A THOUSAND WORDS - Alex Waterhouse-Hayward's blog on pictures, plants, politics and whatever else is on his mind.




 

Intimations
Friday, August 06, 2021

 

Sedum 'Little Missy' & Sedum telephium 'Matrona' 8 August 2021

 

It can be any time from the earliest intimation of fall, when wetland maples turn a searing red, to the third week of October, when gaudy leaves carpet the forest floor.— Madeline Drexler

 


 

Today I was thinking about how words that should not have a negative meaning somehow lose what could be deemed a pleasant one. Such is the word intimation which nowadays is all about a forthcoming event of doom.

The word intimate to me is a lovely word and I was pleased to find Madeline Drexler, a Boston-based scientist and journalist, use of the word and that it also brings us at this almost mid-August date a realization that summer is over. The coming fall should not be all that negative. Some of my roses will be coming back for their last hurrah.

Walking into my daily office to scan my plants (a recent obsession of mine) is one in which I seemed to ignore a little Mexican planter on one side of the door. In it is a little, very cute plant. Its name is Sedum ‘Little Missy’. When I checked on the plant label and its price of $3.50 I was immediately hit by a combination of sadness and the wonder that my Rosemary would have noticed such a tiny plant in a large nursery.

To me this realization is a fine intimacy, in all its positive connotation, of a quality my Rosemary had for little details, particularly in a garden. Yes, she liked her perennials and her roses and shrubs but she also delved into and explored the little plants that most of us would have ignored.

She is not around for me to thank her for the lesson. But a lesson in this intimacy is one I am well learning.

 




To Share - Compartir - Botanically
Thursday, August 05, 2021

 

Rosa 'St. Swithun'& Gentiana asclepiadea - 5 August 2021


Words and expressions, after lots of use, suffer a modification of their meaning or become useless in putting across a point with them.

I often tell my friends that “at the end of the day if I want to move forward, and this is clinically proven to be effective 99.9%”, one could substitute, perhaps, at sundown for at the end of the day!

This is only a pet peeve for me. I wonder how many in this century may know what that means. I despise the expression, “I want to put Iceland in my bucket list,” even though I would love to go to that country and connect with my dancer friend Sandrine Cassini who teaches dance there.

But share is a word that in its use, especially in social media, has lost its original and wonderful coinage.

If one speaks in two languages, as I do, it is interesting to find a word in one language and how it translates to another.

In the case of share, in Spanish the verb is compartir. While in Spanish con not com, meaning with, it used here, it is probably a case of old misspelling or the fact that it is easier to pronounce the verb with an m. Partir is to split or cut. It comes from the action (I believe) of Christ holding a loaf of bread and before sharing it (breaking bread) tells his apostles, “Do this in remembrance of me.”

To me compartir is a lovely word, as lovely as the frequently (not in English, speak or chat is the substitute) used conversar which literally means to speak in verse. To share thus to me has the idea of giving a part of oneself.

The social media use of share is for individuals to go to that huge area in the digital skay where one removes a famous song video, or whatever and one shares it in one’s social media page. Rarely does the sharer mention its personal importance. To me this is akin to certain US politician throwing paper towels to a large group of needy people.

To share has to be more. This is why my loss of my Rosemary after a 52 year marriage has troubled my soul for so long since her death on December 9 of 2020. Living in a house that I shared with her (almost five years in Kits but full of furniture, mementos from our other houses) is a constant reminder of that time shared. The worst part is my daily visits to the garden that was ours. Her little plants, her gray plants, her love of the details of small things, is something that I cannot erase from my mind.

The scanning of a portrait on a good monitor means that I get to know a friend, a relative or even a stranger’s face, quite intimately. The scanning and the fixing of my plant scans takes me to magnifications that only now I understand my Rosemary was aware of and that she could see them when she tenderly, on her knees or bum worked on her flower beds.

For many years, since 2001, I have been scanning the plants and flowers of the garden. At first the roses were my thing, and of late I am preparing what will eventually be a presentation to the American Hosta Society conventio in Minnesota next year on the beauty of the often ignored hosta flowers.

