Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Learning to Love the "Q" - Winning Strategies for Words With Friends, Scrabble and Lexulous


 

For the past year or so I've been playing Lexulous on Facebook with the same person. Lexulous is much like Scrabble or Words With Friends but with eight tiles instead of seven, bonus points for 7 and 8 letter words, and the board has a slightly different pattern when it comes to double and triple word scores. After playing four hundred games with this person it's suffice to say we're formidable opponents. We've had two draws and the win/lose ratio is nearly 50/50.

Ever since getting an iPhone I've been playing the more popular Words With Friends with a lot of other people. At the moment I have 8 active games with seven friends—and two games with complete strangers who I found by selecting the "random player" button.

I've never been really good at anything, but after playing Lexulous (with that extra tile to deal with) I think it made me a better Scrabble and WWF player. Like a batter on deck swinging a weighted bat, Lexulous conditioned me to come out swinging hard when stepping up to the plate to play Scrabble or WWF. I've been winning a lot of matches—and it's not because of long and elaborate words. I also don't use a "Scrabble helper" website to find words, although I'm sure some of my opponents do—and that's fine with me because like I say, long words don't mean much if you really want to win. If you've played me in a game, you know I usually use very common and simple words.

Here's some strategies I use when playing these word games. Although WWF, Scrabble and Lexulous all vary to some degree from each other, you'll get the gist of these hints and if you apply them to the appropriate game, you'll start winning a lot more. You can read a comparison between these three games at Red Letter Day.

  • When starting a new game only spell long words or use high value tiles if you can reach a double word square or if the game gives double points when the first word is played. My game opening words are often only two or three letters and (if applicable) use the overly abundant letters such as I, E and A. I often spell "tea" "air" "to" or "at" for my game starting word.

  • Shuffle! Shuffle! Shuffle! I shuffle my tiles until a word or possible word jumps out at me. The human brain can read most shuffled words if only the first and last letters of the word are in their correct place. Do you udsrentnad  this? Shuffling tiles four or five times won't cut it. You know how many combinations there are for 7 letters? I sometimes shuffle at least twenty times and also try to keep my opponent's available and playable letters that are on the board in my head while doing it.

  • Keep adding on! Just because a word has been played doesn't mean it can't grow. "Air" can become "pair" and that can turn into "repair" and finally end as "repairs" or "disrepair." "Air" could also become "airway" and then "stairway(s)." "Build" could become "building(s)" or "rebuild(s)."

  • Commit to memory the obscure two letter words (AA, AG, AE, QI, XI, XU, UT, MM, ZA etc...). Learning these will get you out of a bind and often with a lot of points. I also suggest learning all the obscure words that use "Q" because the letter is so valuable and needs to be played on a double or triple valued square. Some unique words using "Q" are "Qaid(s)" "suq" "qua" "quag" and "qat."

  • Check to see if you can spell the suffixes "ING" and "TION" (using any combination of your letters and those on the board). You'll find you can add these suffixes to many words. Also, if you have "ED," check to see if you can make a word past tense.

  • Cherish the letter "S" and the blank tiles! I mostly  reserve my "S's" for words that either begin or end with the letter, and always attach them to an existing word on the board, thus making the word plural. Seeing an "S" in the middle of a word and not attached to anything is usually a waste of a good tile and that can be costly. I treat my blank tiles like gold and often save them until the end of the game when things start to get tight.

  • Don't exchange your tiles. Unless you have only "I's" and "E's" it's generally not worth losing your turn to exchange tiles. Plus you'll probably get a lot of "O's" and "A's" in return.

  • Save your "Q" and "J" and "Z" for triple word squares—even if you can only spell "Qat" or "Jo" or "Za." I've had longer words to spell using other letters but would spell the shorter word with the "Q" or "J" or "Z" first because the triple word square may not be available come my next turn. Really, if there's a triple word square within your reach, play on it no matter what the word. Incidentally, my favorite word is "Jonquil" meaning "a flowery earth-yellow color." I've only played it once in a game but it garnered me a gazillion points.

  • There's nothing wrong with playing just one tile. A simple "X" in a strategic location can be worth a lot of bang for the buck. You need to look for these spots.

