wading through my stream of consciousness...

Like a bad penny...

2011-10-02T10:02:00.000-07:00

Come... live and love with me...

This Charming Life

Dona Nobis Pacem ~ Blog Blast for Peace

2010-11-04T17:22:00.000-07:00

For the past few years I have been honored to participate in Mimi’s

Blog Blast for Peace

Thousands of people from all across the United States and around the world post their own personal Peace Globes.

(go ahead and google “blog blast for peace” to see all the results!)

And visit her site Mimi Writes to read the story of her Grandfather and how the Peace Globes were inspired.

Peace out.

Wordless Wednesday ~ Heartplace

2010-10-19T22:22:00.000-07:00

a wee bit o' the piping...

2010-10-05T07:22:00.000-07:00

My stepdad Joseph arranged for the pipes to be played during the Celebration of Maggie's Life, It was way cool.

Irish eyes a-smilin’

2010-09-23T18:22:00.000-07:00

Just about a week ago, my Mama Maggie gracefully and peacefully took her last breath and went home to God.

We are doing okay. It was not unexpected.

More later.

from Cafe Divine to Bistro 69

2010-07-09T21:22:00.000-07:00

Yesterday Rhiannon and I had breakfast at the wonderful Cafe Divine. We shared biscuits and gravy…they were…well…simply divine. Little pieces of cheddar and scallions baked right in. Gave us memories of Papa.

Late that afternoon I had a very pleasant outdoor lunch on Maiden Lane., at Bistro 69.

And in between Cafe Devine and Bistro 69?

I did this.

don’t faint…

2010-07-09T20:22:00.000-07:00

I miss you all.

I’m trying to glean what’s been going on from your weblogs.

Since this endeavor was suppose to be a place for me to tell the stories that my family has heard too many times…you may see a couple pop up in the next few days.

Hope all is well with you and yours.

I MEANT to put this up on Friday the 30th….

2010-05-03T18:22:00.000-07:00

shoveling

2010-04-28T19:22:00.000-07:00

Hey there, my dear friends.

Sorry to have been ignoring you all.
I am bouncing between being busy and being lazy.

If you’ve been around for a while you know that this little weblog was originally intended to be a kinda virtual scrapbook and storybook for my kids.

Those who know me in real life, also know that the fight against the trafficking of children, has become a very important issue for me. It is a fight I’d like to spend some effort on at this time of my life. Bringing my better angels and all.

While I’m going to continue to keep this special place and post here from time to time, I’m starting up a second weblog.

Yeah, I know…I can’t keep up with one…so the next logical step is to start up a second one. (rolling my eyes)

I thought about just changing the tone of this one…but I didn’t want the crossover. This is about my kids and my vacations and a place to open my heart and tell how I feel about some of the hits life sends me.

And I wanted the other one to be on topic. I didn’t want to have to defend my occasional use of the eph word or explain my somewhat unconventional lifestyle. I’m not embarrassed, nor do I regret any of the posts here…I just don’t want the distraction.

If you’re so inclined…come on over to the “other” place and visit. It’s not fixed up…I haven’t painted or anything…but you are most welcome.

http://katinsc.blogspot.com/

Blueberry. A conversation with my Mama.

2010-02-26T08:22:00.000-08:00

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about this new technology I keep hearing people talk about? “

“Which one? The Google one? Buzz?”

“Um…no…I don’t think its Google… that Blue Berry?”
(she scrunches up her brow and does a little head shake)

“You mean like Cameron has? His phone? His Blackberry?
It’s Blackberry….not a Blueberry“
(I scrunch up my brow identically…and while I am mentally dreaming of pie….I start to detail the difference between a Blackberry, an Android and the iPhone)

She stops me mid-sentence.
“No no. It’s not a phone. But I don’t know why a phone has to do all those things. Why can’t it just be a telephone. I don’t want to text. I don’t want to take pictures. I’m not downloading the top forty”

I try and repress my typical exasperation with this conversation…which we have had dozens of times. My response has been come a worn mantra.
“They aren’t really telephones with special features you know. They are handheld computers that you can ALSO get phone calls on”

Mama doesn’t repress her exasperation as well.
“I’ve heard your argument before. A thousand times before. But why can’t I just have a telephone?”
I think because I embrace smartphone technology she holds me partially responsible.

”Well…You could get a Jitter-Bug telephone.
Those are only phones.”
I’m smiling now…laughing quietly

”Those are for old people”
She’s ticked with me now
”Just tell me about the Blue Berry”

“I don;t think there is a Blue Berry”
I’m trying to figure this out
”Do you mean Blue Tooth?”

“Ummm….maybe. Blue Tooth.
That must be it.
Yes.
What is the Blue Tooth?”

”Short distance radio wave transmission…it’s the technology which makes all the wireless earpieces work. Hands free cell phones”

”No…that’s not it…”

”Well…okay…then I’m not sure what you are talking about.”

”It is Blue…um…Blueberry….Bluetooth…Blue…something”
she’s totally exasperated now.

”Maybe it’d help if you told me what you are talking about. Where did you hear about it?”

”Apparently all the DVD’s are obsolete now. Just like all the VHS tapes we STILL have. Now we have obsolete tapes and obsolete DVDs and two machines under the TV with the cable box. Do we have to buy ANOTHER machine???”

Ahhhhh….finally, I have a lightbulb moment.

”You mean BluRay!!!”

whew!

Looking at the Sky on Friday ~ Top of the Mark

2010-02-19T07:22:00.000-08:00

a photo of spy…taking a photo of sky

An incredible sunset over San Francisco
as seen from…

The Top of The Mark.

If you enjoy looking at the sky on fridays…go visit the site where it all began:

Crazy Working Mom.

Looking at the Sky on Friday ~ westcliff

2010-02-12T07:22:00.000-08:00

All is well….just kinda busy. This is a shot of the stormy sky during a walk along West Cliff in Santa Cruz that The Teamster and I enjoyed last weekend.

I think Tish is still doing “Looking at the Sky on Friday”…it’s been a while since I checked. (whew…yes she is) Surf over to “crazy working mom” and check it out. There are dozens of other amazing sky photos to enjoy.

Welcome Home. We thank you for your service.

2010-01-19T16:22:00.000-08:00

When the SPY came in from the cold…he was very surprised and happy to see his Dad (The Teamster) waiting form him.

Our God is an awesome God.

more photos soon….

Mountain Home-ward Bound

2010-01-18T21:22:00.000-08:00

Yesterday morning, I started a post contemplating a little train trip from California to Indiana.

I’m working on converting a whole slew of 35mm slides to digital. It would be a rather expensive project. Unless I do it in Indiana. In Indiana, I can do it for free.

However….that is now on the back burner.

Yesterday morning the Teamster decided at the last minute…at the very last minute…to make a quick road trip to Mountain Home, Idaho. Almost 800 miles, through Sacramento, Reno, Winnemucca, a bunch of nothing Oregon, and Boise.

The plan came together in about an hour. I had to find some shoes that aren’t sandals. Dig out some sweaters. And gather electrical cords. (The number of cords we travel with is absolutely ridiculous.) Throw it all into a suitcase, and head to The Teamster’s house to get his stuff. And chains for the car.

We’d been hearing for a week that northern California was about to be hit with a series of significant storms. I pulled up the NOAA National Weather Service to track the next 24 hours. It looked pretty bad.

By leaving last night we missed most of the really harsh conditions going over Donner Pass. Just as we left a little bit of a rainbow appeared. I decided it was a sign….an encouraging sign…

The laptop continued to give us weather data and the CalTrans page had constant updates on road conditions. We did have to chain up for about 35 miles.

Welllllll….not so much “we” per se. I sat in the car…fully prepared to jump out if needed. Apparently the “cables” are much easier to install than the old fashion “chains.”

We drove as far as Reno, Nevada. As we came down Donner, I fired up the laptop and did a hotel search. “Circus Circus” had a internet special for $40 in the Sky Tower.

It would have been a great deal…except we both left a twenty on the table…he at blackjack and me at roulette.

We also enjoyed a quick floor show.

Back on the road this morning….Interstate 80 east…long, flat, empty, and no weather issues.

Gonna stop in Winnemucca. Try to find that old casino with the Indian out front. Channel Opal Lee. Might go all the way to Mountain Home today…or we just may stay in Boise and arrive in Mountain Home tomorrow.

What’s in Mountain Home, Idaho you ask?

Something pretty darn special….tomorrow night…
The Teamster’s son, SPY returns from Afghanistan !!

Much to be thankful for…

Wordless Wednesday ~ great minds shod alike….

2010-01-14T19:22:00.000-08:00

Wordless Wednesday ~ becoming 28 and 22

2010-01-06T17:22:00.000-08:00

return from absentia

2010-01-04T21:22:00.000-08:00

I have no single reason for stepping out of the weblog rotation for the past month. It isn’t the first time…and probably won’t be the last. There are a couple dozen small, yet viable, reasons and events which would provide explanation for being absent. But they are tedious…for the most part the minutia of everyday life.

My life and my personality are non-linear. Like many of you I have the whole “when it rains it pours” lifestyle. I hate being “in a rut” but sometimes I pray for a rut to fall into. The past couple months have been blessed with new and exciting adventures which have thrown any hope for organization into a tailspin. I have been plagued by plans which have gone awry. I’m not at my best lately. I function better when my expectations dovetail with my discipline. I so need to practice being better at rolling with the punches.

And…my weblog life is out of control….seriously OUT OF CONTROL. There are four very specific groups of people who have weblogs that I am part of. By “part of” I mean that I comment on and participate in. They have a sense of who I am…and I feel a connection to them personally…even if I have never met them face to face or spoken to them on the phone. Most of you who are reading this are figuring out which group you are in.

In my Reader…sigh…I follow 244 weblogs. One or two are inactive. Many post multiple times a day. Quite a few are current event, news, political and informational. But there are really just too ephn’ many. I need to pare it down to a reasonable daily list. And a few more I read once a week. And maybe a list of blogs I look through once a month or so. It has gone from overwhelming to unmanageable. Apparently…More is not better.

And lastly…to my sincere dismay…I have become reticent.

Reticent
from the Latin reticens, present participle of reticēre to keep silent, inclined to be silent or uncommunicative in speech restrained in expression, presentation, or appearance.

I suppose it was inevitable, given the pervasive nature of “social networking” that the circles in my life crossed over. When I originally set up this weblog just over three years ago…it was originally intended to be sort of an online scrapbook. A place for me to jot down the stories I tell…and retell..and overtell…so as not to annoy those closest to me.

Very quickly this also became a place for my thoughts and feelings and imaginings. Mostly life stories…a few pieces of fiction. For a while, I kept it all to myself and my kids, although I believe only Rhiannon reads it (it was her idea afterall.)   They know me and my past and my foibles intimately. There wasn’t much on here they weren’t already aware of.

However a series of situations…in the natural course of events…made my weblog life quite a bit less private. I let The Teamster in on the blog’s existence… I felt not to was somehow dishonest…full disclosure and all.   A couple people I know in my “brick and mortar” life have weblogs and we became connected. For the most part, no big deal. And then….there is Facebook. Sometimes I totally enjoy and appreciate the connectivity it avails to me. And some days I regret the day I signed up and loathe the ways it has connected me.

Through various channels and portals it is apparent that a couple of people who know me in real life have followed the breadcrumbs and ended up here…wading through my stream of consciousness.

For the most part that would be no big deal. Upon review, there are only a handful of posts that I would hesitate over. Most of them involve a painful moment of my past…or one of the many instances of my questionable judgment. However some people who know me come to “lurk” and neglect to mention they have been here at all.

While I’ve never been annoyed by strangers who lurk but never comment, when people I know come by repeatedly and read and have never mentioned they’ve been here…nor have ever commented on a post…that raises my eyebrows.

Maybe they don’t know that I know they’ve been here? There is obviously more to this…maybe I’ll try and explain another time.

I miss each of you…and I miss you all. I miss posting…and I miss reading tremendously. I am sure I will regret all of what I have missed.

I’m going through my Reader today…with a brutal discipline…making sub-lists to create a reasonable batch of weblogs I can read daily without it becoming a marathon.   I’m going to figure out a routine for my weblog.   I’ll probably make a few changes…introduce a new subject or two. Most importantly get back to the place where what I write is authentic to me and my need to write.

So…Happy New Year.
Thanks for coming back.

Wordless Wednesday ~ my favorites

2009-12-09T10:22:00.000-08:00

Christmas Boat Parade ~ 2009

2009-12-07T17:22:00.000-08:00

The Christmas Boat Parade in Santa Cruz Harbor is always so much fun. It was a beautiful evening….but really cold.