My approach has also been a different one in the last few months. I rarely scan a plant, a rose, or anything else in isolation.

In our new deck garden (it does have three flower beds and one in the back lane) with our reduced space, we began the experiment of growing roses in large clay pots. Other plants went is smaller containers. But thanks to Rosemary’s idea that plants should share (yes share!) space with other plants, and she used that nice expression companions, I have been scanning plants together as is the case in the scan illustrating this blog.

Rosemary loved plants with blue flowers. Years ago my Argentine artist friend Juan Manuel Sánchez (sadly gone now) placed on my hand a Chilean translation of Thomas Mann’s The Magic Mountain, telling me that I should read it. I did and I was particularly interested that gentians are often mentioned in the novel and that they grow well in Switzerland. So I brought a Gentiana asclepiadea one day and it became a fave or Rosemary’s.

A detailed blog on Gentian blue

The rose, Rosa ‘St Swithun’ is an English Rose. Sometime in the early 90s Rosemary came home from a plant show at VanDusen Botanical Garden. She said, “There is this rose that I absolutely want to have. Because it is show specimen the grower has told me to go early tomorrow, when the show is about to close and she will sell it.” We went and bought it. What attracted Rosemary to this pink rose (she often told me that she could not understand why I liked and had so many pink roses)? St. Swithun has an intense scent that the English call myrrh. It is a scent that only sophisticates like Rosemary could appreciate as some consider the scent to be medicinal.

Since St. Swithun has a stronger scent than other English Roses. I adore the scent.

It is just another way that I cannot stop from remembering as I scanned the rose, that Rosemary keeps sharing with me and will for as long as I live.

 




Dying - A Social Function
Wednesday, August 04, 2021

 

Rosemary &Niña 9 December 2020

I my youth in Argentina, where I first I first became aware of death, I had to go next door for a velorio (wake) of our neighbour’s son. My mother in her wisdom wanted me to know about death. I was 8.

After the velorio and the funeral, I am sure that the boy’s parents tried at best to live a normal life in spite of their grief.

My Rosemary died on December 9 2020 and almost every day I get some document addressed to her.

Today I went to ICBC on MacDonald, near my house to enquire about my Cruze’s insurance. I was told to contact my agent. This I did. Because I have a scanner I was able to send him, upon his request, my Rosemary’s death certificate and a phone photograph of my car’s odometer.

With our Blue Cross Health insurance I was able to pay July/August fees (told this was onetime as I had to give them the full number of my Visa) but I had to scan the death certificate and a complicated form. They will call me to find out what my complete Visa number is! The folks at Blue Cross in Burnaby will not be opening their offices to the public until January.

I have cancelled credit cards but kept Rosemary’s American Express card. That card gives us access to nice airport lounges if I ever get to travel again.

I took Rosemary's iPhone to my guy in Richmond and told him to download all of her pictures and put them into a exterior hard drive. I will present the hard drive to my eldest daughter Ale and see what she wants to do with them.

There is not one day that I do not look into our closet or her armoire and find some item that I know I cannot use but that I cannot get rid of.

In spite of all the above, letters keep arriving and I remember stuff I had not thought about but have to do in reference to Rosemary’s death.

Will this ever end?

I wonder how United Nations Secretary General Dag Hammarskjöld would have handled this? In his lovely autobiographic musings Markings (with a foreword by W. H. Auden and treasured by me since I purchased it in Buenos Aires in 1966) he writes:

If even dying is to be made a social function, then, please, grant me the favour of sneaking out on tiptoe without disturbing the party.

 




My Journey to Damascus
Tuesday, August 03, 2021

 


 

Because as a boy and teenager I was under the influence of a Spanish grandmother I was educated in a way that would seem most modern. She never told me not to do something. It was always, “If you do this these will be the consequences.” And I was constantly listening to advice that then, I did not know, came mostly from the Don Quixote.

The most frequent maxim of hers was, “Nadie te quita lo bailado.” It loosely means that nobody can take away from you the memories of the dances you have danced.

