KU recruits Illinois better than Illinois
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Talking about Kansas is difficult, because very few persons understand and appreciate a steppe ecology, at least that is what I have come to call the Kansas prairie. The Native Americans understood it deeply and reputedly called it the ocean of grass that stretched from North Texas to Manitoba. The Native Americans of the ocean of grass appear to have viewed their world much as island peoples in ocean environments have viewed theirs. And when native Americans acquired horses, they began to view it much like island peoples acquiring better ship building and navigation skills; that is, they viewed their lives much as sea farers have through out history. They followed the buffalo herds first on foot probably for relatively short distances for thousands of years, then on horseback, when the Spanish brought horses (note: I have always secretly wondered if far back in pre history that Native Americans perhaps rode primitive variants of horses that became extinct for some reasons).
To grasp life on the ocean of grass–to break through our blinders of over-familiarity of its ploughed up, fenced, fracked, pipeline webbed, cattle ranched, irrigated, wheat and corn farmed look of today–it helps to think a bit more purposefully about seafarers. Sea farers have long set sail in search of fish to catch and eat and trade and sell. They often sailed great distances to follow the cod to catch and salt, or whales to slaughter and cook for oils, or what have you. Sailors have always been amphibians; that is, they have always lived on both the sea and the land. And they have always rightly said that land lubbers, those that did not go to sea, could not understand the majesty and scale of the sea; how one was changed by navigating the sea for a length of time out of site and out of reach of land. How its mysteries of the deep welling up, like ones own dreams welling up at night amidst ones waking days, connected oneself to something deeper, something more alive and transcendently savage and beautiful, than had one stayed at home on the land solely. But always the sailors have to come back to port and in time they always grow too old to go to sea, if the sea does not take them young in its fits of fury between its hypnotic periods of serenity.
The ocean of grass, the prairie and its legacy that lies behind the ploughed, farmed, ranched expanses we see now on occasional long drives through it, what geographers I believe also classify as steppe, also found in central Asia on even vaster scale, i.e., the ocean of grass that spans the heart of North America, is quite similar in its extremes and effects on persons to the sea itself on seafarers, if they ever actually live in the prairie and move around on it, rather than just keep their shoulders to the suburban wheel and work and shop in it. It is something that is mesmerizing in its magnitude and forces one to scope it down to something manageable and come into port frequently in what are called villages, towns and cities, but which are really just islands in the ocean of grass, or ports at its shore.
To be born on the prairie, either in a port city at its edge, like I was in Kansas City, or to grow up in one of its tiny island villages like McPherson, or Onaga, or Goodland–little refueling stations on the way to the western shore that is the port town of Denver, say, as well as places where the awesome harvests of the ocean of grass are collected and moved by diesel semi-trailer trucks, bearing company names and city names always half a continent or more away, and by graffiti covered railroad trains pulled by diesel electrics–the original hybrids–to the great, lonely elevators for shipment down diked, brown rivers that were once wildly circuitous coiling serpents reduce with poetic license to blue meridians and Moon Rivers flowing to the Gulf of Mexico for trans-shipment on oceans of salt water to mouths hungry for wheat bread and corn masa around the world, is to be irreversibly different from peoples from the mountains and deserts and wooded and jungled regions and especially those from big cities by oceans of water. It is to know on a deep level the vastness of nature is not limited to the rigid inanimateness of rock, or the shifting inanimateness of sand, or the eternally fluctuating inanimateness of water. The prairie, you see, is alive. It is animate. It is not the medium that life is in, as is the case of the ocean. Rather, it is the medium of life itself. It grows and dies before your eyes, if you stay awhile. It repeats. Vegetation myths still mean something if you know the prairie. When the amber waves of grain wave, it is life itself that is waving at you. When the corn leaves flutter dark green and avocado glints in hot, humid June wind it is life that undulates with infinite complexity on the rods and cones of the retinas of ones squinting eyes.
The same view of the awesomeness of life may be seen in the depths of deciduous forests clinging to the steep, dark river valleys of the Alleghenies, or under the green house of a stifling subtropical jungle in Louisiana, or Florida, but these are cramped, claustrophobic experiences of life’s fecund spectacle of rank indifference to one human being’s existence. One cannot see the forest for the trees in, say, eastern Pennsylvannia. One can barely see the stars inside or outside the tiny towns crowded onto green rivers winding like water moccasins through the mountains worn down by life strangling them for eons. And once in a swamp jungle one’s experience is even more constrained and localized.