Most of the boats in the harbor are decorated, even if they don’t participate in the actual parade.

Can you guess which one was my favorite?

Cy Timmy….Cy

2009-11-19T14:22:00.000-08:00

That ear to ear, goofy,grin girl is my daughter Rhiannon. She recently attended a philanthropic event where she was able to meet and hang out with some of her all time favorite people.

The boy she is with…won a little award today…for the second time in his young life.

Congrats Tim…very well deserved.

Wordless Wednesday ~ room for one more…..

2009-11-11T22:22:00.000-08:00

Dona Nobis Pacem ~ Blog Blast for Peace 2009

2009-11-05T14:22:00.000-08:00

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (February 27, 1807 – March 24, 1882) was an incredibly talented educator and poet who endured great personal tragedy.

Internationally educated from the age of three, Longfellow taught at Bowdoin and Harvard. The first American to translate Dante’s “Divine Comedy” and other classics, he is probably is best remembered as one of the most beloved American poets.

From the elementary school required recitation “The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere”

Listen my children
and you shall hear

to the the epic “Song of Hiawatha”

By the shores of Gitche Gumee,
By the shining Big-Sea-Water,

many of the lyrical phrases of our literary culture were penned by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

He lost two wives. The first to miscarriage in 1835. The second in a tragic fire he blamed himself for. In the twenty years he lived following her death in 1861, he never fully recovered, and suffered additional tragedies.

I make note of the dates as in 1864, Longfellow hit the low point in his life. Our country, the United States, was in the depth of a horrendous Civil War. Nowadays, we say Civil War and think of cotton and Tara and reflection of the first step in our nation’s history to end slavery. Sometimes we overlook 620,000 Americans died during the Civil War.

It was on Christmas in 1864 Longfellow heard the bells on Christmas morning and thought of his wife, and agonized over the injuries his son had suffered fighting. In his darkest despair he questioned if there was any Peace on Earth, indeed if there ever would be again.

In that moment, as he wrote the poem which would become a beautiful Christmas carol, he knew in all certainty that the good in mankind would indeed prevail. That the hate which seemed so powerful would fail…and that there would be Peace on Earth.

Casting Crowns has a version of this song I am pretty fond of. I could only find a “live” clip on youtube. It’s pretty cool to hear all the children singing “Peace on Earth” throughout the song.

Christmas Bells
the poem by HW Longfellow:

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Till ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;
"There is no peace on earth," I said;
”For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!"

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men."

sources:
Biography (dot com)
National Center for Public Policy and Research
The Other Pages (dot org)
Wikipedia

As previously mentioned, today is the annual Blog Blast for Peace thanks to Mimi. Please visit here to catch the thousands of Peace offerings from literally all over the Globe.

The Peace Movement.

2009-10-19T22:22:00.000-07:00

For many Americans of my generation the “Peace Movement” conjures up images from the late 1960’s. You know the ones I mean.

Not just Woodstock. I’m thinking more along the lines of: Turn On, Tune In, Drop Out…Make Love, Not War…Hell NO, we won’t go…John naked in bed with Yoko…and 19 year old National Guard soldiers pointing loaded rifles at 19 year old college students.

One of the more unfortunate results of the 60’s Peace Movement was the atrocious reception of the men and women of our armed forces who returned from serving our country. Those who fought in the VietNam War, as well as those who served in uniform in any capacity.

Fast forward to now.
To him.

The Teamster’s son SPY.
His initials, not necessarily his occupation. He is serving with the United States Air Force in Afghanistan. You might be able to understand why a 2009 “Peace Movement” makes me feel a little uncomfortable.

Back in the 60’s the American military was partially staffed by the draft. Today, it is all elective. Our military men and women have signed up to serve their country and protect our way of life by their own volition.

I know many people (here in the socialist mecca of a village I live in,) who say they are against the war, but they support the troops. To me that sounds similar to someone being supportive of the players on a baseball team, but not wanting them to win the game.

I fully support not only our military…but also our involvement in the conflict in Afghanistan. My reasons have a lot to do with the Taliban, the rights of women and the published goals and objectives of Al Qaeda.

I want there to be Peace on Earth.
But I know that we can not always stand idly by.
I know that there are reasons for war.

There are things worth fighting for.
There are people worth protecting.

I don’t want war.
I want Peace.

On 05 November, a small army will be blogging with Peace Globes. You can learn all about this Peace force here. You can get a template to make a Peace Globe of your very own.

Let there be Peace on Earth.
and let it begin with me.

The Peace Globe and Blog Blast for Peace are inspired by Mimi, the ruling Queen of Memes. I am honored to wear the Badge.

every post, tweet, and Facebook update worth a penny to Beat Cancer toward a Guinness record.

2009-10-16T13:21:00.000-07:00

One day only!

eBay/Paypal and Miller Coors donating a penny for every mention of #BeatCancer.

check it out here on Mashable…
…and here at BeatCancer.

Oscar….have some popcorn

2009-10-15T13:22:00.000-07:00

I came across a few things in my reader this morning…

Do you know what today is?

It is National Grouch Day.

sing along with Oscar here….

Oh, I love trash!
Anything dirty or dingy or dusty
Anything ragged or rotten or rusty
Yes….I love….trash

Then I kept reading and it turns out today is also National Latino Aids Awareness Day. NLAAD…got a website and everything.

Now I realize there are only 365 days in a year….well most years…and about 365 million causes and celebrations….plus you gotta save Christmas and Thanksgiving and Valentine’s Days as they were intended. And yes…those of you above our northern boarder and across the pond…you got your own special calendar.

So, I did as I am wont to do and googled it all… turns out the 15th of October is also:

National Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Day
National White Cane Safety Day
Get To Know Your Customers Day…and
International Credit Union Day

In addition this WEEK is:
National School Lunch Week
National Chestnut Week
Emergency Nurses Week
World Rainforest Week
…to name a few….

not to mention that October is:
National Breast Cancer Awareness Month
National Popcorn Popping Month
Sausage Month
Vegetarian Month
Wishbones for Pets Month
Raptor Month
Positive Attitude Month…and
National Sarcastic Awareness Month
(also a very partial list)

You can view one of the listings here.

I figure there is a cause for celebration or a cause to fight for…for just about everyone today. I’m going to pop corn and sing about trash….how about you?

Peace on the horizon….

2009-10-13T22:22:00.000-07:00

Almost two years ago, I first participated in the Blogblast for Peace. Posting a Peace Globe and expressing the desire: Dona Nobis Pacem.

November 5th will be the third anniversary of the Peace Globe inspired by Mimi Lenox. Peace Globes have been posted by 48 different countries…and almost all the states in our nation. If you’d like to know how the whole thing began, you can read her story.

If you’d like to post your own Peace Globe the templates can be found here…and there are several people who have graciously offered to help you personalize yours if need be. Peace Bloggers are on FaceBook and Twitter….as well as iPeace and Blogger Unite.

I thought I’d repost my first offering from two years ago…as it is still my prayer.

I know Peace.
Peace of heart which makes you sigh.
Peace of mind that is contentment.

The Peace that transcends understanding.

My life is not always Peaceful.
Too often it is contentious.
And…I have not always been in the right.

Peace can be elusive.

I see it…there… the brass ring…there…just out of my grasp…there…I reach for it frantically…there…while I whirl on this carousal…around and around…there…my fingers clutch and I am wrenched off.

In the dark, I search for Peace as if blind…my fingertips sweeping the air at the radius of my arms…extending…sweeping…until (more often than not) I crack my shin and bruise my knee as I trip over the Peace which was in front of me all the time.

Make it peaceful where you are.
Make peace with those around you.
(I’m not saying agree or acquiesce.)
I am wishing common ground to establish peace.

In these days when we say Peace…too often one thinks of War…with the constant coverage and never ending armchair commanders in chief…so….yes…

World Peace
Give Peace a Chance
Let there be Peace on Earth…
and let it begin with me.

For my children (who are adults)
my heartfelt prayer is that you have Peace.

Peace of Heart
Peace of Mind
Peace of Soul

To breath without anxious thoughts
To recognize that you don’t always need what you don’t have.
To appreciate the beauty of the small thing
To be grateful for love
To live in a home that is your haven
To have sanctuary for your soul
To be content
To have Peace.

frolicking in The Wave

2009-10-01T12:22:00.000-07:00

ya’ know… I like his movies too… but an Academy Award is not a Get-Out-of-Jail-Free Card.

2009-09-29T22:22:00.001-07:00

under the heading of forewarned is forearmed…I take the subject of sexual abuse of children extremely seriously. There are no circumstances under which it is acceptable or humorous.

Having artistic talent does not give anyone the right to drug and rape a thirteen year old child. Polanski raped a child. There is no question he did it. To this day, he admits it himself.

Just because French politicians, Swiss Cultural Councils, and various American actors and actresses have voted him Mr. Congeniality, does not erase the fact that Roman Polanski has violated a little girl.

Should every artist of considerable talent not be held to the same laws of the land and basic human decency? If he had only been nominated for an award, should he only have to serve half of his sentence?

Would it be okay with you if Michael Moore used beer and a roofie to forcibly sodomize a thirteen year old daughter, sister, niece in your family?

Should every surviving family member who had relatives slaughtered by the atrocity of the Holocaust be allowed to violate a young girl and not be punished?

Having a spouse and unborn child murdered is horrific. But should that give someone a free pass to forcibly sodomize someone else’s child?

If after pleading guilty, if a child rapist uses their resources to escape arrest for thirty years, should that conviction disappear?

Polanski gave a series of interviews in the late 1970’s. In one he claimed the reason his case had so much media appeal was,

“But… f—ing, you see, and the young girls. Judges want to f— young girls. Juries want to f— young girls. Everyone wants to f— young girls!”

So basically because Polanski thinks everyone else wants to commit sexual child abuse, he should be allowed to.

A politician who has a consensual adult love affair outside of his marriage is battered incessantly, vilified in the media…but a film director should be allowed to sexually abuse a young girl?

Professional athletes go to prison for drug use and animal abuse. But a film director should not be punished for raping a child?

He ran to France, because he was afraid his crimes were subject to “heavy sentencing.” For thirty years he has thumbed his nose at the United States of America.

I understand he is sorry now. But that does not give his treatment of that girl to go without consequences and without legal punishment. It does not erase fleeing after conviction because he thought he’d have to go to prison.

Looking at the sky on Friday ~ clearlake morn (15)

2009-09-25T21:22:00.000-07:00

Time to play “Looking at the sky on Friday” with Tisha again…it’s fun to go over to her site, “Crazy Working Mom” and see what is going on with her.

Most of my sky pictures are in the evening…this one was taken in the early morning at Clearlake last month… while people were sleeping…and…

…while things were booting and steeping.

Thanks to Little Missy for having The Teamster and me up to the weekend with her Novio and his familia.

letter box

2009-09-22T19:22:00.000-07:00

I have finally taken possession of my letter box.

The letter box has been “mine” since January of 2001 although my Mama hasn’t been able to give it up to me until now.

A small, shellacked wooden box, it’s brass hinges bent. The magenta satin lining, faded and stained, holding letters.

Handwritten letters, seventy years old.
My grandmother’s wooden box.
My grandfather’s letters.

When the stroke took Gramma without warning, it was no surprise she had everything written out. She liked things to be as she wanted… she wouldn’t have left any detail to chance. On different kinds of paper…in different colored inks. Added to over the years as things occurred to her. Which dress she wanted to be buried in…the hymns to be played and scriptures to be shared. Her handwritten notes included a schedule and sequence of how she wanted her memorial service to be held. It was followed to the letter… as best they could. Her list of pallbearers was outdated. It included two of her grandsons who had “preceded her in death,”…and the minister at Congress Street Methodist had long since retired…replaced by some new guy nobody knew.

There was a hodgepodge list of “who gets what”… a specific piece of jewelry for each of her granddaughters, a candy dish, a treasured bell, the collected Liberty Dollars by birth year. The Grands had never owned things that cost a great deal, but every item on her list held sentimental value. One of the seemingly inconsequential items listed was a “wood box of letters” with “katherine” written next to it.

I didn’t know when Gramma decided the wood box of letters would come to me. But I knew why.

It was way back, one of those rare summers when we went “home.”

Going home meant Lafayette, Indiana, although I had never actually lived there myself. I clearly recall the crazy cross country Christmas trips with my cousins…nine or ten of us in the yellow Plymouth Fury station wagon…long before min-vans, childseats, SUVs, or seatbelt laws. However, I have very few recollections of the two or three childhood summertimes in Indiana. They have been overshadowed by adult memories when most all of the trips were in June. I do remember making ice cream in an old, hand cranked freezer….watching thunderstorms and capturing lightening bugs…all that must have been summer.