These last eight months my abuelita’s advice (the one of the dances) has been present in my mind to remind me what my friends and relatives keep telling me that I will always have my memories. For me this is not only enough. The memories that surround me in my Kits house make me miss more that absent presence.

But I may now be on my way sort of out this existential conundrum. I place here three photographs of Susan Fiedler that I took sometime in the mid 90s in my studio and on a hot summer day in Lynn Canyon. Also here is an etching I bought in Venice when I went there two years ago with Rosemary.

 


 

I will begin with the etching. One day Rosemary felt tired so I told her I was going to go for a walk. Instead of turning left to go to St. Mark’s (our hotel was perhaps two blocks from there) I turned right. I discovered a Vivaldi museum that was full not only of his paraphernalia but also a great collection of very old string basses. On the way I stopped at a shop and saw this etching. I liked it. I brought back Rosemary; she liked it so we purchased it. The artist Vicenza Poneti we later found out sold her stuff at a shop in Florence. There we bought another for us and couple more for our daughters.

All four are nicely framed. Our two are at the entrance.

 

Susan Fiedler had a face that when I first saw her at a party at the Exposure Gallery on Vancouver’s Beatty Street I knew I had to photograph. This I did twice. She was starting a career as a jeweller then and I have lost track of her.

 


 

The melancholy of a waning summer with Susan Fiedler

Now what do these photographs and the etching have in common?

Should I die tomorrow (statistically quite possible) I am not going to worry what will happen to the etchings or Fiedler’s negatives in my oficina.

What is important (is this a St. Paul moment on his way to Damascus?) is that I now know that the moment of going back with Rosemary to the store and seeing the pleasure on her face, and seeing these photographs of Susan Fiedler, that moment, that feeling, that pleasure is all that counts.

 


 

What makes all this important also is that it cannot be repeated. I cannot return to Venice with Rosemary and I cannot (in this century) ask a beautiful woman to pose for me. It is not only my advanced age that would turn them off. I would be seen as a creep. I do not believe I was a creep then.

How can one fathom of taking Susan Fiedler to Lynn Canyon and taking her photographs just for fun? There was no plan then. I do remember that some woman at one of the shows at the Exposure Gallery suggested I go and take photographs of feet. So I did photograph Susan Fiedler’s feet.

Imagine doing that now! So I really do not worry about legacy anymore. My abuelita was right. I have danced and I do remember.  

As a P.S. My present obsession of scanning the plants of my garden (I have amassed  perhaps 1500 since 2001) provide me with a daily and soothing pleasure as I sit at my monitor and clean up dust specks and play with contrast and shadow detail. If none of these scans are ever used or admired by anybody after I am gone it is irrelevant. Until then the scans are dancing in my mind.          




An ode to a cat - Pablo Neruda
Monday, August 02, 2021

 
Niño on Trutch (a soon-to-be-changed street name)

 

In my 5348 blogs to date I have been consistent in explaining my love for St. Luke’s 22:19 reference in his gospel to Christ’s words upon breaking bread : Do this in remembrance of me.

Not one day goes by when I don’t remember a person in my life from my past or even a recent past and then do something to recall  the person and his/her importance to me.

Consider that today I squeezed the last from a tube of toothpaste. It was bought by Rosemary. I remembered her and looking at the tube I considered that now I am the one in charge of buying another one. And so it goes with everything, every day. A lot of this brings with it melancholy.

But not always. Rosemary taught Niño, our orange cat, to walk around the block without a leash. She told me never to shout at him and to wait in my place when he would linger in someone’s yard or one of his fave pursuits to smell under a car (?).

Three months ago a man kicked Niño when the cat got caught in his legs. From that point on Niño would walk only as far as where that confrontation happened and he would disappear. I would go home and eventually he would come back.

I am happy to report that Niño has perhaps forgotten as I have now successfully walked with him twice in the last few days. People on the way, who know Niño, ask me why I have not walked him. A few who do not know ask for my wife. And whenever Benji (a dog that lives nearby) and Niño meet, Benji licks Niño's face. I believe that Niño may be one of the most unusually placid cats I have ever owned. Evertbody in the neighbourhood knows him and when they have the chance they pet him.

