The Firmament dispenses Sanctifying Grace on Siobhan Patricia Ellison, savior of lost donkeys, redeemer of disabled goats, medicine-bringer to the world. Beware her might! She will crush like an eggshell all who stand in her path! Alleluia!
They say that time passes quickly when you’re having fun so I guess it should be no great surprise that Siobhan Ellison has zipped from 34 years old when we first met her to 61 in the blink of an eye. Favored by the Rulers of the Universe, Siobhan has regressed on few fronts and advanced on many. She looks pretty much the same, has experienced few health deficits and has grown her modest veterinary business into a rapidly expanding test laboratory and research facility. She has arrived at a cure for a significant disease called EPM (Equine Protozoal Myeloencephalitis), producing a drug she named Origin which is effective on 93% of the horses which receive it. Moreover, she continues to market the drug at one-tenth the price Bayer and Merck are getting for much less effective shabby imitations, enabling horse owners of modest means to save animals impossible to rescue at the higher prices. Siobhan also makes herself telephonically available 24 hours a day to fretful horse owners, some ready to take to the ledge over their charges’ diminishing capacities. Her reward for all this is a plethora of weeping callers, daily thanking her for her devotion to her work and for saving “old Nellie”. Oh, and she also bought a new truck when the old one struck 254,000.
On a personal front, she continues to acquire pets at an alarming rate. In addition to Lila The Hyper, her female Rottweiler who greets all comers with leaping affection, she has now amassed two goats, a small donkey with an overbite named Bugs, and a stray black cat she thinks is “gaining weight” and I think is pregnant. When it comes to critters, Siobhan’s motto is The More The Merrier. Readers of previous columns will be glad to know that Bugs is improving by the day and the damaged goat—who is apparently unworthy of a name—is improving by leaps and bounds, as goats are apt to do. In the face of all this, the relationship between Siobhan and I continues on, good-humoredly. A recent example:
A Brief Conversation
Siobhan and I were watching television one night when one of the male characters woke up, touched the shoulder of his bed partner and whispered, “Hey, you….”
“We never talk like that,” complained Siobhan. “No, we don’t,” I agreed.
Next morning, I awoke first. I turned over, touched her on the shoulder and muttered, “Hey, you….”
Deep from a dark slumber came the endearing reply: “Bill, if you don’t turn over and go back to sleep, I’ll poke your eyes out and poison your breakfast.”
And that’s why we don’t talk like television people at our house.
Fun Times At Pathogenes
For a very long time, Siobhan, herself, was Pathogenes, Inc. She labored on into the night, banging away at her computer, talking to clients, fussing with the FDA. Sooner or later, however, if you’re going to run a business, you might want to think about hiring a few employees. First, we got a lady named Mary, who was slow but adequate, then a perkier girl named Paula, who said she was moving to Pennsylvania, as if anybody would really do that. While waiting for a new cellphone at A.T.&T., Siobhan ran across 77-year-old Don, recruiting him on the spot. Don was a nice guy but he liked to spend most of his working day on the front porch, cell phone in hand, talking to the wife. Don got fired. Next came the Williston brother and sister team of Christopher and Rebecca. The former was supposedly a brilliant mathematician but, like most mathematicians, he couldn’t spell cat (it’s c-a-t, by the way). Rebecca, a lovely girl with a fetching aura, made the same mistakes seven hundred times in a row. They went the way of Don. And that brought us to one of our current helpers, a woman of two names:
Debbie Stuart, A.K.A. The Can Lady
Long time readers of The Flying Pie will know of Debbie, celebrated in Pie lore as the fabled Can Lady of Fairfield. Early morning motorists traversing the streets and avenues of this tiny territory have oft seen her pedaling her bicycle hither and yon in search of aluminum cans, in the process killing two birds with one stone. Debbie keeps the roads clear of debris while simultaneously advancing her fitness profile. It’s a win-win situation. At Pathogenes, the Can Lady is Organizer in Charge. A place for everything and everything in its place. And a good thing too, since the Ellison Family Motto is “Things On Top Of Things”. Debbie also possesses considerable domestic talents. When the carpenter rebuilt the Pathogenes porch, she promptly painted it. Twice. Unlike everybody else, when she hangs pictures, they are somehow not crooked.