I was a fairly social child…a bit of a clown. I got along okay with my cousins…but we lived thousands of miles apart…and our worlds had little in common.

(I’m the only one looking at my Dad’s camera…
and apparently the the only one not wearing dressy shoes?)

Occasionally, I suffered from sensory overload when three dozen family members were under the same roof. So every once in a while, I had to go hermit. It was one of these times I had snuck upstairs to be by myself. The afternoon heat was oppressive in an old house with no air-conditioning. I angled the room’s small electric fan and a second one I stole from the other bedroom, to blow on me. Lying on my belly at the foot of the bed, I escaped into one of the books I had lugged cross country.

At some point I rolled over in exaggerated exasperation with the heat and humidity. Throwing my arms out and letting my head dangle off the side of the bed, I was looking up into the open closet. The different perspective revealed something I had never noticed before. On the left wall, hidden behind the hanging clothes, was another door. I jumped up to investigate.
Typical Indiana grandparent off season wardrobes hung in the closet…long, heavy wool coats, sweaters, and Papa’s winter work clothes reeking of moth balls. It took two hands and all my little girl strength to shove the hangers over. A whole pile of folded quilts were stacked on the floor…I drug them out into the room. I had to reach up on my tippy toes to grab the bit of string attached to the bare light bulb.

The door was slightly smaller than normal. Professionally framed with a turn latch. I opened it slowly, cringing when it creaked. I peaked inside and thrilled with my find. An ATTIC!! A Secret Attic no less. I was very proud at the cleverness of my discovery. I started to go inside but it was too dark, I could see the space stretching out to the front eves of the house. There were shadows of boxes and unrecognizable shapes balanced on two by fours.

I had long since graduated from Nancy Drew…but I’d learned a lot from that girl. I needed a flashlight. And I needed to sneak it. I shut the attic door and put the quilts back so no one would discover what I had found. Turning off the light and closing the closet, I headed downstairs. Neighbors, aunts, uncles and a dozen cousins, I was just one more kid in the mix.

I strolled through the living room trying to appear innocent and bored…and as if not on a mission. I paused in the kitchen, watching the poker game. There was always at least one table of cards underway. Even as a kid, if you weren’t dealt in… you were still interested in who was raking in the cash. On a really good day you could make four or five dollars. I stood at the table, watched the action and nodded wisely along with the play. In truth, I was there to scope out the flashlight. As I suspected, it was on the top of the fridge. Even if I could reach it, someone would ask what I wanted it for. No way could I climb up the stool without notice. Especially considering Uncle Chuck was sitting on the stool at the time.

Nonchalantly, I headed to the basement. Stored there were toys, old prom dresses, and canned goods. It had a laundry area and a moldy cinderblock shower. In a separate room, behind the scary old boiler was my Papa’s tool bench. I KNEW a flashlight would be down there that I could get my hands on unobserved. My brother and some of my younger cousins were playing around at the foot of the stairs. Thinking back now…it was probably harder to sneak anything past them than past the adults.

I worked my way through the maze of the basement, until I was in Papa’s work room. It was officially off limits unless you had Papa with you…but the other kids were paying me no never mind. A big black flashlight stood proudly on the far back corner of the work bench. I grabbed it, perplexed. I was wearing a t-shirt, shorts, and sneakers. How could I smuggle this through the house ? WWND? (What Would Nancy Do?) I had to find something to carry up with me to hide the flashlight. Something I was “allowed” to be carrying around…something no one would question.

In the corner by the washing machine was a stack of old magazines, Good Housekeeping, RedBook, Ladies Home Journal, National Seed Corn. I held a few in my arm up against my chest, hiding the flashlight. Brilliant. I was able to retrace my steps without notice. I was always reading. I’d been known to get into trouble for reading too much. Me getting something to read was pretty common place.

Back upstairs I was quick to pull the pile of quilts out and reopen the hidden door. Armed with the flashlight I stepped carefully onto boards which had been laid across the rafters. I knew better than to step between the two by fours and fall through the ceiling into the living room. I also knew to step quietly so those below me wouldn’t hear. There were boxes of old shoes and hats. A couple full of books and magazines. Mostly old stuff in a home that would have never considered a garage sale.

Everything had that film of dirty dust and cobwebby stickiness. I was rummaging around none too carefully…digging through a bunch of old stuff when I found the wooden box. Kinda junky to my California eye…but interesting nonetheless. I pulled it out and opened the brass hasp. Tucked inside were pages of lined paper folded up. I couldn’t see well enough to read them… but I did recognize my grandfather’s handwriting. I lunge stepped back over the rafters and through the closet into the daylight. I sat indian style on the floor and gingerly opened up the letters.

Even so young, I immediately recognized the intimacy of Papa’s words. I instinctively knew reading them was wrong, but I couldn’t pull myself away.

Words of love and longing interspersed with the daily recollections of work and meals.

Young husband and wife apart. He in Indiana. Her in Tennessee with the babies as her mother was dying. He was struggling to find enough work to send her money for milk…and to repay the $25 loan for her emergency train ticket south.

(the old homeplace, Tazewell,Tennessee)

I read every page over and over. I refolded each one and placed them back into the wooden box. Not so junky to me now, I wrapped it up in an old woolen shirt and carefully put it back in a cardboard box. Out through the hidden doorway and into the closet, putting everything back to rights. I stowed the flashlight under the quilts for future use, and turned out the light.

Washing off the dust I was still immersed in the letters. My preteen sensitivities to young love torn apart was off the charts. The thought of not having enough money to buy MILK, for crying out loud. The thought of my own Mama as a toddler, without milk. I couldn’t get out of my mind the raw, unsophisticated words of my lonely grandfather in his early twenties, struggling to be a man and take care of his family…and longing for his young wife.

(my Mama at the homeplace)

Back downstairs I sought out my Gramma. She was sitting in her chair in the living room…holding court no doubt. I just sat next to her, with her patting my arm, while she talked away.

My Grandparents loved me to pieces…but I was third of thirteen grandchildren…and we lived the farthest away. I always knew my other cousins were closer to our Grandparents…but at that moment I felt as if I shared a special secret with them. And I felt more than a little guilty for prying. I was raised to be honest…and to own up when you did something you shouldn’t have done. Although inadvertently, I had violated their privacy and it was bothering me. And…I wanted to know more. Part of me wanted to tell my Gramma I had read the letters to absolve my guilt…and part of me wanted to confess so she would tell me her side of the story.

I waited until there was a lull, when we were just about alone, and told her I’d found the Secret Attic. She said it was just full of old clothes and too dangerous to play in. I probably gave her a “yeah whatEVer” response…I wasn’t one of the little kids after all and I knew what I was doing. And then…I told her I found her letter box.

It took her a minute to realize what I was talking about. She was smiling and saying how long ago it all was. Chances are pretty good she was using words like “land sakes chile” and “heavens to goodness.” I remember starting to cry and saying… “but you didn’t have any money to buy milk for the babies” and quoting other parts of the letters.

She hugged me and told me to go get the box. I ran back upstairs and went though all the steps in record time.

It occurred to me I could get into some serious trouble from my own Mama or her sisters for my little escapade. At home it would have been no problem…but it was a different gig in Indiana. I had to abide by the rules my aunts and uncles imposed on my cousins. It would be another decade before I clued in on the reasons behind that family dynamic.

Cradling the letter box with reverence, I walked directly to my Gramma. She opened it gently and glanced through each page. I had seen her cry before. Waving as a car pulled away…when we were going home to California…or when they were going home to Indiana.

But I had never sat next to her with tears in her eyes.

Her hand at her lips and nodding slowly she read through each page. Halfway looking up she called out “Clyde…Clyde, come over here… look what this child’s found.”

I wished she’d hush up, but it was too late. Papa came over and looked at the box, not immediately taking in the letters. “now where’d ya git that?”

My investigative pride won out over fear of punishment. “I found the Secret Attic upstairs” I whispered, creating a little conspiracy. “It’s okay….I didn’t tell anyone” As if that would make it acceptable. I was without blame. As if me traipsing through the attic was common place and perfectly alright.

Papa just looked at me.
A bit exasperated. Not surprised.

I wasn’t their normal grandchild. It wasn’t about me really…it was more about how they felt about my Mama and what they thought about my father. I know that now. Thirty years later, after Gramma passed I spent time in Indiana. We all did. Then at the low point in my life, I went to Tennessee while Papa was there. And he would come to California often. During those times, he and I would talk about a great many things.

It only took a glance for Papa to recognize those letters. He went from exasperated to annoyed to irritated in point-oh-one seconds. Uh Oh. Gramma handed one letter up to Papa. Her face sweet…his face soft. And I was crying again.

He glanced at me embarrassed…not at my tears, but that I had read his words from so long ago.

I remember them talking to one another…but not what they were saying. It was the murmurings of two longtime lovers and their remembrances.

It was amazing the three of us could sit there for so long uninterrupted. Or maybe it actually wasn’t as long as my memory reflects. I don’t recall how the conversation ended. Or what happened to the letter box after that. I didn’t get into any trouble. No one told my parents and neither of my aunts berated me. However, I was forbidden to go back into the attic.

Well, sheesh.

I knew they weren’t serious about THAT.

I snuck into the Secret Attic more than once over the next several days. Looking for more treasure. Imagining complicated episodes of family lore. I remember sporting an old fedora. I wore it around one day…and eventually gave it up to my brother (who was ALWAYS wearing some sort of hat.) My Dad asked where it came from. I didn’t want to lie…but couldn’t confess the Secret Attic. I told him I got it upstairs in a closet…and Papa snorted from across the room. I wasn’t fooling Papa, he knew where the hat came from. But he didn’t rat me out to my father.

At one point we spent a couple days at my cousins’ house. When we got back to The Grands’ I repeated my now familiar routine of shoving over the clothes and dragging out the quilts…..and…whoa!! A shiny, brand new, brass latch with padlock had been recently installed on the door to my Secret Attic. I just stared. And then I smiled. I had an idea.

It didn’t take much rummaging in my Gramma’s bathroom cabinet before I found the bobbie pins. I would pick the lock of course. I was on a roll...channeling Nancy. Back upstairs I prepared my tool. (meaning I pried open the bobbie pin and pulled off the rubber tips with my teeth.)

I twisted and tweaked the end of the bobbie pin in that lock. I gently probed with one end and two. I jammed it in and tried to force the padlock open. I worked on it for almost an hour. Nothin’.

Totally frustrated with failure I put everything back. I stomped downstairs looking for my Grandfather. In the kitchen getting coffee, he hardly looked up when I plopped onto a chair. He asked me something and I ignored him…sitting with my arms tightly folded and glaring at him through squinted eyes. My impression of “boy am I angry with you.” He finally noticed my attitude, and picked up right away what was going on. He had that smirk on his face. He knew why I was bent out of shape and was right pleased with himself. I just glared at him as he left the room, laughing.

Over the next few days I tried to return to my Secret Attic. I kept going back, checking the door…still lamenting on being locked out. I poked around in drawers looking for the key to the padlock. I examined both my Gramma’s and my Papa’s key rings…to no avail.

Belatedly, I realized the flashlight I had hidden in the quilts was missing. I assumed Papa had found it and I went to the basement for confirmation. Sigh. Sure enough…there it was, back in its place. Messing with the stuff on Papa’s tool bench was a far greater crime than being in the attic. But he hadn’t even mentioned me swiping the flashlight.

Suddenly, I caught my breath. Adrenaline raced through my body. There…all neatly lined up by type and size was his formidable collection of SCREWDRIVERS. Everything clicked into place. I closed my eyes picturing that blasted latch which had kept me from my haven. Guessing the size needed, I grabbed a couple screwdrivers, tucked them into my waistband and covered them up with my shirt.

I practically flew up from the basement, through the living room and on to the second floor. If he had seen me, Papa would have known what I was up to. Apparently he did not. To this day, I remember the gleeful exhilaration as I removed the screws one by one. I WAS IN. HA! One little brass latch was no match for ME…padlock or not! It was all rather powerful.

I had to keep it secret this time. I was now violating actual mandate. I knew they thought it was a safety thing. That I would get hurt…or cause damage. I had been fortunate that my parents hadn’t become involved. Papa had told me to stay out and I hadn’t. He had spent money to buy a new latch and lock to keep me out. I had now become disrespectful and disobedient. But even worse…I couldn’t tell anyone. I was so very pleased with myself for getting back in. And nobody else even knew.

I carefully timed my Secret Attic visits so they didn’t realize I was back in. The Grands took a nap most afternoons, (that’s another story) so it was easy to schedule. Sometimes I’d just sit and day dream. Sometimes I’d eavesdrop on conversations below. Sometimes I’d bring in the flashlight and read my own books. Mostly I just took pleasure with being IN my Secret Attic.