Check this out:

I started a game with a random player and they opened with the word "SOAR." It's a pitiful opener because the player didn't reach the double word square, and they wasted their valuable "S." A better word to play would have been just "OAR." I played the word "REGAL" and then the player laid down "COZY." Dear GOD, what a bad move wasting those three valuable letters on squares with no added value. At this point I resigned from the game because it was going to be a waste of time.

Check this out:


This is one of my most favorite games that I ever played. It just worked out that all the words gravitated diagonally and to the right. If you make your way up the staircase, you'll see there just weren't any words that could be played to the left of the given letters.

And finally, take your time when playing. You're on a phone or computer, so take all the time you need. It's not like you have to play your word before grandma comes back from the bathroom. Speaking of grandmas, watch out when playing these games with old ladies. They'll try to cheat by making up words like "numble." Actually they're proabably not cheating, but they do tend to use words that are old and outdated and most likely unfamiliar to you and me.


My 105 year old Grandma has been playing Scrabble ever since it's inception in the early 1950's. I like to think that playing the game with her over the years has also helped make me a better player. Last year while visiting her in Michigan I won a game by playing the word "SOLARIA." It was the first game I can recall ever winning against her, but with the benefit of hindsight I should have let Granny win.
 .
Why?

 .
Because it's only a game.

FiN.
 .

Friday, November 11, 2011

Dear Kurt Vonnegut



Dear Mr. Vonnegut,

Today is Veterans Day but as I learned while reading your book Palm Sunday in the 11th grade, this holiday was originally called Armistice Day. Today commemorates the signing of the armistice that ended the great war on the Western Front at 11am in the morning on the 11th day of the 11th month in the year 1918, but you already know all this stuff.

Today is a special Veterans Day because the date is 11/11/11. For some reason there were a lot of weddings here in Las Vegas—I guess couples like having an easy date to remember when it comes to their anniversaries. Personally, I wouldn't want my wedding to fall on a holiday that remembers and honors our military, but that's just me.

I read your book (I've read all your books!) Slaughterhouse-Five and I know how you were in the Army in Europe and how you were caught by the Germans and was a prisoner of war for six months. I also know how the Allies (your own team!) firebombed Dresden while you were imprisoned there and how afterwards you had to help dispose of the fifty-thousand dead civilians. Dresden, as you know, was a beautiful cultural city of little military importance. It was nicknamed the "Florence on the Elbe."

My father (I don't know if the two of you have ran into each other where you are now but I hope so) was also in World War II but was stationed in the Pacific. He too witnessed the horrors of more Allied bombings, these being the annihilation of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Just like Dresden, these two cities were of little military importance and a lot of women and children lost their lives.

Mr. Vonnegut, thanks to your books I learned at an early age how insane war and society and mankind can be. I think it's during one's high school and teenage years—when we are still impressionable and easily influenced—that we develop our beliefs and ideals that carry us into adulthood. My father never talked about what he saw in Japan until I was an adult but because of your books, I knew when Dad did finally start talking, he spoke the truth.

I wish to thank you and all veterans for serving in our Armed Forces. Because of people like you I've never had to experience war first hand and I'm grateful for that. I'm also sorry you got caught by the Germans and had to be a prisoner of war and had to pick-up a lot of dead bodies and burn them.

On a lighter note, remember how after being an atheist all your life you finally decided that there was a God? The proof, you said, was because of the existence of music. Shortly after writing this in your final essay (you didn't know it was your final essay at the time) you fell down and hit your head and died. I was really sad for a long time but that heaven-sent music you mentioned helped make me feel a little better.

Lastly, I want to wish you a Happy Birthday. Not only is today the day we honor veterans, but it's also the day I remember the man who taught me so much at a time when I really needed to learn.

Happy Birthday Mr. Vonnegut. I still miss you terribly.

Tyge

Saturday, September 10, 2011

Robbed From Armageddon

It was a quiet morning at the hotel, especially for it to be almost 6am. There were two of us about to come off the graveyard shift at the bell desk, and I spotted Federico on the casino floor returning from a delivery. He was pushing his cart quickly and pointing over his shoulder toward the televisions in the nearby lounge.

"Tyge! A plane crashed into The World Trade Center!"

I had no idea what he was saying because of his thick Colombian accent.
"In English please?"

Frustrated, Federico repeated himself, this time using one hand as the airplane and his other hand as the building.

His hands collided.

