, pure and simple, and we have to get off this ludicrous merri-go-round.

For a century after slavery was outlawed, black people (and others) were discriminated against. To remedy that, the Civil Rights Bill was signed into law by President Johnson in 1964. It became illegal to “limit, segregate, or classify his employees in any way which would deprive or tend to deprive any individual of employment opportunities or otherwise adversely affect his status as an employee because of such individual’s race, color, religion, sex, or national origin.” Yet that is exactly what Affirmative Action does. It classifies people according to the above-mentioned categories and grants them preferential treatment at the expense of others. “Affirmative Action” is a euphemism for racial preferences - the very antithesis of what the Civil Rights Bill intended. It was wrong in principle when white people got racial preferences, and it’s wrong when any other group does also.

When people like Ward Connerly of the American Civil Rights Institute moved to eliminate racial categories from the US Census altogether, The National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) insisted they remain. How else could they use the power of government to “advance colored people” if they were not identified by that government and given preferences in hiring, college admissions, and business contracts? A sort of compromise was worked out in which citizens were allowed to check off more than one of 126 possible classifications of race and ethnicity, but this only made things worse.

Connerly’s American Civil Rights Institute has been effective, however, in its efforts at outlawing Affirmative Action in several states including California, Washington, Michigan, and Nebraska through the referendum process. Enacted in 1996, “The California Civil Rights Initiative,” for example, reads as follows:

“The state shall not discriminate against, or grant preferential treatment to, any individual or group on the basis of race, sex, color, ethnicity, or national origin in the operation of public employment, public education, or public contracting.”

For this, Connerly has been attacked as “racist” by fellow black activists. How an initiative that bars discrimination on the basis of race can be called racist is beyond me, but such is the hopelessly skewed thinking of race-baiting activists like Jesse Jackson, Al Sharpton, as well as most members of the NAACP and the Democrat Party.
While there’s still a question of whether Barack Obama got into Columbia and Harvard through Affirmative Action, he won the highest office in the land without it. If that’s not proof that it’s time to eliminate Affirmative Action once and for all, please tell me - what is it going to take?