 

Niño & Benji

 

Unlike looking at the plants in our (my) garden, which saddens me, walking Niño cat seems like a perfect activity that is joyous as I remember my Rosemary doing it with so much pleasure.

In this blog I wrote how my ability to read in Spanish has given me a contact with a myriad of references of writers writing about cats. This one by Pablo Neruda (here in Spanish and in English) is an amazing ode to the cat. It is much longer than the one by Jorge Luís Borges but it is equally good. There are lovely references here to the perfection of a cat which goes along well with my present obsession with Plato’s world of ideas and the Parable of the Cave

 

Oda al gato

Pablo Neruda

 

Los animales fueron

imperfectos,

largos de cola, tristes

de cabeza.

Poco a poco se fueron

componiendo,

haciéndose paisaje,

adquiriendo lunares, gracia, vuelo.

El gato,

sólo el gato

apareció completo

y orgulloso:

nació completamente terminado,

camina solo y sabe lo que quiere.

 

El hombre quiere ser pescado y pájaro,

la serpiente quisiera tener alas,

el perro es un león desorientado,

el ingeniero quiere ser poeta,

la mosca estudia para golondrina,

el poeta trata de imitar la mosca,

pero el gato

quiere ser sólo gato

y todo gato es gato

desde bigote a cola,

desde presentimiento a rata viva,

desde la noche hasta sus ojos de oro.

 

No hay unidad

como él,

no tienen

la luna ni la flor

tal contextura:

es una sola cosa

como el sol o el topacio,

y la elástica línea en su contorno

firme y sutil es como

la línea de la proa de una nave.

Sus ojos amarillos

dejaron una sola

ranura

para echar las monedas de la noche.

 

Oh pequeño

emperador sin orbe,

conquistador sin patria,

mínimo tigre de salón, nupcial

sultán del cielo

de las tejas eróticas,

el viento del amor

en la intemperie

reclamas

cuando pasas

y posas

cuatro pies delicados

en el suelo,

oliendo,

desconfiando

de todo lo terrestre,

porque todo

es inmundo

para el inmaculado pie del gato.

 

Oh fiera independiente

de la casa, arrogante

vestigio de la noche,

perezoso, gimnástico

y ajeno,

profundísimo gato,

policía secreta

de las habitaciones,

insignia

de un

desaparecido terciopelo,

seguramente no hay

enigma

en tu manera,

tal vez no eres misterio,

todo el mundo te sabe y perteneces

al habitante menos misterioso,

tal vez todos lo creen,

todos se creen dueños,

propietarios, tíos

de gatos, compañeros,

colegas,

discípulos o amigos

de su gato.

 

Yo no.

Yo no suscribo.

Yo no conozco al gato.

Todo lo sé, la vida y su archipiélago,

el mar y la ciudad incalculable,

la botánica,

el gineceo con sus extravíos,

el por y el menos de la matemática,

los embudos volcánicos del mundo,

la cáscara irreal del cocodrilo,

la bondad ignorada del bombero,

el atavismo azul del sacerdote,

pero no puedo descifrar un gato.

Mi razón resbaló en su indiferencia,

sus ojos tienen números de oro.

A un gato

Jorge Luis Borges

 

No son más silenciosos los espejos

ni más furtiva el alba aventurera;

eres, bajo la luna, esa pantera

que nos es dado divisar de lejos.

Por obra indescifrable de un decreto

divino, te buscamos vanamente;

más remoto que el Ganges y el poniente,

tuya es la soledad, tuyo el secreto.

Tu lomo condesciende a la morosa

caricia de mi mano. Has admitido,

desde esa eternidad que ya es olvido,

el amor de la mano recelosa.

En otro tiempo estás. Eres el dueño

de un ámbito cerrado como un sueño.

 

 

        Ode To The Cat

 

        There was something wrong

        with the animals:

        their tails were too long, and they had

        unfortunate heads.