I figured it was some little private Cessna-type airplane—the pilot either deranged or hellbent on killing himself, and wanting to take a few more people with him.

A few minutes later it was my turn to do a delivery. Passing the televisions in the mostly empty lounge, I saw the outline of a huge airliner branded on the face of one of the buildings.

"Holy shit," I thought to myself.

As I stood there pondering how and why this could happen, the picture on the screen was from a nearby helicopter. As it circled the building, the camera zoomed in close, showing the undamaged side of the building—and the second tower was hidden behind it.  Then, in a split second, I saw an airplane enter the right side of the screen, disappear, and then a fireball emerged from behind the building.

My brain didn't register what it had just seen. A ton of confused thoughts raced through my head and I couldn't, for the life of me, process them. The thought of it being a second airplane never entered my mind during those few seconds.

"What was that? Was it a replay? How did they do that? How did they just show a plane crashing into the building when it's already on fire?"

A few seconds later the screen went to a wide shot, and both towers were in flames.

When I returned to the bell desk I learned about the attack on the Pentagon and the other possible hijackings.  When word came that all flights to anywhere had been cancelled—and knowing most of the guests in the hotel were stranded and not needing my service—I went home early.

The first tower collapsed sometime between my walking from the bell desk to my car in the employee garage—but I didn't know it at the time. Driving home I listened to Howard Stern broadcasting live from New York City. I tuned-in 1 hour, 50 minutes and 45 seconds into his broadcast, just as Howard was fielding a phone call from a crazy woman who seemed oblivious to the day's events. You can listen to his full broadcast from that day here.

When I got home I turned on the TV and saw the second tower collapse. I remained on the sofa for the rest of the day, transfixed to the television.

My then girlfriend arrived home around 6pm and wanted to go to the Red Cross to donate blood. I tried to talk her out of it. I tried to tell her that blood would be of no immediate help because we were too far away from New York City. That's what I told her, but what I really wanted to say—what I knew in my heart—was that there were probably just a mere few survivors, and that only a miracle—and not blood—could save anyone in the remains of the towers. She went to give blood anyway, but the Red Cross turned her away, along with many others wanting to donate that night.

After being awake for nearly twenty-four hours, I remembered I still had to go to work at midnight, and I decided to try and get some sleep. An hour or two later I awoke and for a fleeting moment, I thought everything had been a dream. I was wrong though.

It took some time for me to admit, but it was the events of September 11th, 2001 that caused me to lose my faith—not only in God, but also with mankind and humanity. I gave up on any hope for the world, and was convinced that we were somehow robbed from Armageddon on that otherwise beautiful day in September. It's strange, I know, but part of me wished the world had ended that day.

It wasn't until a few years later—and after having some all-to-real and bizarre dreams in a short amount of time—that I decided, to quote The Shawshank Redemption, that "hope is a good thing," and that I had better "get busy living or get busy dying."

I chose to get busy living—not because I finally realized my dismal perception of the world was wrong, but because so many people were forced, so unwillingly, to get busy with dying on that day in September, 2001.

Thursday, September 1, 2011

The Compassionate Side of Alzheimer's?



Comedian Gilbert Gottfried often tells a joke about a man who goes to the doctor's office to get his test results. The doctor tells him, "I'm sorry to say, but you have cancer and Alzheimer's disease." The man replies with, "Well, at least I don't have cancer."

The joke is pitifully funny, and it also brings awareness to Alzheimer's, a deadly form of dementia that over 30 million people worldwide currently suffer from. September is World Alzheimer's Month, and September 21st is Alzheimer's Action Day, so remember to wear purple to show your support.

The first time I ever heard the A-word was in the early eighties while I was visiting my hometown of Clinton, Michigan. I was talking with my best friend from childhood, and he told me that his grandmother had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease, and that the previous day he found her in the garage with a broom and paint can, coating the family sedan with a fuchsia-colored latex.

I don't know for a fact if my father suffered from Alzheimer's, and I don't think he was ever actually tested for it, but it was obvious during his later years that he was suffering from a serious form of senility. One time, while in the hospital recovering from a stroke, Dad declared he'd been a German S.S. soldier and had served under Hitler back in the day when the blitz was on. He believed this so sincerely, the next morning he escaped from the hospital to report for Fuhrer duty. My sister told me a television news crew found him before the police did.