But the prairie is the opposite experience. On the prairie, one can never not see the horizon; never not see that life stretches all the way to and fro, all the way to and far, far beyond what one can see. To stand on the prairie is to know, really know, the vastness of life on this strange, tiny green planet adrift in a universe of voids and rocks, and life killing radiation unfiltered by our tent of atmosphere; a universe where even the probability of other life remains an unverified mystery given hope only by stochastic abstractions.
To really “see” life, to really experience its verdant scale, to really know its beauty, complexity and consuming indifference, one has to live on the prairie for a time, one has to walk it, one has to walk into its thinly distribute groves of trees along small rivers and come out onto its vast horizons, one has look up close at its dense weave of grasses and weeds and hear its cicada and catch its grass hoppers and feel its flies and bees whir by one’s ear, while at the same time never losing site of its horizons. It is this bothness of the prairie that defines it–its ever present, ever visible, simultaneous combination of the micro and the macro of life, if one will every once in awhile take off the blinders of work and recreation and media, or school if you are young as I once was living there, and stand alone in a pasture, or a rest area by an interstate, or a truck stop, or simply venture down a gravel section road off the beaten path and stop at a “high” spot and turn off the car and stand in the tall grass of the ditch by the road and just look and listen. You will see far and near. But unlike the mountains, or the oceans, where you can also see far and near, you will be looking far and near at life undulating sensuously in the wind and stretching to the horizon, not standing stoically like pines on mountains of stiff rock, not salt water smashing and cresting against rock encrusted with barnacles and anenomes and star fish and rock fish that you cannot see unless you run up so close you lose sight of the horizon, as you bend over and marvel at the reef life in the breakers at your feet.
On the prairie, you get both all the time, whether you want it or not. And even if you go “down in the bottoms,” where the rich soil is, you know that you are always within running distance, or a short drive if you are old like me, to the prairie above and the bothness you were born with and are accustomed to. You know you are never far from wonder of life both near and far–from the simultaneity of it all.
Ironically, I did not fully appreciate the American prairie until I left it and even then it took reading a strange, tragic book, of all things, to bring into articulate focus, what I had been born knowing on some sublingual level. I stumbled into a book, a World War II memoir, the title of which I now forget, written by a German soldier, and published posthumously by his family, in some small press. It recounted his harrowingly bad experiences on the eastern front in the mercifully failed Nazi invasion of Russia. If you have been to Germany it is country of diverse topography, but what sticks with one, at least what stuck with me, was that it was often a hilly country of forests. It is something like Pennsylvania, I suppose, or vice versa. The Romans did not invade much of it, because of its claustrophobic forests that vast, disciplined Roman legions quickly would lose tactical advantage inside. In any case, the man who wrote the memoir grew up in a small city of Germany. He was educated. He was destined to become a doctor. But he was conscripted into the Army and before he knew it he was a highly educated young private taking orders from ideological fanatics and often morons. (Note: I am told by many that have served that it is a rare army, like it is a rare corporation, and a rare government that is not this way much of the time, but I digress.) At the key moment that Hitler’s invasion might have succeeded the Germans stopped, likely necessarily, to solidify their supply lines and prepare for the dreaded Russian winter. It was then that things began to go dreadfully wrong for the author of this war memoir. It was then that the orders began to come down through channels that were being given based on assumptions about logistical and weather conditions and Russian troop concentrations that were not based on reality, but on speculation, because lines of communications had badly deteriorated. It was then, after a horrific winter of suffering that his division of soldiers were ordered to march south to the Caspian, rather than continue east, as if marching to the Caspian were like marching from Bavaria to Alsace. What they were marching into was a vast steppe, a vast prairie, of a scale as big, or bigger, than from Manitoba to North Texas. The word was they were to march south and meet up with German armies moving from the Balkans to Ukraine. And the march went on all spring and all summer and all fall and, though I can’t recall, maybe they camped and marched another spring and fall. They marched until all of their machinery had to be left behind in spring mud for there were no roads, just wagon ruts, and thousands of miles of grass, oceans of grass, and not cities, just villages and farm steads hundreds of miles apart. And they grew lost as they marched and died of exposure