Eventually it was time to go home to California. I thought about reinstalling the latch. I wanted to claim my victory but was seriously concerned about punishment. Not from my Gramma or Papa…I was worried my Dad would somehow get wind of my little adventure. That would not be good. My father demanded we act appropriately in my Grandparents’ home. The opinion his inlaws had of his children was very important to my father.

The morning we left I came down to breakfast. As usual Papa was at the stove making biscuits and gravy. I went around the table, and surreptitiously left the brass latch, padlock, and all the screws on the counter next to the sink. I sat down and watched my Papa cook. It was crowded in the kitchen. More’n half dozen people…most of them talking at the same time. Not me. I just watched. Wearing what we now call a wife beater…he was a man who never raised a hand to a woman or loved one. Been in quite a few “scaps” as he called them… he had kicked ass. He worked in construction at the time and had pretty buff arms and shoulders. But there he was, like every other morning, cooking.

As he reached to the counter for another plate, Papa hesitated. I knew he’d seen my handiwork. He was back at the stove. I stared at him. He turned with a full plate and looked me square in the eye. I raised my eyebrows and had my own little smirk. He set the plate down in front of me with a big ole grin, and shook the spatula in my face. He was laughing as he turned back to the stove.

We never talked about my ingenuity. But a year or two later, the next time I went “home” the door to my Secret Attic had been nailed shut. Completely shut. A dozen or more nails all around the doorjam. Damn. It was a Christmas trip and the house was overflowing with family. It took a while for me to have enough alone time to pull each nail out. But the hammer was easier to come by, being kept in the hall closet and all. I was disappointed the challenge seemed so simple.

(again….I’m the only one looking at my Dad’s camera)

I only waited a day or two this time. I put the nails in the same place by the sink at breakfast time…and he just stared at me and shook his head. Later he took me aside and explained he nailed it up because my Gramma was afraid the “young ’ns” would go in and “git real hurt.” My Gramma was a world class worrier. Personally, I doubted anyone else would be so clever as to discover my Secret Attic….but, I promised not to let anyone know…and he left it at that. My Gramma spoke to me too. She had imagined several disaster scenarios. Telling me how the old house wouldn’t support the weight of a bunch of kids playing around up there. That was fine with me. It made it MY Secret Attic all the more.

I’d get asked, “what are you doing up there?” and I’d say “reading.” It was true. No one ever asked “Where up there are you reading?” so I never had to lie. I remember it being pretty cold in the Secret Attic that winter, so I wore my coat and brought in a quilt or two. There were a few new boxes of discarded dishes and clothing…but the letter box was no where to be found.

A couple years later when I went “home” the door to my Secret Attic was neither locked nor barricaded. However, to my surprise the hideaway was completely empty. No boxes or torn lampshades, even the planks across the two by fours had been removed. The Grands had both retired and I realized they had cleaned out the closets, the basement and the Secret Attic. But I was a teenager now…and not as enamored with the dark and dirty, musty attic. It was transitional summer for me in a lot of ways.

My Gramma, Opal Lee would have been 91 today.

She passed in January of 2001. At the time, she had been married to my Papa for almost 67 years.

She left us a legacy of love and family, hundreds of pictures, and thousands of memories.

And she left me her Letter Box.

That’s my girl

2009-09-16T21:22:00.000-07:00

This is from tonight’s San Francisco Giants’ game….sent to me from my daughter…

Can you see the board? No?
Let me close in on it for you….

You make your Mama proud!

Wordless Wednesday ~ been a long time

2009-09-16T08:22:00.000-07:00

You two would have totally ganged up on me.

Project 2,996 ~ 2009 Ingeborg Joseph

2009-09-11T06:22:00.000-07:00

I am honored to participate in Project 2,996.

An effort by Dale C. Roe of ‘Rough Draft” whose own words best explain its existence:

In the days following September 11, 2001, I was one of the millions of Americans who pledged to Never Forget.

In a sense I did keep my promise. I didn’t forget the attacks, or how they affected me. And I have tried not to let their effects lead me into lingering anger or hatred.

But in a larger sense I didn’t keep my promise. Though I didn’t forget the victims, I also never took the time to know them.

Project 2,996 is, in a sense, my self imposed penance, my Mea Culpa.

And as long as I have any online presence, Project 2,996 will continue.

A special thanks to Sandee of Comedy Plus who did a post on Project 2,996 about a month ago and clued me in.

This is Ingeborg Joseph, celebrating Christmas at her friend Jackie’s home.

Inge was one of the 2,996 people who died from the Attacks on 11 September 2001. Unlike most of the victims from that day, Inge did not actually die on September 11th.

She was an import manager specializing in freight forwarding for the Rohde & Liesenfeld shipping agency, located on the 32nd floor of the North Tower in the World Trade Center. Inge, at 60 years old, was a German national who had lived in the United States for many years.

Inge was caught in the fireball of the second strike. In the weeks following she fought for her life, ultimately dying from an infection from the burns she suffered over 80% of her body.

I cannot image the pain and anguish of death in this manner…by Inge…or by her loved ones. The following passages are a few of the actual words written by those who knew her.

While on this Earth Ingeborg Joseph was a force to be reckoned with…and a dear friend to many.

from Jennifer:
Despite many a late evening in the office, Inga never seemed to run out of time or energy, be it to rush off to any of a number of various concerts with her friends, or to share a good joke, or read a great book and pass it on, or just hang out after work to blow off some steam.

What I most admired about Inga was that she was what my grandmother would call a "straight shooter". You always knew where you stood with Inga. Even if you differed, that merely ensured an evening of animated conversation and debate, and if you were like-minded, it just made the conversation that much more animated.

Inga seemed to do that which many of us strive for - to live life fully and without compromise.
I can only hope to do so as well.

from Karen:
I met Inge in l972 on Thanksgiving. As a true German, Inge had a passion for classical music, especially that of her favorite composer, Beethoven. She was like the summer day of Beethoven's 6th Symphony, her favorite piece of music.

Inge loved piano music and was an opera fan, as well. Whenever one called her apartment, either Beethoven played by her beloved Berlin Philharmonic, Maria Callas or a Pollini recording of Chopin could be heard in the background.

She loved books and read equally well in French, German and English, all of which she spoke fluently. Inge was a strong and independent person, yet she had a soft heart for others, especially for those with physical ailment, such as my handicapped sister. She was grounded in her Lutheran traditions and had a very spiritual side to her personality. In every church that she passed, she would light a candle for my sister.

She loved adventure and travel and would happily cross Central Park during the blizzard of 1978 to see the King Tut exhibit, go plunging down an intermediate slope on her first try at skiing or travel to Morocco or Turkey on her own.

I give thanks every day for my Thanksgiving friend. She will be missed, especially every time I hear a piece of good music.

from Jet:
Inga was my sister-in-law and I owe her a great deal. I am hoping this will serve as a small tribute to her, because she could not hear my words during her last days. She was the "big sister" I never had, especially when I first came to New York from Sri Lanka as a young student in the 70's.

I remember meeting her for the first time at the airport when she came to welcome me to New York. She bought me my first ever winter coat and leg warmers and made sure I did not get too sad during my first Charismas away from my parents.

Among the memories I will treasure are very ordinary things that we did together that now seem to have so much significance: eating marzipan Christmas pigs from Kleine Konditorei in Germantown; having cheesecake at Zum-Zum in the early years of the WTC; and going to work together in the WTC one summer when she found me a temp job in her former firm. We shared a deep love of music and I was happy that the last thing she may have heard as she lay in the burn unit was some of her favourite music that I taped for her.

Inga, there are so many good things I wish I could say to you about your significant role in my life. Suffice it to say that I owe you a great debt of gratitude and will never forget.

from Maria:
I met Inga in Turkey on vacation many years ago and we became fast friends. Inga introduced me to the West Side of Manhattan and I grew to love it as much as she did. We became Opera buddies and enjoyed going -- even if Inga did not like the performance on a particular night. I spent many a week-end at Inga's apartment where we talked about everything under the sun and how we enjoyed going to a movie and then discussing it from beginning to end. I miss her so very much. She touched everyone she met. She was truly exceptional. I hope that she's introduced herself to my Mom and Dad, as I know they will love her just as much as I did and always will. Good night sweet lady!

from Peggy:
Inga's joie de vivre will be sorely missed. We spent many happy summers at the beach; being near the ocean was a key source of revitalization. Her love and critical passion for music was like that of a mother and child: beloved but could always do better. Inga's optimism brightened everyone's day. She is sorely missed and will always be in our hearts.

from Volker:
Dear Inga, It has been about 15 years, since Michael introduced us at one of those famous Oktoberfests. It was amazing how well as a team we worked, maybe because we share the same birthday, we mostly knew what the other thought.

It is amazing to know how many people you touched in your lifetime, how many people will remember you, and how many think of you every day. I don’t know how many of us understand that you are really gone, I sure don’t.

There is so much to talk about your life, the relative short time I was part of. The things you couldn't stand (lying) and the things u absolutely couldn't be without (music, culture)

If I ever make it up there, you will be the first I look up.

from Viktoria:
Have been working with Inga at same company, but at Hamburg office. Spoke with her last years nearly every working day. Found in a her very good friend and in addition a special colleque with big know how. Met her 2 times, when she visited our office in Germany. It´s terrible that she have to leave us so early, I will never forget her! GOTT SCHÜTZE DICH, INGA!

from Annette:
I got to know Inga about 4 1/2 years ago when I came to this country being barely 21 years old. For me "The rookie" she had a lot of advise, warm words and a always big wide open heart. I have admired her professional work attitude and her continuous devotion to the job. Inga: you will be missed. Rest in peace.

from Gabi and Michael":
My husband and I got to know Inga through my sister Annette. Inga was an extraordinary person with a big, warm heart. We enjoyed spending time with her ! We both miss her and will never forget her !

from Jackie:
I have fond memories of the many weekends, of the travels, and holidays we had together some thirty years ago, long before we both got married..., and divorced. Our paths diverged a bit, but I am so glad we had a chance to chat over the phone last this past July. But you had many friends as you deserved. I am so sorry we lost you.

from MaryAnn:
Inga, It's hard to believe a year has already passed since that horrible day. I stood on my train platform this Sept 11, 2002,thinking of how one year ago I stood in the exact spot thinking of what a beautiful day it was, how wonderful the skyline looked and how all that changed a short time later.

I can't help but stand in that same spot day after day still trying to accept & understand all that has happened and wishing it never did. Wishing everything was still the same and we were working together once again.Unfortunately that will never be.

One thing, of many, that I learned from you, is that you have to enjoy life. You definitely did. You were one smart, energetic lady that had a zest for life, music & culture. I remember fondly listening to you come into work and speak of a play or concert that you went to the night before. I miss that a lot. You have touched many lives in many different ways.

You will always be in my prayers.

from Arlene:
I can't believe it's been a year already since you left us. I remember calling your house on the 11th every half hour hoping you pick up your phone. I must of left a dozen of messages on your machine. But you never called me back!! Oh how I prayed you called me back! I'm sorry it took me a year to write something but every time I try I start to cry and I can't write anything. But today I still cry but I'm going to write anyway! You were one strong lady Inga and I miss you!!

photo credit: wikimedia.org

Rest in Peace Ingeborg

Looking at the sky on Friday ~ Nine Eleven (14)

2009-09-10T18:22:00.000-07:00

Usually on Friday I participate in Tisha’s photography meme, “Looking at the sky on Friday” by posting a photo I have taken. This Friday…being 11 September, I am thinking of what it must have been like to look up at the sky as our nation, and our way of life, was under attack. Or to be looking out of a window at the top of The World Trade Center, with the building burning up towards you.

If you have an hour or so, I suggest taking the time to watch this powerful film “The Falling Man” which documents the search for the identity of one of the victims of The World Trade Center attack. Although it was not who they initially thought it was, the painful process eventually did bring closure for more than one family. Several times I found myself reaching out to touch the screen while I watched it.

In the movie one of the researchers speaks of the reasons to look at these images…accept the witness of these images…and to discuss them. The sister of the man who is believed to be the “Falling Man” speaks to not only finding out who he is…but who we are as well.

You can find the youtube link by clicking here.

spy deployment

2009-09-08T18:22:00.000-07:00

That’s The Teamster there, with his two offspring…SPY and MHY…taken up near Boise where SPY, (the one on the left) is stationed with The United States AirForce.

SPY deploys today for Afghanistan.

I imagine this is one of those asphyxiating phases of parenthood,,,a combination of breathtaking pride and breathholding concern.