Although Alzheimer's can make people confused, oblivious, and fearful, there's also a compassionate side to the disease, at least in my opinion. Yes, it’s hard for us in the real world to see our loved ones deteriorate, but oftentimes what is nonsense to us is completely logical to them. My friend's grandmother was perfectly content painting the family car, and she was sure she was doing the family a favor. Dad was totally naive of his physical condition, and was more than happy to go in search of his long-lost, albeit imaginary, S.S. Soldier unit.

I think Alzheimer's—or perhaps senility and dementia—sometimes allows people to pass away with peace (and pieces) of mind, and the person is totally unaware they're on the brink of death, and therefore have no fear of it. In the case of my father, he went to bed with his mind in another place, a place that most likely made total and complete sense—but only to him. He didn't go to sleep in fear, or wondering if he would wake up in the morning. In his mind, he was certain he was going to live to see another day.

That new day never came for him though.

FiN.

Saturday, August 20, 2011

The War That Followed Him Home

 .Burn pit #6
 .
The newly listed online ad was what I had been waiting over a month for: A medium-sized, late model SUV with low miles and with maintenance records well documented. The seller was also the original owner, and the ad said he was a disabled veteran, and that he and his wife now only needed one car.

In my mind I pictured the seller as an elderly man, having served perhaps in Korea or Vietnam. I figured he probably walked with a cane, and had a U.S. and Marine Corps flag displayed in his front yard. It was wrong of me to assume this, but as a child, all the veterans I saw looked like this, and I guess the memory carried itself into adulthood.

When I called about the car however, the guy who answered didn't sound like an old man. I asked a few questions that were promptly answered, and I decided the car was worth taking a look at. My friend Steve picked me up, and we drove to the veteran's home located in the Northwest part of the Vegas valley. The man who answered the door was 27 year old Daniel Meyer, and although he wasn't an old man, he moved like one. An Air Force helicopter electrician and mechanic, Daniel served multiple tours in Afghanistan and Iraq, and although he's still technically considered to be on active duty by our U.S. military, Daniel is in absolutely no condition to work.

As he showed me the car, Daniel moved slowly as he pulled an oxygen canister behind him—it's tubes running over his ears and to his nose, and then leading fifty-feet back to the concentrator unit located in his home. Daniel is on oxygen twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. If he goes more than a few minutes without it, bad things start to happen. The government still has yet to approve financial coverage for his daily oxygen supply, so for now a local medical clinic is generously donating the necessity to the veteran.

Daniel explained to Steve and I that he'd been diagnosed with Bron­chi­oli­tis Oblit­er­ans, a rare and currently irreversible lung disease. Daniel said a double-lung transplant is needed, but because the disease has weakened his heart, he doesn't qualify to be on the lung transplant waiting list. In short, Daniel was telling us his days were numbered.

How did this happen?

While in Afghanistan, Daniel was exposed to burn pits—open-air bonfires that burned such things as medical supplies, batteries, and plastics. Human limbs have even been thrown into burn pits—although done by the locals and not by our military. It was by inhaling these toxic and noxious fumes that Daniel became ill, and folks, that's fucked up.

Watch a CBS News report on burn pits (the new Agent Orange) here.

I respect anyone who serves their country—either in combat or behind the scenes—but at least in combat, one knows taking a bullet is constantly in the cards. Out on the front lines one knows that getting shot, killed, paralyzed, or losing a limb is possible, and that it's part of the risk that comes with enlisting. However, being a helicopter mechanic inside a hangar—and on an Air Force base—should provide a certain sense of security, and the last thing one should have to worry about is getting a deadly and rare lung disease.

I don't know all the statistics and numbers, but it's safe to say over five-hundred—and perhaps even thousands—of our service men and women have been affected by exposure to these burn pits. Some only have minor issues—such as treatable allergy symptoms—but others, like Daniel, have suffered the full brunt of the disease. From what I saw—and Steve agreed with me—not coming home from such a war alive would be considered a better alternative than having to face the future with this debilitating and unrelentless affliction. Daniel would probably disagree because he has such a positive attitude, a great sense of humor,  and is facing his battle head-on, and with extreme courage and faith.

Daniel is also a writer, and just started blogging at DanielMeyerBlog.com. His posts are well written, interesting, insightful and informative. I highly suggest reading his three-part series about how he met his awesome wife of over two years, Harmonie, and how after just knowing each other for only a week, got married. Check out his other posts too, and leave Daniel a comment. I'm sure he'd love to hear from you.