        Then they started coming together,

        little by little

        fitting together to make a landscape,

        developing birthmarks, grace, flight.

        But the cat,

        only the cat

        turned out finished,

        and proud:

        born in a state of total completion,

        it sticks to itself and knows exactly what it wants.

        Men would like to be fish or fowl,

        snakes would rather have wings,

        and dogs are would-be lions.

        Engineers want to be poets,

        flies emulate swallows,

        and poets try hard to act like flies.

        But the cat

        wants nothing more than to be a cat,

        and every cat is pure cat

        from its whiskers to its tail,

        from sixth sense to squirming rat,

        from nighttime to its golden eyes.

        Nothing hangs together

        quite like a cat:

        neither flowers nor the moon

        have

        such consistency.

        It's a thing by itself,

        like the sun or a topaz,

        and the elastic curve of its back,

        which is both subtle and confident,

        is like the curve of a sailing ship's prow.

        The cat's yellow eyes

        are the only

        slot

        for depositing the coins of night.

        O little

        emperor without a realm,

        conqueror without a homeland,

        diminutive parlor tiger, nuptial

        sultan of heavens

        roofed in erotic tiles:

        when you pass

        in rough weather

        and poise

        four nimble paws

        on the ground,

        sniffing,

        suspicious

        of all earthly things

        (because everything

        feels filthy

        to the cat's immaculate paw),

        you claim

        the touch of love in the air.

        O freelance household

        beast, arrogant

        vestige of night,

        lazy, agile

        and strange,

        O fathomless cat,

        secret police

        of human chambers

        and badge

        of burnished velvet!

        Surely there is nothing

        enigmatic

        in your manner,

        maybe you aren't a mystery after all.

        You're known to everyone, you belong

        to the least mysterious tenant.

        Everyone may believe it,

        believe they're master,

        owner, uncle

        or companion

        to a cat,

        some cat's colleague,

        disciple or friend.

        But not me.

        I'm not a believer.

        I don't know a thing about cats.

        I know everything else, including life and its archipelago,

        seas and unpredictable cities,

        plant life,

        the pistil and its scandals,

        the pluses and minuses of math.

        I know the earth's volcanic protrusions

        and the crocodile's unreal hide,

        the fireman's unseen kindness

        and the priest's blue atavism.

        But cats I can't figure out.

        My mind slides on their indifference.

        Their eyes hold ciphers of gold.

 

                    ~Pablo Neruda~

 

 




     

Previous Posts
Rosemary - you far off

Today would have...

No está porque no es - to be or...

Medias Lunas & Voting for the Federal Election Tod...