Remember the poem If, by Rudyard Kipling? Sure you do, they made you learn it in grammar school. Anyway, Debbie reminds us of the line,”If you can keep your head while all about you/Are losing theirs and blaming it on you…” We can’t see Debbie getting too freaked out over anything short of a Grade 5 Hurricane or a wine shortage. Debbie does like her wine. At the Minnesota Family Schweiss party not long ago, the house was full of guests and yet the twelve wine bottles on the table remained unopened. Debbie regarded this in the same way Bruce Wayne might consider the Batsignal. As a call to action. She surveyed the offerings, chose one and promptly freed the bottle of its cap. Others followed her lead. Every party needs a trailboss, after all. And speaking of the Schweiss Clan, we come to our second and third employees:
Autumn & Lark Schweiss
Autumn came first, then her younger sister. The two girls, in addition to their laboratory talents, are weightlifters. They like to throw refrigerators around just for the hell of it. Autumn threw so many of them around she recently came up with a hairline fracture of the hip. It’s nice to have strong employees. When Lark started here, she was an outside person, manicuring the garden, pruning the vegetation. Once, we were piling up fallen limbs in the north paddock and burning them, igniting the fires with kerosene which we carried around in a large, heavy plastic container. Lark thought it inappropriate for me, the employer, to be hefting the thing around so she insisted on hauling it herself. Didn’t bat an eye. You’d think she was carrying a pillow. Another time, a very large branch fell on our fence, beyond the means of both Lark and I to expel. Autumn ran out and joined the fray and the offending limb was dispatched with great alacrity. The two girls are both equestrians, experienced at parading horses around at fancy-schmancy shows but they are both humble souls of generous demeanor. And they never talk on cell phones to their relatives during working hours. All of which brings us to our final contestant:
Austin Li
Austin is a very little guy, 100 pounds on a good day, with a very large brain. Where computers are concerned, at least. He replied to an ad Siobhan had posted with Workforce Connection in Ocala. Whereas you get everything in this melange of replies from illiterates to ex-cons to sterling performers, not many of them show up in a white shirt and tie, having done research on your company, like Austin did. Austin was born in this country of Chinese parents, most of whom know the meaning of responsibility and pass it on. The second time he came out here, to submit some paperwork Siobhan had given him to fill out (an emailed reply would have been adequate), Siobhan called him over to the lab to talk for a few minutes. After awhile, I noticed his car was still running in the driveway and I went out to shut it off. When I opened the door, I was startled to see both of the parents inside, smiling and nodding politely at whoever it was invading their vehicle. They were happy to sit out there for an hour, if necessary, waiting for their boy to eventually return.
Pathogenes’ computer programs have made a quantum leap forward with Austin at the helm. With Debbie a two-day-a-week employee and the Schweiss girls also students at Central Florida College, Austin is the lone daily incoming presence at the lab and the place continues to perform swimmingly. Not to mention well-placed for eventual expansion into Beijing.
There’s Always A Fly In The Ointment
Arrayed against this wily band of outlanders, however, is the combined might of the United States Food And Drug Administration, the enigma that is FDA. From what I can tell, the obvious responsibility of this outfit is to provide every deterrent possible to disallow progress of a drug’s approval to anyone but Large Pharma. But that’s just me. At any rate, these are the ultimate bureaucrats, unable to see the forest for the trees. The answer to all questions posed is a resounding “NO”! The costs incurred trying to win approval make it virtually impossible for anyone of modest means to progress through the system. Nonetheless, Siobhan will not be deterred. She continues the battle. They concede one point and erect two more barricades, but they are not used to the Irresistible Force confronting their Immovable Object. Maybe she’ll get tired and they will win, they probably assume. Maybe they will get tired and she will win, thinks Siobhan. The stalemate continues on through the years, strife unabated, the irrepressible David vs. the unassailable Goliath.
But, hey….you remember what happened last time.
What Do They Do On A Rainy Night In Ipoh?
Last week, 62 people read The Flying Pie within the first hour it was published. 31 of them were from Malaysia. We’re used to getting a lot of foreign readership, but this is a new benchmark. Now, we’ve tried to get these people to write back before. Remember the Danes? Then the Chinese? And, of course, the Russians, the largest group outside the USA to follow the column? No response. It’s enough to make a grown man cry. Maybe the Malaysians will be different. We like to imagine them over there in Kuala Lumpur, sitting around the Zouk Club, IPads in hand, anxiously awaiting the next installment of The Flying Pie. Maybe there is a big statue of Bill, with smoke curling from the incense holder. Everybody is waiting on pins and needles for the Prophet to provide guidance for their pitiful lives. Finally, the new column appears on 31 screens! A shout of recognition rouses the room! Philsophical discussions follow a shared reading of the epistle. Valid disagreements over content ensue. It is all as it should be. Sometimes, new religions emerge from the smoke of these celebrated gatherings.
For the time being, all is quiet. The Shepherd waits to hear from his flock.
Selected Short Subjects
The photographs below are from the Gainesville Fall Arts Festival. If you look carefully, you may recognize a couple of our leading miscreants.