Not only did I buy the car that Daniel is no longer capable to drive, but I also got something much more worthy and valuable—that being a humbling reminder not to take life and health for granted, and the reaffirmation that all war is indeed Hell, and it's affect—both physically and mentally—will last much longer than any deafening silence from any weapon.

Thanks Daniel, and the car has been everything you said it would be.
 .
FiN.



Comments transfered:
  1. Salina
    September 12, 2011 at 2:45 pm (edit)
    Wow.
  2. Suzy
    September 3, 2011 at 6:08 pm (edit)
    Once again, another brilliant piece. It brought tears to my eyes. Thanks, Tyge.
  3. Tyge
    August 26, 2011 at 11:44 pm (edit)
    Your welcome Patti, and thank you for the comment. Daniel is an inspiration, and I was honored to meet him. When we shook hands after I bought his car, it meant more to me than just buying his car… I was shaking hands with an unsung hero.
  4. Tyge
    August 26, 2011 at 11:37 pm (edit)
    Joane, I whole heartedly agree with you. I worked with a guy who passed away from being exposed to Agent Orange, and over 30 years after Vietnam, there’s still a hazy area the government refuses to acknowledge. I can only hope the burn pits are more recognized, and proper amends are made by the government and military, and in a reasonable amount of time.
  5. Tyge
    August 26, 2011 at 11:27 pm (edit)
    Merci! I’m glad you liked the post, and I hope many people read it, and become more aware of this issue that until I met Daniel, I was unaware of.
  6. Tyge
    August 26, 2011 at 5:34 pm (edit)
    Your welcome! According to my sitemeter stats, plenty of people have been clicking on it!
  7. August 25, 2011 at 11:54 pm (edit)
    My family and I appreciate this article more than you can imagine Tyge. We have been circulating it on Facebook, trying to raise awareness. Thank you again man!
  8. Susan in France
    August 23, 2011 at 5:18 am (edit)
    Thank you so much for this beautiful article about Dan. I’m Dan’s aunt and I live in France, so Dan’s blog (and now yours) are my primary sources of information on his illness. As Aunt Joane stated, we are all terribly proud of Dan but bitterly shocked and disappointed by the incredible mismanagement that has led to this tragedy.
  9. Tyge
    August 21, 2011 at 6:14 pm (edit)
    Thanks Daniel,
    I wasn’t sure if I should have used your name or not, but then I found your blog, and figured it would be alright. Glad you enjoyed my post, and I must say your posts are very enjoyable too. Keep writing, and people will keep reading!
    Lovin’ the car, and getting a new radio installed this week.
    Take care, and keep the faith.
  10. Joane
    August 21, 2011 at 2:25 pm (edit)
    You have written a marvelous piece. We are all very proud of Daniel and you have acurately described his positive attitude. I hope the Government does the right thing for my nephew, and for all veterans who come home with disabilities. Don’t let our soldiers down, USA. They have given much for our freedom. Let us give back to them.
  11. Patti (Grammy)
    August 21, 2011 at 2:17 pm (edit)
    Tyge: I would like to thank you for the wonderful article about my grandson. His family & friends know all about him but you just met him and saw the person we all see. Again thank you for posting this so that others may know of the possibilty of this illness.
  12. August 21, 2011 at 9:40 am (edit)
    So Tyge, I woke up this morning and logged in to my blog to finish writing my next article. My dashboard loads and I see I have a lot more page views than normal (because I just started writing a few weeks ago). I clicked on it and read the article and was astonished that it was about me. You wrote an absolutely great story seeing as though we only met for an hour or so! I appreciate it more than you could know and I hope the car treats you well for years to come!
    Part 3 to my blog series, “Living Life With a Major Illness” will be up today. Thanks again and I will link my readers over here.
  13. Dawn Wheeler
    August 21, 2011 at 8:55 am (edit)
    Wow, another amazing story Tyge. We have a blog at Walgreens that is basically a bitch fest, I may suggest they all read this guys story and rethink what they are complaining about!
  14. cynical.girl
    August 21, 2011 at 7:54 am (edit)
    I’m Speechless. Thanks.