and starvation. And it was not until the last ideologically fanatical officer and last stupid sergeant had died of starvation, disease, thirst, or exposure, that this articulate would be doctor was finally free to lead a small rag tag band of German privates on a quest to survive rather than on a mad, quixotic quest to conquer the Caspian Basin for the fatherland’s oil and gas needs, and for access eventually to the Persian Gulf and the other mad, fanatical bastards from neo Shogunate Japan with their great Navy trying to stretch through the southwest Pacific to the Persian Gulf in hopes of joining forces with the Germans and the Italians, to take over the worlds oil and gas supplies and the eastern hemisphere’s global shipping lanes. In the vastness of the central Eurasian steppe, caught up in the intoxicating vision of Nazis back in Berlin and Bavaria backed by private oligarchs like Krupps in control of regional, would be global producer oligopolies and illegitimately in control of their own states, seeking control of global trade routes and global energy supplies, was this poor, pitiful, well educated, well mannered private and a dozen or so hapless German soldiers by then emaciated and in rags lost in the middle of an ocean of grass a half a world a way from the steppe I grew up on the edge of. And what did this doctor’s memoir of his war experiences recall as changing him profoundly? Was it hunger? Combat? The madness of war? Fanaticism run amok? Corporate military fascism exposed for the human dead end that it always is, regardless of where it rears its ugly head. It was his daily experience of the fantastic dimensions of the central Asian steppe that he marched through, and then hiked through, then staggered through, and then finally for a time crawled through, before finally finding their way into being taken prisoners and saved. He said it was the most remarkable, most awesome, most transforming expanse of geography he had ever witnessed, despite all of the horrors that befell him there.
When persons learn where I am from and ask me what the prairie is like I do not tell them about this book, because I cannot recall its title, or author’s name, and I do not want to introduce perfect strangers to the horrors of war, or make them suspect that I harbor any sympathies for the Germans regarding World War II.
What I do tell them to do is read a book I love deeply and frankly cherish my copy of. It is called “Prairie Erth” by William Least Heat Moon, who most unfortunately lives in Missouri and teaches at that dreadful state’s leading university. When I am far from the prairie, as I mostly am, and when I am struggling with meaning and purpose, and when basketball will not pull me through such funks, I often reach for that book and simply crack it open and re-read any random section of it and I am reconnected with that steadying experience of bothness that I was born with that has stood me so well in so many circumstances. And on the very rare occasions when even that does not suave my soul, then I get out the suit case, and catch a flight back to Kansas and hope there is still someone alive their I can go visit and, when their busy schedules require them to get back to their routines, then I go for a drive down to the old home place, where my great grand father raised a family in eastern Kansas at subsistence level after having tried and failed in the prairie of central Kansas. And if that does not work, then I drive as far out into Kansas as I can get and I drive to a gravel section road off the beaten path and I come to a stop at what an easterner, or a westerner, would barely notice as a high spot in the road, and I park the car and step out in the tall grass and look in every direction as I did as a child.
It works for me.
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@jaybate-1.0 I was about to accuse you of plagiarizing William LH Moon until I got to the last paragraph. I too enjoyed the part of that book I read several decades ago, mainly because in my three years at Kansas I really fell in love with the Flint Hills. Amazing land out there which I hope to see again.
I heard a singer this summer up atop Rib Mt who sang a song with the line “When I look into my Grandmas eyes I see the beautiful Kansas skies” I almost lost it right there! Don’t know what this has to do with the original topic of this blog, but it takes on a life of its’ own sometimes.
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@wissoxfan83
ALWAYS TRUST YOUR JAYBATE 1.0’S ORIGINALITY AND JOY IN CITING SOURCES.
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@wissoxfan83 @jaybate-1.0 Another perspective of Kansas was made by Alaska Airlines in a commercial that ran in the 70’s while I was stationed at Eielson AFB near Fairbanks. The commercial ran about a minute with no sound and just aerial views of the Alaskan landscape. At the end of the commercial a voice said, “Alaska, everything else looks like Kansas.” (beer)
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Alaska. Everyone should visit at least once. Just the drive from Anchorage to Seward is a special experience. Much of the 120 mile drive is nothing but beautiful wilderness. Other than your vehicle and the road you are driving on there isn’t a hint of man or civilization anywhere around you. I drove an hour without seeing another car.