If you’re so inclined…when you hit your knees, toss up a prayer for SPY and for his Dad….I’ll be including his picture on my side bar until he comes home.

Looking at the sky on Friday ~ Yosemite Fire (13)

2009-09-03T20:22:00.000-07:00

Last weekend, we took a little motorcycle ride up Sonora Pass staying in Lee Vining and back down Tioga Pass skirting the edge of Yosemite National Park. We were unable to visit the Valley without a significant detour, due to the fire. Yosemite is my emotional mecca. I hate to see it burn.

(click to bigify)

Sometimes it seems as if the entire state of California is aflame. We’re going to have a long autumn with everything so dry.

Treat yourself to other sky photos this Friday…. visit Tisha the Sky Hostess by clicking on her logo.

Looking at the sky on Friday ~ The Boardwalk (12)

2009-08-20T23:22:00.000-07:00

(click to enlarge)

click to go visit Tisha and all the other Sky Lookers

Looking at the Sky on Friday ~ fire (11)

2009-08-14T22:22:00.000-07:00

There are some great offerings over at our gracious hostess’s site…Crazy Working Mom.

Just above the marine layer the smoke from the fire hangs over the Monterey Bay.

From the University of California (UCSC) campus where I use to work, I can see where my neighborhood is located. It became pretty smoky this afternoon. The white building is Holy Cross Church…a place I am sure Linda remembers visiting. (Santa Cruz means Holy Cross) Most days from this standpoint you can see the town and the bay curving south around to the city of Monterey.

These next two are from Natural Bridges State Beach. I did not alter them in any way…the sun setting through the smoke provides the almost sepia effect.



Last and most important, I want to thank you for the emails checking on me and my family. Apparently the Santa Cruz fire made the network morning shows, as well as CNN and Fox. Most of us live in town…and the Bonny Doon area is north of us by about ten miles. I know quite a few families who are under mandatory evacuation…it is frightening to wait helpless hoping your home and possessions will survive a fire of this magnitude. Once again our community is thankful to CalFire for their skill and dedication.

survival of the fittest

2009-08-07T12:22:00.000-07:00

I know this seems kinda random,
and rather repetitive.
but I wonder what you think.

(note: for the record, I am NOT talking about those who are mentally or physically challenged. I am talking about well bodied people with the standard ranges of intelligence.)

Does everyone “deserve” to have
what the hard working or specially talented have?

Is it the right of the ordinary person
to limit the extraordinary person?

No matter who you are…you who are reading this….There are people you come across or read about who are without adequate food, clothing and shelter.

Should our government force you to give up some of what you have…leaving you and yours with not quite enough because someone else had none?

While I believe the “haves” should share with the “have-nots” should it be required by law or should it be voluntary? Should it be strongly encouraged…and if you don’t comply do you think you ought to be penalized?

If you have a special talent, which a company or other entity (team, studio, et cetera) wants to make use of, should you be limited on how much money they pay you because someone else doesn't have that valued talent?

If you can’t carry a tune and want to be a recording star, should the music industry be forced to give you a record contract equal to that of U2 or Elvis or Michael Jackson or The Beatles? Or should these performers not be allowed to be paid so much? Should the radio stations be forced to play recordings of people who can’t sing? Should everyone be required to buy ITunes of same?

If you have a really high intelligent quotient should you only be allowed to hold the same occupation as a person who has a much lower intelligent quotient? Should every one (who wants to) be allowed to be a neurosurgeon or a rocket scientist…even if they don’t have the brain ability to grasp the knowledge?

If you work really hard, should you make more money than someone who is a lazy bum on the job? If you work three jobs and save every cent for what you want, should you have to share it with those who choose not to hold down a job? Should everyone be paid the same wage no matter what their occupation or work ethic?

If you have the next “light bulb” moment and invent a really cool thing, should you have to share the revenue with the guy who tried really hard but didn’t have any good ideas? Should you have to share the revenue with the guy who spends all day everyday at the park getting high?

If you write the greatest American novel of all time, should everyone (who wants to) be able to sell your words and profit from them?

If you work really hard, or have a special ability, or are smarter than the average bear…should you benefit financially from these situations? Or should you not be allowed to have more than the person who wasn’t gifted in the gene pool or who won’t work as hard as you do? Should there be a limit on how much you can earn before you have to start sharing the benefit of your labor?

If you do get to benefit financially from your work and your abilities, should you be allowed to decide how you spend those finances? Or should you only be allowed to spend your money on the same things as those who don’t have so much money?

When you do end up with more money than someone else, should you be allowed to spend it on a really nice home in a very beautiful location? Even if someone who doesn’t have as much money has to rent a shabby house in a not so nice neighborhood? Should you have to give up your new beautiful home to buy several substandard homes for you and for strangers who live on the street?

Should you be allowed to buy more expensive clothing? Warmer clothing. Cooler clothing…in both senses of the word. Or should everyone wear exactly the same thing? Should those who have more clothes be required by law to give up some of their clothes to those who don’t have enough?

Should you be allowed to buy more expensive or more nutritional food? Better tasting food? Or should you have to eat what everyone else is eating? Do the people who eat junk food have to be forced to eat healthy? Do those who eat only organic have to consume processed foods? If you have more than enough food, should you be required by law to give it to someone who does not…even if it leaves your family hungry on occasion?

There are many other items…but those are the basics right?
Food, clothing and shelter?

I ask again…

Is it the right of the ordinary person
to limit the extraordinary person?

Does everyone "deserve" to have
what the hard working or specially talented have?

and…what about Health Care?

I stand corrected….FaceBook is my Friend

2009-07-23T21:22:00.000-07:00

I have been a cynical, often disparaging, totally reluctant participant of FaceBook.

I have tried in my life to reserve the word “Friend” for those with whom I have a special relationship. I have not granted that title to just anyone.

And now…the word “Friend” has become a verb.

“So-n-so” has Friend-ed you.

When I have been compelled to find someone I actually wanted to connect with…FaceBook informs me:

“So-n-so will have to confirm you are Friends”

I hate that tone they take with me.
I just want to flip them off.

Until this week FaceBook has mostly been a venue to keep in contact with my cousins and their children scattered through a couple dozen states.

My kids are all on FaceBook.

Although Little Missy has been convinced by her novio to discontinue and delete the large majority of hers.

The Cub and his friends post blurbs about beach and beer and babes I would rather not know about.

If an investment banking player takes three dozen photos at some soiree in The City and SugarCookie gets tagged on a single photo…even though the player isn’t my “Friend” Facebook or otherwise, I have access to view the entire online album.

(yeah yeah…I know I don’t have to look…but I’m a Mom…I HAVE to look…ya know???)

Some of you all have Friend-ed me…which is cool as long as you don’t get upset when I don’t hunt eggs, send drinks or get in food fights with you.

I been Friend-ed by someone I attended High School with and do not remember or recognize.

I have been “Friend-ed” by my lover’s mother.
For whom I try and behave…although I suspect she reads this weblog so that ship has sailed. smile

I have been “friend-ed” by the college roommates of HIS exwife. Although I sincerely doubt either of his exwives will sign up to be my “Friend”…
Facebook or otherwise.

I am friends of my kids’ friends who range in age from almost 20 to almost 30 years old….so I am privy to their lives and loves…
I know way too much.

FaceBook suggests “Friends” which has been annoying and invasive and cumbersome.

And then…a suggested FaceBook “Friend” turned out to be the brother of a long ago time very best friend in my life. An email later…and her 16 year old daughter “Friend-ed” me on FaceBook. As a high school girl she has been disturbed by the fact her mother is no longer connected to her high school friends.

And although they live a thousand miles away…it turned out her band was going to be in town this week. And that five of her ten siblings live here in Santa Cruz. One right down the street.

and so… thanks to FaceBook…we get to be Friends once again.

(however…don’t be thinkin’ this means I’m gonna be playing Mafia Wars….laughing….)

all hail sanchez

2009-07-11T06:22:00.000-07:00

This photo was shamelessly stolen from sfgate.com….it was taken by Michael Maloney of The Chronicle.

Jonathan Sanchez 57 pitched a no-hitter tonight.
First one for the Giants since 1976…
first one at home for the Giants since 1975.

We watched the last few innings on television.
It was a sight to behold.

Caught by Eli Whiteside 22.

Sanchez had been sent back down to the bullpen and just came back into the rotation. His dad flew in last night…it was the first time he saw his son start.

Awesome. Totally way awesome.

Looking at the sky on Friday ~ with my cell (10)

2009-07-10T21:22:00.000-07:00

I always love to play
Looking at the Sky on Friday with Tisha
check out all of her other players

down by the Boardwalk…down by the sea-ee-ee

2009-06-28T19:22:00.000-07:00

I tend to complain about tourists during Tourist Season. Not sure why so many who vacation to Surf City forget to pack their common sense.

On the flip side, I admit there are some really cool things to do here…and many of them are free.

Every Friday night during the summer there are concerts in front of the Boardwalk…right on the beach. From where I am it’s a short walk through the neighborhood and across the trestle, over the river to the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk.

The concerts always bring a good crowd, but this week was something else.

The Boardwalk and the beach were packed to see the Gregg Rolie Band. As lead singer of Santana, Rolie was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. He was also one of the founding members of the band, “Journey”. The band played songs from both and a few songs of their own.

(I feel as if I am about to start channeling an episode of Bond’s Tuneage Tutelage)

It was a very cool concert and I’m looking forward to the rest of the series. A lot of people brought little picnics…with typical picnic treats…back at the ranch we had to satisfy the craving.

Another way fun event was the annual “Bikes on the Bay” Vintage Motorcycle Show. Hundreds of pre-1985 American, British, European, and Japanese motorcycles and scooters. It was pretty crowded around all the bikes and booths. Some interesting, some innovative, even some junk. Accessories, clothing, parts…and a really great BBQ with Marie Callender’s for dessert.

This wasn’t just a show for garage queens…there were quite a few street worn bikes. Here are just a few which caught my eye..

I have to admit…there really are a few good things about Tourist Season.

a thank you, a shout out, and a hat tip

2009-06-24T21:22:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow I’ll recap the trip to Portland…but today I wanted to send out a personal post of triple thanks.

Thank you for your encouragement.
Thank you for the presents.
Thank you for the recipe.

Earlier this week on my morning walk through the harbor, I came upon a dramatically tragic scene. David of authorblog has encouraged my photography and taught me the value of always having the camera with me. There weren’t many people around…and I was the only person with a camera who was not with law enforcement.

Subsequently the local paper used my photographs on line and in print. I asked that my name not be used…not because I am humble…but I didn’t want to come up on some google search associated with this particular circumstance. The news guy has expressed interest in using other photographs I may have.

While I was getting ready to put together this post…I found out David had gifted me with his Post Of The Day for “the fathers”. I am honored for the acknowledgment…and I love meeting the new people who surf over from his site. I have found many weblogs via his POTD choices as well.

David is not only a professional photographer, published novelist, and rather prolific blogger…he is a very encouraging mentor to many of us out here in the world wide weblog world. Thank you David.

I also want to give a shout out to Dana at Amid Life’s Crises. I have participated in three weblog book drawings recently. I actually won at Dana’s!! Not only did she send “UnCommon“ by Tony Dungy…she also included a really cute bookmark…and a READING LIGHT which I absolutely love. Dana is a strong intelligent woman who is in the midst of some major life choices. Her battles on behalf of her son and herself are frequently heart tugging…and always thought provoking. Thank you Dana!

Last but not least…a quick hat tip to Hammer. His irreverent and edgy posts are a cover for a great father and husband….and what seems to be an amazing man in the kitchen. I have a dear friend from my past in town this week…so I tried Hammer’s most recent recipe for “Baked Potato Soup” tonight…and it was a HIT ! I will definitely make it again. The first time I used one of his recipes was almost exactly a year ago he gave out his Vidalia Onion Dip. I have made this for parties and potlucks several times to rave reviews. Thanks Hammer.

These are just a few reasons why I am very grateful for the weblog world!

the fathers

2009-06-21T18:22:00.000-07:00

As I looked through these pictures I was struck how very little these men have in common…these men who play the role of “Father” in my life.

my own father
my grandfathers
my step father
and the fathers of my children

(please note: even as a one year old my eyes automatically closed when the shutter opened. )

I’m going to see my Father later this week for some paper signing. It has been quite some time since we have been together. For most of my life, family wisdom was that my sister is artistic, kind, and curly like our mother…and that I am our “father’s daughter. ”

I do carry my Father’s strong genetic imprint. My countenance, my temperament and my talents come from him. My brother and I both. Ironically, it was in my Father’s grief-ignited breakdown
to make our life situations identical, which resulted in our estrangement.