Tuesday, August 9, 2011

A Blessing and a Curse


It was an autumn day in 1981 when I first learned about the atomic bomb. We were studying the events of World War II in my sixth-grade class, and our teacher told us about the scientists who had harnessed the power of a small atom, creating a devastating device that brought an end to the war. Our textbooks showed pictures of the bomb’s wrath—shadows of vaporized people on sidewalks, twisted steel skeletons of demolished buildings, the vast emptiness of two cities known as Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

That night during dinner, Dad asked about my day at school. I told him about the atom and the scientists. I told him about the bombs and their use on Japan. I knew Dad had been in the war, even in the Pacific, but that was all I knew. After dinner he disappeared into the attic and returned with a dozen black and white photographs.

“Take these with you to school tomorrow and show your teacher,” he said.

The photographs were similar to those I had seen in class—barren, scorched landscapes, buildings with windows blown-out, streets lined with charred telephone poles and tangled wires. Dad pointed to one of his photographs and explained how the hypocenter of the bomb left an area so flat, the Army Air Corps could land their planes there. For this reason the American forces dubbed the hypocenter “Atomic Field”—not because it was full of radiation, but because airplanes could land there.
No one really knew about radiation back then, at least not the men at Atomic Field.

Dad's Nagasaki photo, 1945
My Nagasaki photo, 2008
 .
The next day I took the photographs to school and that night the telephone rang. My teacher wanted Dad to speak to the students. Dad politely refused. At the time I didn’t know why he didn't want to speak to the class, but a few days later I went to the attic and opened his military trunk—something he had told my sister and I never to do.  Inside the metal box were some of the most disturbing and gruesome images I have ever seen, and to this day I regret my curiousity. It was then I knew Dad had seen things he didn't want to remember or talk about.

Years later, while on a religious retreat to The Sisters of Loretto Motherhouse in Kentucky, Dad saw a work-of-art made by resident nun, Sister Jeanne Deuber. Her sculpture was a nearly life-size crucifix, encircled by fire. The body and flames were made of paper-mache, and was mounted on a wooden cross. From afar the body appeared to be covered in burns. When closer however, one could see images of atomic bomb victims—mostly women and children—laminated on the body’s skin. The name of the piece was “Once,” and it was Sister Deuber’s hand-made memorial to the victims of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

When Dad saw it, the proverbial fire under his ass was lit, and he became inspired. He returned home and opened his Marine Corps trunk.

Dad's photo of Ukrami Cathedral, 1945
My photo of Ukrami Cathedral, 2008
 .
In the ensuing months, Dad sorted through piles of photographs, and selected certain 4x5 negatives to enlarge into poster-size prints. He decided not to use the more gruesome images, because he felt the victims had already been exploited from his photographing them while on their deathbeds.

"Once was enough," Dad said.

In 1995, during the 50th anniversary of the atom bombs being dropped, the exhibit toured extensively throughout Japan. The elderly brought their sons and daughters to see Dad's photographs, and those siblings brought their children—some only five or six years old. Many of the photographs in the exhibit were of innocent children—also known as "A-bomb orphans" because no surviving parent could be found. Thanks to the atomic bombs, there were an estimated five thousand of them.

Years passed, and in August of 2007, so did Dad. He died on the ninth of August—on the 62nd anniversary of the bombing of Nagasaki. Today is the 66th anniversary of the bombing, and the fourth anniversary of Dad's death.

I'm glad he finally opened the trunk. I'm glad he created his exhibit, took it to Japan, and that he was finally able to see smiling faces while there. Dad often said he never saw a smiling face while in 1945 Japan.

I should be more active in keeping Dad's photographs in the public eye. Thankfully, my stepmother Kimiko has been doing this—and extremely well. As I've lamented before, I prefer to remember him first and foremost as the father he was, and secondly as the photographer he was. Yes, he took some great photographs, but he was an even greater dad.

I've been told by many people that his photographs are my inherited legacy, and should I live long enough, it's my birthright to return to Japan in 2045—on the 100th anniversary of the atomic bombs being dropped. I'll be seventy-six years old then, and about the same age as Dad was when he first returned to Japan with his exhibit. I don't know what the future holds, although I should be honored and proud and privileged to promote peace through my father's photographs.

Instead though, right now the best I can do is selfishly say this inherited legacy is a blessing and a curse.

Forgive me Dad, for not being as strong as you.

FiN.