And as a tie in back to recruiting. I flew my father in from KC to join us. Mario Chalmers was on the plane with him having just finished a KU visit. We were very tempted to speak to him, but I was afraid it might violate some NCAA rule.
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Totally enjoyed your read on Kansas.
I love the waves of wheat and high grass plains. I love watching some of my Native American friends perform as “grass dancers” at powwows.
I love the artwork from a generation ago (maybe a couple of generations) from the Prairie Print Makers.
I love the artwork of current Kansans that appreciate Kansas… like my good friend, Lyle Allen White, and his modern day interpretation of the plains and the people that live in this “ocean” through his book “Pioneer Spirit.”
I wouldn’t want to be from anywhere else. I’ve traveled the world, and seen plenty of awesome places, people and culture. They are great, too, and I’m sure they are happy where they are from.
I’m happy being from Kansas!
I largely keep my happiness a secret because I’ve witnessed (first hand) how some other States to the west of us suffered from becoming “hot spots” by crowds of people looking for a new place to live because they were unhappy where they were. Consequently, these same people go with the herd and become unhappy in their new land and eventually leave, but not until they have largely destroyed key elements of that place.
So it is all of our duty to defend our State. Talk it down to everyone who doesn’t live here. We’ll be just fine and we will still get a healthy growth of incoming people who truly want to contribute to our State.
Let the crowds chase their own tails in other States. We’ll settle for a State that has steady, realistic real estate prices and cost of living, steady government and steady people!
I hope I didn’t offend anyone… that is not my intent. But I’d rather live in a quiet place and read all the loudness of other places in the newspaper.
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@nuleafjhawk hehehehe…
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@drgnslayr Slayr I’m with you. I enjoy my adopted state of Louisiana, it’s food, history and it’s got some real down home, down to earth people. However, I do miss Kansas. Although, as I’m getting older, shoveling snow is not something I miss. (beer)
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Ha… I hear you! Snow is a bummer… but without a hard freeze the bugs go crazy the next summer! And the freeze helps sterilize the soil from unwanted bacteria. That’s why you don’t want to eat lettuce on your trip to Mexico, or you’ll experience most of your trip in a toilet! (been there, done that)
We live on a block that goes 3 blocks long and I probably know 90% of the people on these 3 blocks by name. The other 10% are new and I’m sure I’ll get to know them, too.
This morning there were two dogs running loose that were obviously someone’s critters so I chased them down with another neighbor and we located the owner.
The only way I can go to the grocery store and get in and out is to go late at night… otherwise, I’m bound to see several people I know and will chat it up while my ice cream melts and my pregnant wife is screaming for her ice cream!
That’s just the way it is here. I’m not some super social person… people are just downright friendly!
That’s the way I want to live my life.
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I wish you would take a crack at a memoir in two parts. Part One would be your Odyssey from America to Europe. Part 2 would be your journey through Europe as player, soldier, and sports business man. Part Three would focus on your return to a life back in Kansas. This is a mythic and an underreported experience. I am not sure whether it would have much of a market or not, but it seems an important, revealing and under documented path of experience. I particularly like the angle of your devotion to gardening, small agriculture and healthy eating as a means of coping with the adverse side effects of your time as an athlete, plus the spiritual side of it as well. What appeals to me specifically is that it would be a non-fiction story of a modern Odysseus–the athlete, instead of the warrior–that went abroad. And if I recall correctly, you served in the military also. It would be a particularly interesting thread to include if you coincidentally happened to do any time as a military intelligence person inserted into European basketball either as a player, or a business person, to be a listener in the very complicated world of European professional sports ownership and European Big Gaming, which is reputedly used for laundering black monies and drug monies and terrorist monies and so on. But even without that flashy angle, I still like the human life phases that your story would demonstrate in a fresh way.
I know other Kansans that have moved back and have been very grateful that they did, but I don’t know any that have ever had the interesting combination of sports business and a return home to the kind of life you have apparently chosen to lead in Kansas. I tried to return a time or two, but the stars did not align to enable it. But I think your story would appeal to me even if I were not from Kansas.
A big market publisher might want Part I and 2, but not Part 3. I’m not sure. A small market publisher might want both. Surely there ought to be a small Kansas publishing house that would want to document your unique experience and its connection to the state. But I suspect the right editor might see a broader market for it.
You might try pitching the book idea to some publishing houses there in Kansas and see if you get a nibble.