My childhood and teenage years were pretty great. I grew up in a wonderful home with many advantages. Month long vacations to national parks and family events were a priority. There was never any question that each of us would be sent to college. And while it was a Father-mandated location… it was also a parental-funded education. My Father was a life long engineer…an intelligent and generous man. There was never any doubt that he loved me, my brother, and my sister.

This is my first Fathers’ Day without a living Grandfather…and my Mama’s first Fathers’ Day without her Father. (funny guy below on the left) If you’ve been around here the past year you’ve read a few posts about the man he was and his legacy for our family.

I was named after my Father’s Father. (funny guy above on the right) His first name was Clare…my middle name is Claire. He taught me about the railroad…and how to fish. His example of love for my Grandmother taught me how a husband should be. He was always trying to set me up with some young man in town. I haven’t posted about him much…he has been gone a long time now. I will have to remedy this oversight.

After church I met the fam and some friends for brunch at one of my StepFathers’s favorite hangouts… the restaurant at the local golf course. They have great food…but the interior design is that of a 1970’s retirement home cafeteria.

My StepFather hasn’t ever actually played golf. But he does have some very specific restaurant criteria. He knows the guy who runs the place…so we always get seated no matter how crowded…they have a full bar…and “the waitresses have good breasts.”

Little Missy and The Cub have each grown into pieces of their Father. He still calls for advice or to lament over something one of the kids have going on. I am the go-to-girl for medical issues, school, and affairs of the heart. He knows they both call me to help convince him to do something they want. I’d like to think I play the role of advocate and peacemaker… but it is more accurate to think along the lines of a sneaky, double-crossing, secret agent.

SugarCookie’s Father is the only man who convinced me to marry…and he was barely out of boyhood at the time. We have been divorced for almost twenty years. We see each other at graduations, funerals, and when our daughter needs both of us. My daughter is an awful lot like her Dad..which is mostly a good thing. smile. Thank God she takes after me where baseball is concerned (Go Giants!) I don’t know what I would do if I had given birth to a Dodger fan. He and I talk when there is something really good or really bad to discuss. He is the father who made me a mother… and for that I am eternally grateful.

Wishing all of you Fathers a very Happy Day!

getting clear

2009-06-19T17:22:00.000-07:00

I’ve had a bit of experience with the healing of physical illness and injury. I have just about zero experience with emotional injury.

It is very difficult for me to have that sense of helplessness you feel when someone you care about is emotionally injured.

I don’t like being helpless.
I am gifted with strength and ability and faith.
I want to help. To heal.
To be there no matter what.

I listen to them explain their behavior.
Sometimes I am accepting.

Other times I have to ‘fess up… that um… yeah…
I know it is a deception.

They believe they deceive for self protection.
Self preservation even.
But it is deception all the same.

A group effort…others came to their defense…confiding in me how their past hurt them deeply. Stripped them of their beloved lifestyle. Taken away their security and self-esteem.

The others thought I should be different…but I was being me. The others didn’t like how I am…they called me bossy and pushy. My presence meant that the others lost influence and were no longer in control. The others were not happy. Wild child wisdom pointed out it is not unusual for twenty percent to dislike how I am. It no longer mattered what the others thought.

I tried being katherine-lite. While my heart ached to see evidence of the emotional damage… I avoided the wounds. I sidestepped the landmines.

I allowed the deception.

But those type of wounds don’t just heal up or go away by themselves. When the pain from their past makes a guest appearance in the present, it is so intense, the fragile facade they have built starts to come apart.

As the cracks begin to show, their cover up of choice is anger. Feeling out of control, they lash out. They fester over what life has dealt them.
Loved ones to worry about. Financial uncertainty. Hopes dashed. Long range plans derailed.

Their internal turmoil becomes malignant.
They scramble destructively to control whatever detail of their life they can.

They have so much pain they can’t control…they start to self-inflict pain that they can.

There is this point in time where I regain clarity…when I yet again point out….gently…and not so gently…what is true…and what is not.

And with authentic love in my heart…I can no longer accommodate the deception.

I am learning the hard way what I already knew.

When you allow yourself to be incorporated into deception… you will either become a deceiver…or ultimately… you will be deceived.

The Tour ~ Pendleton to Portland

2009-06-13T14:22:00.000-07:00

Although we truly enjoyed the cowboy town of Pendleton, Oregon, I was looking forward to heading out to Portland. Just over 200 miles away we had friends and family to visit there.

Along the way we drove by a tree farm. Miles and miles and MILES of this tree farm. I have to admit I was amazed. I took dozens of pictures. I only included a few in this post…but really it was incredible to see.

Although I had been through the Columbia River Gorge as a teenager, I did not remember the dramatic landscape. Cutting 4000 feet into the Cascade Mountain Range, The Gorge runs about 80 miles along the boundary between the Oregon and Washington States.

The area generates significant electricity from both wind and water. I am intrigued by the shapes of various powerline towers, hence the photos. We made several stops along the way, reading various historical landmarks.

Salmon fishing humans have lived in the Gorge for 10,000 years. It has been the well traveled route for American Indians, Lewis and Clark, steamboats, railroads, freight haulers, and
The Teamster’s Five-O Tour.

One destination just outside of Portland was Multnomah Falls.

Jeff, of A Word In Edgewise, had first suggested we stop there. Coincidently DOT (Dad of Teamster) also thought we would enjoy Multnomah. They had visited the falls on a previous trip and remembered it fondly.

Multnomah Falls was beautiful indeed. It is the second tallest year round waterfall in the nation, dropping 620 feet. We hiked up to the midpoint bridge to get the full effect. By our clothing, it was obvious we were riding a motorcycle. The gear can be a conversation starter with other riders. It also causes some rather disconcerting stares. The Teamster is kinda badass with his shaved head and shades. However, I look rather dorky…not scary or mean. But still we get the looks.

Once in the Portland area we repeated our established routine, to find a bar or diner to have a little snack and fire up the laptop to surf for
accommodations.

We settled in the Oregon City area at a little place right on the river.

(again…photos by both me and The Teamster)

The Tour ~ Boise to Pendleton

2009-06-13T07:22:00.000-07:00

After watching the Memorial Day event in downtown Boise, we took a quick walk around the state capitol grounds.

French Canadian trapping and small scale silver mining both played a role in bringing settlers to the tree lined valley.

During the Civil War. the United States established Fort Boise to help protect from massacres along the Oregon Trail.

We were taking our time until the local stores opened. We needed to get a replacement screw for my face shield. Surprisingly, High Desert Harley Davidson was less than helpful….although they did tell us three times that they are the largest Harley dealership in the north west. That’s nice.

One of the mechanics did steer us to Cycle Gear of Meridian Idaho. The young woman there was VERY helpful. Not only did she dig through her inventory to find the right screw…she gave me two so that they would match. (I was just not keen on one being black and one being silver…it would have messed with my mind for miles.) AND….she didn’t charge us. (I need to send them a note praising her customer service….)

Geared up, we headed towards Pendleton, Oregon. This September will the be 100th Pendleton Round-Up where the town’s populations booms from 25,000 to over 100, 000. It looks like a great time.

The Pendleton Underground Tour of their historical redlight district would have been fun. However it was completely sold out. Apparently bus loads of tourists come for the one or two weekends a year they do the tours in full vintage costume.

We had a wonderful dinner at Hamley’s Steak house. I could have spent a fortune at their western goods store…but there was no room on the motorcycle. smile.

Photographs for this post were contributed by both The Teamster and myself…

(note: this was the only leg of The Tour with an alternate sponsor…due to regional unavailability of the primary sponsor. )

watch out for the wave

2009-05-29T14:22:00.000-07:00

Here is a link to the YouTube clip of a presentation from last week’s event where the public was first introduced to Wave.

Google

Those who know me…know I am a fan. Yeah…I’m concerned they know too much about too many. I don’t want my medical records tied into my telephone calls. But I am fairly certain this is where we are headed…it’ll be a lot like the computer on The Enterprise. (Not the Enterprise staffed by the United States Navy…the Enterprise staffed by Star Fleet Academy.)

This is an actual demonstration and technical presentation, it runs over an hour. I’ve provided some timestamps below to portions I thought some of you may be interested in. If you are feeling geeklike I highly recommend the entire presentation.

Wave is going to be phenomenal. You will be able to IM, blog, chat, email, twitter, phone text, with multiple people in real time…at the same time.

One feature gave me goosebumps. You will be amazed. Towards the end at about 1:12:30 is a real time instant message translation from french to english that will amaze you.

I’m fairly certain it will translate Vulcan to Klingon.
The wave makes me wet. Be still my heart.

5:10
explanation of the concept

7:30
demo of interactive IM/email with photo drag and drop

19:00 ish
“bloggy” some of you will love this.

44:00 bean soup demo
I’m too fond of automatic spell check correction…but I understand how cool it is

about 49:25
is a demo of a who-is-up-for-a-movie/outing conversation demo which I could totally envision Rhiannon and her posse using just about everyday.

From the link you can also signup to be notified of when Wave goes live. I can’t wait.

Looking at the sky on Friday ~ Idaho Storm (9)

2009-05-28T19:22:00.000-07:00

We had just left Fairfield, Idaho, rushing the fifty or so miles to Mountain Home…skirting thunder storms, braving harsh wind. I’m on the back of the bike, without any face shield, protecting the camera lens from the rain…and my only thought is “I gotta get a picture of this for Tisha’s Looking at the sky on Friday.” True Story.

In Idaho…they are just a little more free…

2009-05-25T22:22:00.000-07:00

Waking up in Boise, on my second day of The Tour, we walked into down town to find a quaint place for breakfast, taking our time and enjoying the day.

In a tree lined park surrounded by high rise office buildings we came upon a group of military. From every branch, men and women of all ages in various uniforms from combat to dress. They stood at ease around the the edge of the grass talking casually to one another. At one corner, lining both sides of a staircase, representatives from each branch stood at attention.

A crowd was gathering. We asked a young Marine what was going on, and learned it was some sort of early Memorial Day observance. He said there would be a choir from the local school singing Amazing Grace, speakers and such. We walked down the grassy knoll, looking around. There was a podium and a few rows of chairs arranged around two flag poles.

A young man was playing the violin: “My Country Tis of Thee,” “Battle Hymn of The Republic,” “American the Beautiful” lilting through the park.

At the base of the flagpoles was the Fallen Soldier Battle Cross. A rifle, bayonet into the ground, with a helmet hung on the gun stock, and boots placed in front.

Going back to the Civil War, it is used today in Iraq and Afghanistan as a sign of respect for the fallen among the still living members of the troop. Frequently the dog tags of the fallen soldier are hung from the rifle. I do not know the name of the soldier on these dog tags.

People were gathered in small groups. Some families. A few small children. Gentle hugs of greeting. Groups of men shaking hands and slapping backs as men will do. Some in the formal business suit attire, many in motorcycle gear.

For a moment I felt as if we were crashing the event. But I noticed office workers from the surrounding buildings coming out…and other passersby stopping. We both knew without discussion that we wanted to stay.

Half a dozen people were taking pictures, so I reached for the Teamster’s camera. There was laughter and smiling.

The speaker opened by thanking the city of Boise and the company Quest for their sponsorship.

He spoke of the meaning of Memorial Day, and the importance of remembering not only those who have given their lives in military service, but also those in law enforcement and fire fighting who have been killed in the line of duty.

There were introductions of additional speakers and the honoring of a local man who was a veteran of World War II, a Congressional Medal of Honor recipient.

There was an American Flag presented, saluted, and folded thirteen times before being laid at the Battle Cross of the Fallen Soldier.

The men and women from the staircase stood behind the podium.

The Stars and Stripes was presented and raised to half mast with the Idaho state flag. We pledged allegiance to our flag and sang our national anthem. We heard the stories of local men and women who have given the last full measure of their devotion in duty as soldiers, sailors, airmen, marines, national guard, coast guard, police officers, and fire fighters.

I wondered if this kind of ceremony would ever be allowed in my town. I sorta doubt it. The University of California at Santa Cruz is famous for violently protesting military recruiters at all career events. Certainly no public school child would ever be allowed to sing “Amazing Grace” in public. They seem to be able to celebrate with more freedom in Boise than in Santa Cruz. That makes me a bit resentful.

Three wreaths were presented in red, white and blue.

The blue wreath by an officer of the Boise police department, and the red by the local fire chief. The white wreath sent me from teary to tears. A Vietnam Vet whose own son died in Iraq.

The speaker announced that the anthem from each branch of service would be played, and invited anyone in the audience who had served to wave when their anthem was played. One by one the songs filled the downtown area.

