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Zounds...we were separately all over the same places together.

Those small earthquakes...weren't those great? - like gusts of wind eventually. One got a badge of honor for playing right through them.

Our portion of San Fernando Valley history was/is, of course, a grand beneficiary, a microcosm manifestation of the American Occupation, writ large; enormous private gain hidden amongst some public's gain (always alleged more than actual.)

Having taken over the rapacious responsibilities of the 19th-century Spaniards, none were better than the turn-of-the-20th-century Angeleno Anglos. And none were better suited to the hero-rapist role than William Mulholland, who brought water to the desert of the San Fernando Valley. He carries all the sins of urban sprawl, and we got the joys, the memories...and whatever woes we choose to carry.  

I sit now in another naturally arid land, near the similar tragic scenes of Jeanne de Florette and Manon des Sources, and the similar childhood joys of La Gloire de Mon Père (My Father's Glory) and Le Château de Ma Mère (My Mother's Castle). I resist the temptation of tying in the tragic story happening now in the towns and countries Jerusalem-adjacent, and go back to work.

Never underestimate their intelligence, always underestimate their knowledge.

Frank Delaney ~ Ireland

by siegestate (siegestate or beyondwarispeace.com) on Sun Jul 26th, 2009 at 08:16:38 AM EST
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