Rosemary, Rosa María, Rosemarie

Rosemary's Acumen for Finances & Clematis

Grief & the Yellow & the Blue

My Heart's Desire

No Blues For Me Today - Blessed & Yellow

Cheating on my birthday self-portrait



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4/19/09 - 4/26/09

4/26/09 - 5/3/09

5/3/09 - 5/10/09

5/10/09 - 5/17/09

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8/9/09 - 8/16/09

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9/20/09 - 9/27/09

9/27/09 - 10/4/09

10/4/09 - 10/11/09

10/11/09 - 10/18/09

10/18/09 - 10/25/09

10/25/09 - 11/1/09

11/1/09 - 11/8/09

11/8/09 - 11/15/09

11/15/09 - 11/22/09

11/22/09 - 11/29/09

11/29/09 - 12/6/09

12/6/09 - 12/13/09

12/13/09 - 12/20/09

12/20/09 - 12/27/09

12/27/09 - 1/3/10

1/3/10 - 1/10/10

1/10/10 - 1/17/10

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1/24/10 - 1/31/10

1/31/10 - 2/7/10

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2/21/10 - 2/28/10

2/28/10 - 3/7/10

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3/21/10 - 3/28/10

3/28/10 - 4/4/10

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4/25/10 - 5/2/10

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5/23/10 - 5/30/10

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6/20/10 - 6/27/10

6/27/10 - 7/4/10

7/4/10 - 7/11/10

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7/18/10 - 7/25/10

7/25/10 - 8/1/10

8/1/10 - 8/8/10

8/8/10 - 8/15/10

8/15/10 - 8/22/10

8/22/10 - 8/29/10

8/29/10 - 9/5/10

9/5/10 - 9/12/10

9/12/10 - 9/19/10

9/19/10 - 9/26/10

9/26/10 - 10/3/10

10/3/10 - 10/10/10

10/10/10 - 10/17/10

10/17/10 - 10/24/10

10/24/10 - 10/31/10

10/31/10 - 11/7/10

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11/14/10 - 11/21/10

11/21/10 - 11/28/10

11/28/10 - 12/5/10

12/5/10 - 12/12/10

12/12/10 - 12/19/10

12/19/10 - 12/26/10

12/26/10 - 1/2/11

1/2/11 - 1/9/11

1/9/11 - 1/16/11

1/16/11 - 1/23/11

1/23/11 - 1/30/11

1/30/11 - 2/6/11

2/6/11 - 2/13/11

2/13/11 - 2/20/11

2/20/11 - 2/27/11

2/27/11 - 3/6/11

3/6/11 - 3/13/11

3/13/11 - 3/20/11

3/20/11 - 3/27/11

3/27/11 - 4/3/11

4/3/11 - 4/10/11

4/10/11 - 4/17/11

4/17/11 - 4/24/11

4/24/11 - 5/1/11

5/1/11 - 5/8/11

5/8/11 - 5/15/11

5/15/11 - 5/22/11

5/22/11 - 5/29/11

5/29/11 - 6/5/11

6/5/11 - 6/12/11

6/12/11 - 6/19/11

6/19/11 - 6/26/11

6/26/11 - 7/3/11

7/3/11 - 7/10/11

7/10/11 - 7/17/11

7/17/11 - 7/24/11

7/24/11 - 7/31/11

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8/21/11 - 8/28/11

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9/11/11 - 9/18/11

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9/25/11 - 10/2/11

10/2/11 - 10/9/11

10/9/11 - 10/16/11

10/16/11 - 10/23/11

10/23/11 - 10/30/11

10/30/11 - 11/6/11

11/6/11 - 11/13/11

11/13/11 - 11/20/11

11/20/11 - 11/27/11

11/27/11 - 12/4/11

12/4/11 - 12/11/11

12/11/11 - 12/18/11

12/18/11 - 12/25/11

12/25/11 - 1/1/12

1/1/12 - 1/8/12

1/8/12 - 1/15/12

1/15/12 - 1/22/12

1/22/12 - 1/29/12

1/29/12 - 2/5/12

2/5/12 - 2/12/12

2/12/12 - 2/19/12

2/19/12 - 2/26/12

2/26/12 - 3/4/12

3/4/12 - 3/11/12

3/11/12 - 3/18/12

3/18/12 - 3/25/12

3/25/12 - 4/1/12

4/1/12 - 4/8/12

4/8/12 - 4/15/12

4/15/12 - 4/22/12

4/22/12 - 4/29/12

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5/13/12 - 5/20/12

5/20/12 - 5/27/12

5/27/12 - 6/3/12

6/3/12 - 6/10/12

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6/24/12 - 7/1/12

7/1/12 - 7/8/12

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7/22/12 - 7/29/12

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10/21/12 - 10/28/12