The Caissons Go Rolling Along
Off We Go Into the Wild Blue Yonder
Anchors Aweigh
From the Halls of Montezuma, To the Shores of Tripoli
Always Ready

Each song was greeted by spontaneous applause…and while I saw a few people wave…what I noticed was the men who snapped to attention. In jeans, or gear, or business suit…as their anthem played they stood straight and silent drawing no attention to themselves, a few with tears in their eyes.

As the commanding officer of the Idaho National Guard gave the keynote address I was distracted by a bucket of long stem red roses next to where we were standing. When the songs and speeches were finished they invited anyone in the crowd who had lost a love one in the line of duty to bring a rose to the Battle Cross of the Fallen Soldier.

Out of respect, I took no pictures as these family and friends picked up a rose and took them forward. Young women with babies. An older woman crying on the arm of her son. The sunglassed guy in the armani suit. Fathers and Mothers holding tight to one another. Quite a few kneeled at the cross for a moment as they left their rose.

There were salutations and the bugle played taps. We walked away quiet and in awe of the experience. Although we were strangers, our patriotic hearts were touched by the emotional tribute we had stumbled upon that morning in Boise, Idaho.

I missed you guys! (back at catching up….)

2009-05-25T12:22:00.000-07:00

As many of you know, The Teamster has been on his "Five-O Tour”…a three week motorcycle ride followed by a golf trip with his brothers to celebrate his fiftieth birthday. A full month of five-o frolic and festivities.

He launched phase one of The Tour on May 2nd taking off from his home in the central valley of California, heading to the south west United States.

Phase one of The Teamster’s Five-O Tour was a solo ride including stops in Tehachapi, Laughlin, The Grand Canyon, Flagstaff, Bryce Canyon, Zion, and Salt Lake City. (for those of you across the pond… that includes the states of California, Nevada, Arizona, and Utah.)

I had been invited to join him for phase two… which is where I have been for the past eleven days. (I have so missed you guys!) I had hoped to be able to post “from the road” but we didn’t quite get the hang of a single laptop. Not that we don’t share well….it was the time constraints of time on the road and all the fun destinations.

The Teamster wanted his tour to be as unplanned as possible… to be able go where ever the bike might take him. The one real requirement was that he be in the city I was flying in to…on the actual day I was flying in. Given my schedule and his route, he determined Twin Falls, Idaho was a good place for us to meet up.

As I started surfing the internet for the lowest airfare available…I was having a difficult time finding flights. I went to the Twin Falls airport website to check which airlines fly into it.

One.
One airline.
A small regional carrier called SkyWest…an affiliate of Delta Airlines.

I learned a few other little tidbits about the Joslin Field, Magic Valley Airport of Twin Falls.

There are over 28 domestic flights out of Twin Falls each week…serving more than 840 passengers. (Imagine…over 840 passengers each and every week !!! ) The longest flight from Twin Falls is 174 miles. The smallest commercial aircraft flying out of Twin Falls is an EM2 with 30 seats. A nice little plane…. all things considered. (remind me to tell you the story about the crew on my flight.) It was after 10pm when I landed….so no pictures.

Our first leg was all Idaho, from Twin Falls to Boise via Ketchum and Mountain Home. For the most part we wanted to stay off the major highways and keep to the roads less traveled.

Ketchum was a destination recommended by The Teamster’s son, who is active duty AirForce, stationed in Mountain Home. Ketchum peaked my interest as the place where Hemingway spent many years…and ultimately his tragic last two years. The landscapes are beautiful, and the town is an upscale art community full of galleries and boutiques.

A few raindrops fell as we came into town. We decided to have lunch to let the weather pass.

The Kneadery was a great choice. Not only did they serve breakfast and lunch…they had plates of free brownies and cookies to snack on.

We stopped at the chamber’s visitor center to get directions to Hemingway’s grave. There are no signs or indications of where he is buried.

Just go to the back road of the cemetery and look for the grouping of three trees.

Ernest Hemingway is buried amongst his wife Mary, and other family members. His gravestone is covered in pennies.

I looked up why people leave pennies on grave stones…there are several theories on how it began. In our time, it seems to be a way to note that people have visited the grave…and have not forgotten. Hemingway had a great talent…and battled many demons in his life.

We headed out towards Mountain Home. About 50 miles in, the weather turned threatening.

We could see a storm approaching and the wind was getting a bit too strong. We stopped in a tiny town called Fairfield. It was a good thing. For sixty miles past Fairfield there is nothing. No towns, no services. not even a barn to take shelter under. Down the road, just before the horizon…the rain was pouring.

We hung out in a cafe frequented by local cattle ranchers and cement plant workers. Ordering a piece of their delicious red raspberry pie we fired up the laptop to find out what the weather was doing.

Those of you who read The Teamster know while we were waiting…the wind was so strong it blew my helmet off the bike and broke the face shield screw. That was while the bike was parked next to the building. You can imagine how strong the wind was on the open road.

The Teamster checked their little motel to make sure they had a room available…just in case. The beauty of The Tour is that we can alter our plans at a moment’s notice. I started tracking the storm using various county Doppler maps. Periodically one of us would go outside and stand out in the middle of the road to check the horizon.

I love the internet! We knew how many miles to the next town. With Google we could see the terrain and the type of roads. Via Doppler we watched the storm moving in the opposite direction of our path. As soon as we saw it start to break we headed out.

It was beautiful to see the blue sky break though with all the silver linings. The wind was a little strong…but it was a blessing moving the storm away faster!

By the time we got to Mountain Home, the wind was just a breeze and we had blue sky all around. Originally we had hoped to visit with The Teamster’s son. However he was out of town at a top secret location practicing maneuvers in preparation for deployment to Afghanistan.

We hit Boise just about dinner time. We drove through downtown looking for a interesting restaurant, possible accommodations, and the best place to park. It was a true example of unsuccessful back seat driving…smile. We spotted “Cool Hand Luke’s Steakhouse and Saloon” with designated motorcycle parking right across the street!

See the little tower lookin’ place on the left side of the building? That is where we were seated…watching the city at dusk.

We split a wonderful meal. Cool Hand Luke’s has delicious food and very friendly people. It was the perfect place to relax and end our day.

mothers' day (catching up part one)

2009-05-16T07:22:00.000-07:00

Mother' Day was just about perfect. I picked Sugar Cookie up at the train station in the morning. Everyone who knows her knows she one of those Vera Bradley crazies. She generously initiated me into the club with a very cute bag in my favorite color combination...blue and brown.

We went to my folks where The Cub was waiting with a morning treat for me... a tomato bagel toasted with garlic herb cream cheese plus a Sobe. The three of us headed to church where we met Little Missy. Little Missy had a bouquet of tulips....she knows they are one of my all time favorite flowers. (part of the day is about me me me....laughing...)

At church the Mothers got special chocolates. The message included a list of eleven ways Mothers overdue things and make themselves tired and their kids annoyed. I was only guilty of four of the items...although one of them the kids triple checked. whatEVER.

After church we met up with Little Missy's novio and went to the cemetery. As most of you know...I gave birth to the Sugar Cookie...but Little Missy and The Cub are gifts. They lost their Mama to cancer when they were little and we always make a point to remember and honor her on this day. My folks have a whole row of Lily plants and we picked a bunch to put on Linda's headstone. They are Little Missy's favorite flower... she used it on her tattoo even...so she really likes to use them.

From there we went to O'Mei...a wonderful Chinese restaurant my Mama chose for brunch. There were seven of us...and we ordered eight dishes plus dumplings and rice. We ate it ALL.

I have some weird uncontrollable issue with camera flashes...we took about a dozen pictures....my eyes were closed in all of them.

We hung out with the folks for a while....and I decided to go back to The City with SugarCookie. Being a fellow Trekker she took her Mama to see Star Trek. OH WOW. It was wonderful. We loved it!! I know - I know not everyone does...but I'm even more of a JJ fan now than before. The movie gave this Picard fan a whole new appreciation for Kirk!

Live Long and Prosper.

Looking at the sky on Friday ~ mayan storm (8)

2009-05-08T17:22:00.000-07:00

An afternoon tropical storm blowing in on the beach at the Mayan Palace. The warm wind felt refreshing late in the day.

I love having a meme to play that gives me a chance to post my sky pictures…I have quite a few! Visit the crazy working mom…and play along with us next week!

that’s retarded.

2009-05-06T22:22:00.000-07:00

Actually THIS is retarded.
This post.
It is a post about the word retarded.

The thing is…some yahoo named Diesel tagged me in “The Retarded Meme” . (Actually he is some Google named Diesel…but you’ll have to read up on Mattress Police to truly understand.)

Wouldn’t ya think if you bought a guy’s book he would tag you in
“The Brilliant Meme” ?
Or at least
“The Thank You Meme” ?
Apparently not.

Then again…now that I think about it….I actually bought three copies of his book. I guess that pretty much explains why I’ve been tagged for his “Retarded Meme”

(note to self…remove name and email address from mailing list for upcoming novel, Mercury Falls .)

Apparently it all started when Diesel and Mrs. Diesel (commonly referred to as “the Saint” ) were commenting over Big Fat Tacos, about a newspaper article reporting the ridiculousness of a campaign to get people to stop using the word “retarded” because of some scene in the movie “Tropic Thunder.”

For reasons beyond my understanding, a series of events unfolded, resulting in Diesel’s desire to be the number one retarded site on the Internet.

Where in Sam Hill is that loveable banshee,
Grûndir the Implacable, Nazgûl and Meme-Wraith when you need him?

I know half of you are scrunching up your brow and cringing just a bit cause the word “retarded” is frequently used in conjunction with the word “mentally.”

For the most part when you hear someone say, “that’s retarded” or “you’re retarded” or
“don’t be so retarded” it is a reflection of how they perceive your apparent lack of mental aptitude.

To those who have a family member who is mentally challenged this can be offensive. Indeed it is usually meant to be offensive and derogatory.

That however, is a very limited view.

In some cases it is a wonderful word…as in “Flame Retarded.” Watching footage of the out-of-control southern California fire…I bet people wish their homes were Flame Retarded

WITHOUT the reference to mental…
the definitions include:

retard -
cause to move more slowly
operate at a slower rate
be delayed
hinder, obstruct
decelerate: lose velocity

retardation -
deceleration: a decrease in rate of change
the extent which something is delayed/held back

retardant -
any agent that retards, delays, hinders

How dare anyone try to get me to stop using such a perfectly good word as retarded !!

The Rules: (why do all memes have rules? They tell you what to write about…and then they give you rules to play by. The weblog world is comprised of a bunch of control freaks.)
The Rules according to Diesel are:

1. You must write a post using the word retarded. I don't care what it's about -- Joe Biden, teenage boys wearing girls' pants, whatever.

2. The word retarded must be a link to this post.(meaning Diesel’s post….not mine.)

3. You are encouraged to tag five other bloggers to do the same.

this is a tough assignment…I don’t want to offend anyone…but Diesel is sooo encouraging…and I think these people would appreciate him.

The Queen of Memes ~ Mimi Writes
(cause she understands importance of tagging)

Matt-Man ~ Bagwine Ruminations
(cause he will be hysterically offensive)

Sandee ~ Comedy Plus
(cause I KNOW she has a retarded joke)

Linda ~ Are We There Yet?
(cause she has a teenager and they use the term)

Starrlight ~
Here Comes A Storm…In The Form Of A Girl
(cause I get her sense of humor, she has a teenager, and her blog name is as long as mine…the trifecta of tagging)

and Diesel….you owe me a Big Fat Taco.

Comedy and Connecticut at Cancun ~ AGAIN!

2009-05-06T18:22:00.000-07:00

Many weblog writers find one of the true benefits from this segment of our lives is the people we come across…and the friends we make. As we read, we glean little insights into strangers’ lives. Not only by their words, but sometimes by the photos they take, and sometimes by the jokes that they tell. Every once in a while we step through the monitor glass to let our online life and our offline life merge.

Monday evening
Linda, (supermom of Are We There Yet?), Sandee, (jokester of Comedy Plus,) and I met up for our second (annual?) consumption of Mexican food and hilarious conversation at the hotspot in all of Stockton, California…Cancun.

Sandee…and her silent photographer Zane, live in central California. Linda, who once lived in Stockton, now lives clear on the other side of the country in Connecticut. Almost exactly one year ago to the day, we met when Linda came out to visit old friends. This year Linda was attending a Dispatchers’ conference in Vegas….and couldn’t pass up making a quick side trip to visit us and others in the Golden State.

On Sunday Linda made the drive over the mountains. As luck would have it…Santa Cruz was kinda rainy and foggy. Still, we were able to see a few of the sights. Contrary to popular belief I am NOT made of brown sugar and don’t actually melt when splashed with water.