Suggested Title: “Odysseus in Shorts: The Long Journey of an American Basketball Player to Europe and Back.”
Rock Chalk!
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Thanks for the flattering comments.
I didn’t serve in the armed forces, but I did have a period of working on DOD installations. My dad and uncles were all the brave souls who went to battle.
I have to tell you… in the 20 years I spent there I always came back for my Kansas summers. I just couldn’t live without it. And when I had a girlfriend, she would come with me. Also, several of my buddies visited me in Kansas, too. Every woman that came here cried hysterically when they left because they had never been somewhere where people were so friendly.
I do think people are attracted to their own familiarity. I just feel fortunate that I have embraced where I’m from and I feel a bit sorry for people who don’t embrace where they are from because no matter what, it is part of your identity!
One of the main nicknames I picked up abroad was “Kansas.” I kind of liked it!
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At 35 I left Kansas for an better career opportunity in my field. I was also motivated by the weather. A trip to Australia in January (summer down under) was enough to convince me to move to the sun belt. Oil & Gas work put me in California & Texas where I’ve been able to keep working. But I’ve always been back every summer to see family and friends. Kansas is a great place, and the people are wonderful.
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I’m getting feeble and uncool. I did not recognize the reference “La-Bas”, so googled it and there were many possible references. Did you have one in particular in mind for our dear @drgnslayr ?
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Sorry about recalling incorrectly about the military. Still think your story is worth telling.
And what the hell! I’ve accidentally given myself a good idea for a story: a American basketball player that falls into being an informant in, say, Berlusconi’s Italy, then gets wrapped up in fixing of Italian basketball games, and then has to run for his life with a beautiful woman, of course, to Locarno, and then perhaps cross over the border. Sort of Robert Ludlum in a jock strap! A Farewell to Arms in tennies. I like it.
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@jaybate-1.0 Only the strange mind embedded in the jaybate cranium cavity could come up with a plot and title of Farewell to Arms in Tennies. (beer)
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Uhm, I’ll take that as a compliment.
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@jaybate-1.0 It’s just “There and Back Again” (of Hobbit fame) with “There” translated into French. Didn’t mean to be obscure.
Hobbits were the ultimate X-axis players in Middle Earth!
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@jaybate-1.0 Since @wissoxfan83’s original thread has been totally hijacked, did you ever get the chance to read or watch Lone Survivor?
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I would fork this thread to a new one, but I am not sure what I would call it! I guess it took the ontological turn with Jaybate’s missive. It sure is entertaining though!
maybe I should simply call it “Kansas”
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Maybe TT is employed by the NSA. He’s now signed to play in Russia. I’m trying to visualize a flubby Putin chasing after TT and quickly getting winded. The goal was less to spy and more to just see if we could stroke out Putin.
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Howling!!!
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I have not yet seen it, but in frustration of not seeing it, I have read a lot about Luttrell and his book, about the conflicts between Luttrell’s book and the Marine Corp’s version of the event, and about the movie being fairly faithful to the book. My appetitive is thoroughly whetted to see the movie now. I also have a ton of thoughts about the event, and long wake of it, but after writing them, decided I needed to see the movie before posting anything. Regardless, thanks very much for calling this tragic, heroic, sad, complicated episode to my attention. Because the wars for control of the Eurasian Center Point are really only just beginning, it is hard to foresee what the long term historical importance of Luttrell’s story will be, but if USA/UK were to concede the Eurasian center point now and withdraw and dig in to hold Africa, Luttrell’s story might become as iconic of the Near East/ South Asian/North African regime change war era since 9/11, as My Lai Massacre became for the vast 1954-1973 American involvement in Vietnam. Wars often generate brief events that subsequently become highly symbolic (and reductive) icons of the entire hopelessly complex event of a war, for better or for worse. My dad often complained that the guys that put the flag up on Mt. Surabachi, either the first time, or the staged time, weren’t nearly as important as the guys that fought there way up the damned thing, or went into caves in Cushman’s pocket, if I recall that name correctly. But symbolism and iconography are not about literal events, they are about a mythic arc between events and the collective imagination of a people and they speak in a mysterious language to the collective heart of a people and not to the actuality of any one event in relation to others. Wars are apparently filled with countless acts of heroism and countless acts of evil and blundering, and so these kinds of stories like Luttrell’s, their perhaps equalled many times in other circumstances that we will never know about, some how nevertheless speak to us deeply and in ways we can never fully understand,whether we were in the war zone, or back home.