10/28/12 - 11/4/12

11/4/12 - 11/11/12

11/11/12 - 11/18/12

11/18/12 - 11/25/12

11/25/12 - 12/2/12

12/2/12 - 12/9/12

12/9/12 - 12/16/12

12/16/12 - 12/23/12

12/23/12 - 12/30/12

12/30/12 - 1/6/13

1/6/13 - 1/13/13

1/13/13 - 1/20/13

1/20/13 - 1/27/13

1/27/13 - 2/3/13

2/3/13 - 2/10/13

2/10/13 - 2/17/13

2/17/13 - 2/24/13

2/24/13 - 3/3/13

3/3/13 - 3/10/13

3/10/13 - 3/17/13

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3/24/13 - 3/31/13

3/31/13 - 4/7/13

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4/21/13 - 4/28/13

4/28/13 - 5/5/13

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5/12/13 - 5/19/13

5/19/13 - 5/26/13

5/26/13 - 6/2/13

6/2/13 - 6/9/13

6/9/13 - 6/16/13

6/16/13 - 6/23/13

6/23/13 - 6/30/13

6/30/13 - 7/7/13

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7/14/13 - 7/21/13

7/21/13 - 7/28/13

7/28/13 - 8/4/13

8/4/13 - 8/11/13

8/11/13 - 8/18/13

8/18/13 - 8/25/13

8/25/13 - 9/1/13

9/1/13 - 9/8/13

9/8/13 - 9/15/13

9/15/13 - 9/22/13

9/22/13 - 9/29/13

9/29/13 - 10/6/13

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10/20/13 - 10/27/13

10/27/13 - 11/3/13

11/3/13 - 11/10/13

11/10/13 - 11/17/13

11/17/13 - 11/24/13

11/24/13 - 12/1/13

12/1/13 - 12/8/13

12/8/13 - 12/15/13

12/15/13 - 12/22/13

12/22/13 - 12/29/13

12/29/13 - 1/5/14

1/5/14 - 1/12/14

1/12/14 - 1/19/14

1/19/14 - 1/26/14

1/26/14 - 2/2/14

2/2/14 - 2/9/14

2/9/14 - 2/16/14

2/16/14 - 2/23/14

2/23/14 - 3/2/14

3/2/14 - 3/9/14

3/9/14 - 3/16/14

3/16/14 - 3/23/14

3/23/14 - 3/30/14

3/30/14 - 4/6/14

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4/20/14 - 4/27/14

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9/21/14 - 9/28/14

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10/26/14 - 11/2/14

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11/16/14 - 11/23/14

11/23/14 - 11/30/14

11/30/14 - 12/7/14

12/7/14 - 12/14/14

12/14/14 - 12/21/14

12/21/14 - 12/28/14

12/28/14 - 1/4/15

1/4/15 - 1/11/15

1/11/15 - 1/18/15

1/18/15 - 1/25/15

1/25/15 - 2/1/15

2/1/15 - 2/8/15

2/8/15 - 2/15/15

2/15/15 - 2/22/15

2/22/15 - 3/1/15

3/1/15 - 3/8/15

3/8/15 - 3/15/15

3/15/15 - 3/22/15

3/22/15 - 3/29/15

3/29/15 - 4/5/15

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4/19/15 - 4/26/15

4/26/15 - 5/3/15

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11/8/15 - 11/15/15

11/15/15 - 11/22/15

11/22/15 - 11/29/15

11/29/15 - 12/6/15

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12/13/15 - 12/20/15

12/20/15 - 12/27/15

12/27/15 - 1/3/16

1/3/16 - 1/10/16

1/10/16 - 1/17/16

1/31/16 - 2/7/16

2/7/16 - 2/14/16

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2/21/16 - 2/28/16

2/28/16 - 3/6/16

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3/20/16 - 3/27/16

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5/22/16 - 5/29/16

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12/11/16 - 12/18/16

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12/25/16 - 1/1/17

1/1/17 - 1/8/17

1/8/17 - 1/15/17

1/15/17 - 1/22/17

1/22/17 - 1/29/17

1/29/17 - 2/5/17

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12/31/17 - 1/7/18

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1/21/18 - 1/28/18

1/28/18 - 2/4/18

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6/27/21 - 7/4/21

7/4/21 - 7/11/21

7/11/21 - 7/18/21

7/18/21 - 7/25/21

7/25/21 - 8/1/21

8/1/21 - 8/8/21

8/8/21 - 8/15/21

8/15/21 - 8/22/21

8/22/21 - 8/29/21

8/29/21 - 9/5/21

9/5/21 - 9/12/21

9/12/21 - 9/19/21

9/19/21 - 9/26/21