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@brooksmd I’ve not seen the movie, but have read the book “Lone Survivor”. Also SEAL Target Geronimo, No Easy Day, SEAL Team Six, & SEAL of Honor. (improper punctuation) Didn’t take the time to watch it when on dish ppv, & really since I am not crazy about Wahlburger, didn’t want to be disappointed cause the book kicks ass. Wahlburger was OK playing Irish Mickey Ward in the fighter, but Christian Bale & Amy Anderson were collosal, & a superb supporting cast is really what made that an outstanding movie. My boys & I watched Mickey Ward fight welterweight for years on espn a couple of decades back, so I really did like that one. The wife & I may have even seen him fight at the old Showboat in Vegas, but went to so many fights out there I just don’t recall if he’s one of them. All great authors make drama/satire/humor from either ordinary or abnormal situations so people will read or their work will sell, so the he said/she said stuff between interested parties is mostly irrelevant to me. I just like reading a good book & LS is damn good IMO. My opinion is also that which believes some people on this board should stop calling others out when they don’t necessarily agree with that type humor or satire like we consistently see from others. Personally I happen to enjoy it & will add that fine writing impresses the krap outta me, minus blatant sarcasm, of which I am usually one of the most guilty.
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Ah, I forgot about Tolkien’s little people. I am over the hill for sure, when I forget that. Sorry.
And I am so relieved that that was your intent. For my initial search lead to this link…
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Là-bas_(novel)
A rather dark book–another I had forgotten about–this time mercifully.
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@brooksmd This is why I talk about Wisconsin so much! I do enjoy aspects of Louisiana, but I sure do miss it up north!
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I really just wanted to know why Illinois can’t recruit it’s own players! Now I have what I majored in at KU, a geography blog.
Besides KU basketball I spend inordinate amounts of time fixing, at least in my mind or on replies to articles, geographical errors in movies, TV shows, best of lists (like the other day when they showed a picture of Door County WI, but there was no way it was actually Door County), driving random roads on Google Earth in far flung places like Botswana,
I watch airplanes in the sky and try to figure out what city they might be flying to, and looking at webcams to see what the view is like from the top of Table Mt in South Africa. I pore through my NG magazines, looking at the interesting photo’s first and then perusing the mostly interesting articles. I stare at maps and wonder why God couldn’t have seen fit to have me live in a place like the incredibly beautiful Italian coast, or the lakes and moors of Scotland, or even just on a hilltop in big sky country with a view of the Absaroka’s or the Sawtooth Range in Idaho.
I look at maps and wonder if anyone else knows that the first (territorial) capital of Illinois is actually west of the Mississippi River or that the Mississippi River drains land from Montana to New York. I know people know about Lake Huron, but did you know that it and Lake Michigan are the same body of water making it, and not Superior, the worlds largest fresh water lake. Thus there’s only four Great Lakes. And who hijacked geography and added Southern Ocean to the maps?
But then I contemplate my place in this world and realize how fortunate I am to be born here, anywhere in this country actually, and not be born in a place like Somalia, or in 90% poverty rate Calcutta, or in North Korea, a place that has enjoyed no freedom since before the Japanese invaded them in the early 20th century.
Which brings me back to basketball because I was fortunate as well to choose KU and become a citizen of Jayhawk nation, a decision that has brought to me a lot of fun and friendships over the years.
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@wissoxfan83 had me dreaming, thanks!! I could learn a lot from you.
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@wissoxfan83
What nice and refreshing outlook in an age where form and appearance is preferred over substance; I guess the new term is “optics.”???
It reminds me of…
All of us get lost in the darkness
Dreamers learn to steer by the stars
All of us do time in the gutter
Dreamers turn to look at the cars
From “The Pass” by Rush
Which is loosely based on Oscar Wilde’s quote "We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars."
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@JayHawkFanToo Rush Limbaugh writes poetry? Who’d a thunk it!
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@wissoxfan83
That would be the band “Rush” and not Rush Limbaugh…:)
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@wissoxfan83
Way to go!
Another one found his voice.
It happens every once in awhile here.
And it is so beautiful.
Hang on to it.
Use it.
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@drgnslayr said:
" Every woman that came here cried hysterically when they left …"
Hopefully they weren’t tears of joy. lol