After watching the surfers out at Pleasure Point (on the EASTside,) we drove along the water through Capitola and Aptos. Linda was hoping for sunset photos (like at the very bottom of my weblog) so we went to a very special place, Seacliff State Beach. I have a lot of personal history tied up with that cement ship, The Palo Alto…It always makes me smile. I know Linda enjoyed seeing the ship…not so sure she enjoyed the way the end of the pier swayed with the waves. We could tell there would be no colorful sunset this evening…for the most part the sky looked like this:

We had dinner at my favorite Mexican restaurant, Manuel’s…which is right above Seacliff. (I honestly gave her several choices…but Linda really wanted Mexican!)

As the fog rolled in, we drove back to the “westside” and Steamer’s Lane. The Lighthouse here houses the Surfing Museum. Linda wrote about her first day in Santa Cruz, and researched the history of the lighthouse…most of which was new to me. (I’m more of an Eastside sorta chick)

The next day we visited a bunch of places, including Holy Cross Church (Santa Cruz translates to
“Holy Cross”)

It is also the site of the Santa Cruz Mission.

The original structure was destroyed by a series of earthquakes, but portions have been rebuilt.

The historical area is closed on Mondays. I’m gonna have to go back and take the tour!

Linda and I headed to The Santa Cruz Boardwalk for a photo-op, thinking it would be closed.
It was almost deserted, but a few of the rides were running….including the Giant Dipper !!!

In a couple weeks, The Giant Dipper celebrates 85 years. It is the sixth oldest roller coaster in the United States.

You can watch a video clip of a ride on the Giant Dipper here. It is one of my all time favorite places in Santa Cruz. I am so glad Linda was up for a ride !

The Teamster is enjoying his
Five-O Tour and could not be present to ride…
I am sure he will be bummed he missed it!
There were several other
“attractions” on the Boardwalk despite the weather.

We went out to the very tip of the wharf (see the aerial picture at the top of my weblog?) watching the sea lions, the sailors, and the tourists.

We made a few other quick stops (chocolate shop, microbrewery) before the obligatory trek at the harbor down to the end of the jetty

We decided to drive together in Linda’s snazzy hybrid rental over the hills and into the central valley to meet up with Sandee and Zane at the aforementioned, Cancun.

(the following two photos of the three amigos have been shamelessly stolen from Sandee’s weblog..and were taken by Zane.)

After a glass of wine at the bar, we headed over to enjoy our meal. We thought we would pay homage to the Queen…

But Zane caught us with our guards down…

(rather amazing…my eyes are actually open)

If you would like to see more of her hubby’s handiwork…please surf over to read Sandee’s post.

In addition to the first day post linked above…Linda wrote about our dinner too. She has captured many sights in words and pictures…and has promised more posts.

I hope that Linda will continue to make her annual pilgrimage to the west coast. I know Sandee and I will try and find a time our weekend schedules overlap at the delta.

I enjoy weblogs in several different circles. Groups of people who may overlap here or there. Sandee, Linda and I read several weblogs in common, but we also each read quite a few sites the others do not. While we are very different women… and lead very different lifestyles, we have gotten to know each other online from our posts and in the comment sections. I consider it a privilege to call each of them my friend.

Thursday Thirteen ~ 30th of April

2009-04-30T15:22:00.000-07:00

313 – Roman emperor Licinius unifies the entire
Eastern Roman Empire under his rule.

1492 – Spain gives Christopher Columbus his
commission of exploration.

1789 – On the balcony of Federal Hall on Wall Street in
New York City, George Washington takes the oath of office
to become the first elected President of the United States.

1803 – Louisiana Purchase: The United States purchases
the Louisiana Territory from France for $15 million, more
than doubling the size of the young nation.

1900 – Hawaii becomes a territory of the United States

1909 - Scandinavia creates holiday celebrating arrival of Spring.

1925 – Automaker Dodge Brothers, Inc is sold to Dillon, Read & Company for $146 million plus $50 million for charity.

1927 – Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Pickford become
the first celebrities to leave their footprints in concrete at Grauman's Chinese Theater in Hollywood.

1947 – In Nevada, the Boulder Dam is renamed
Hoover Dam a second time.

1933 – Willie Nelson, American musical icon was born.

1957 - Elvis recorded "Jailhouse Rock."

1993 – CERN announces World Wide Web
protocols will be free.

and…in 1959… a day that will live in history….

The Teamster was born.
Happy Five-O.

Remembering Papa

2009-04-26T20:22:00.000-07:00

My Grandfather would have been 94. We are celebrating his birthday for the first time without him. He had a long life…well lived…and well loved.

photo hunting ~ protection

2009-04-24T22:22:00.000-07:00

tnchick has brought us the Saturday meme,
“Photo Hunters” for as long as the weblog world can remember. For this week’s theme of “Protection” I chose the F-18 Hornet.

I am honored and thankful they protect me.

Looking at the sky on Friday ~ pole twirling (7)

2009-04-24T00:22:00.000-07:00

I admit this is probably not what Tish had in mind for her meme…I might be stretching the concept just a bit…but you DO have to look at the sky to see this….smile

The following aerobatic performance took place in Tulum, Quintana Roo, Mexico last December. We were there to see the spectacular ruins and had stopped for lunch and a little Christmas shopping.

After a rather aggressive collection of donations from spectators these five men climb to the top of this pole.

Some young and some old, their traditional costumes have heavy brocade made of ribbons and intricate bead work.

Suddenly four of the men pitch themselves backwards off their perches. They are wearing the rope around their waist and knotted at the crotch.

They each spin independently as the group twirls around the pole…slowly unraveling the rope and dropping towards the earth.

The one guy on top apparently ensures nothing gets tangled up.

It didn’t look comfortable….or OSHA approved…but I doubt they are Union.
Just before their heads scrape the ground, they do a little flip.

Back on Earth, and back on their feet, they walk away as if they hadn’t been upside down, swinging, twisting and twirling.
It was a great show.

The fifth man winds back up the four ropes. If I was part of the group…I would take very good care of this guy.

Thursday Thirteen ~ heard while photographing

2009-04-23T08:22:00.000-07:00

1) Why are you bringing your camera?

2) Enough already…we are going to be late.

3) We are going to hike ahead.
I’ll come back for you in a couple hours.

4) Can I use MY camera now ?

5) You can’t get every shot.

6) I’m gonna nap in the car til you’re done.

7) No one ever sees all of these pictures.

8) Where did you put the lens cap?

9) What is my brother talking about?
A birthday video of me on FaceBook?

10) You only took two hundred and twelve shots…what’s wrong?

11) Put the damn camera away, you are NOT taking a picture of that !!

12) How many times to I have to ask you to put the lens cap back on?

13) This had better NOT show up on your blog.

I’d almost forgotten about Thursday Thirteen… Miz Starr is hallucinating up a storm with britt boys today…and reminded me. Pay special attention to #10. Although…I do like boys who sparkle….

The TT batton has been passed to new sponsorship….
I may have to start playing’ again.

Wordless Wednesday ~ flores encantadoras

2009-04-22T16:22:00.000-07:00

Virtual Spring Cleaning

2009-04-20T09:22:00.000-07:00

Voicemail box is full.
Text message limit is maxed out.
Guess I need to go through them.

At this time in my life, for the most part only four people text me; SugarCookie, Little Missy, The Cub, and The Teamster. I have saved texts of the odd sentimental message from each one ….a few of which are from two or three years ago.

I can no longer keep up with my Reader.
If I don’t “read” for a few days there will be hundreds of posts awaiting some sort of action.

I have accumulated 298 subscriptions in my Reader, which I have divided into twelve categorized folders.

Granted, two thirds or more are of a “news and information” type nature. I reject the pabulum most people rely on. I read the left, the right, and the in between cause I want to know more than the twenty second sound bite which main stream media has deemed sufficient for our consumption.

Since June of 2007. I have “starred” 174 posts to save in said Reader. I have emailed myself an additional 202 posts to save in my own email folders.

Forty-nine percent of these saved and starred posts contain some sort of information I assume I will want to reference or access at a later date. Seventeen percent are political, religious, or sociological rants or raves. Eleven percent are from the Faeries…go figure. The remaining twenty-two percent are a mishmash of posts, most of which I don’t remember why I saved them.

And then there is my personal email.
420 contacts in my gmail address book
More than half I do not recognize.
Google saves everyone for me.
I wish they wouldn’t do that.

Google sets aside a significant allotment of storage space for each of its users. Below your Inbox they provide you with how much of this space you are using. As of this very minute, mine says:

You are currently using 396 MB (5%) of your 7318 MB.

Cool. I am only using 5%. Pat my little self on the back. Makes me feel as if I have kept on top of the email thing. I KNOW that I delete dozens and dozens of messages daily.

But still…on closer inspection.
1999 sent email messages saved.
533 in the Inbox.
154 “starred” for action or review.
59 folders sorting out my email.

I have kept…as in not deleted…a total of 5,852 gmail messages dating back to 24 August 2006. (Oddly enough 888 of those are “chats”. ) The scary part is that gmail combines replies and forwards into one string of messages and counts it has a single message. For you math-geeks out there…that means I have saved (on average) just over five emails each day for the past 967 days.

Time to wear out the delete key.

photo hunting ~ purple

2009-04-18T07:22:00.000-07:00

Wisteria has a very special place in my heart. It only blooms for a few weeks each year. In the winter it seems to go dormant and the endlessly entwined branches are nature’s art at it’s finest.

For other purple participants… visit the Tennessee Chick

Looking at the sky on Friday ~ sixth

2009-04-17T11:22:00.000-07:00

day's end…The Crow’s Nest, Santa Cruz Harbor
(could that be Sandee?)

( Enjoy other “Sky” players with Tisha)

my morning cup…and Joe.

2009-04-16T16:22:00.000-07:00

Those who have to spend time with me….by choice or by circumstance, tend to make sure that I have my coffee in the morning.

The Teamster, who never touches the stuff, monitors my intake out of self preservation. He has achieved expert status in the fine art and operation of the French Press. He has the chemistry of grounds to water with sugar and coffeemate perfectly formulated. Fortunately for me, years ago one of his ex-wives had already required he map out all available Peet’s locations.

Back in the day when we worked together, my dear friend Erika was known to interrupt midday meetings to deliver an additional cup o’ Peet’s with an add shot or two when she knew I had come into work early that day. She certainly did not want to deal with a caffeine deprived katherine…or have to run interference for others who might have crossed my path in that state.

My home brew is typically extra strong Peet’s Sumatra. I don’t grind my own beans. They are ground fresh when I buy them and a pound usually lasts me about nine days. Besides…to get the true benefit of fresh, I would have to grind the beans in the morning….and that just ain’t gonna happen.

In the past, I have used this terrific Cuisinart coffeemaker with it’s special timer. I’d get it all ready at night and set the timer for about five minutes before I woke up. I like this coffeemaker so much I gave one to my folks. (they have never used the timer feature however….)

For a couple months, I had to share my morning cup with Joe. My step dad, Joe. He is an Italian/Croatian curmudgeon who upon occasion is mistaken for Scotty (as in “Beam me up Scotty” ….which is rather convenient while waiting to be seated at a popular, crowded restaurant in The City…trust me.)

At the very least, Joe and I have one thing in common. We both love my Mama very much. The rest of the time we just sorta nod at each other over the rim of a cocktail and have learned to get along pretty well. The one thing that threatened the peace of the house was the making of coffee.

Joe drinks this light brown water you could read the newspaper through. He buys whatever brand of coffee is on sale. To my way of thinking…coffee is one of those “you get what you pay for” kind of deals. And for me…taste matters.

If Joe woke up first and made the coffee…I would have had to drink literally liters to consume enough…but since it tasted positively putrid I couldn’t even get a full cup down. I’d pour his into a carafe and make another batch…which of course…only I would drink. This was deemed wasteful. Sigh.

If I woke up first I’d make Sumatra you could stand a spoon up in. He would drink about half a cup and leave the house. He started complaining about it destroying his stomach lining….and whatever else occurred to him in the heat of the moment. I pretty much ignored him.

I thought about putting the two coffeemakers side by side on the kitchen counter…and actually dug through the boxes to find mine. I even considered setting mine up out in the garage.

One weekend after hearing the coffee debate for the umpteenth time, The Teamster lo oked at the two of us with an expression of: “Just Shut up already”…

Out loud all he said was,
“Ya know….I can solve this”

And…he did. (sigh…my hero)

I now whip up my break of day nectar in my very own Peet’s French Press. Sure, I have to boil water…and it isn’t waiting for me when I awaken. But hey… as long as I get decent, strong java…I am willing to compromise….a little….

Whew! Peace in our time.

wordless wednesday ~ no thirsty dogs here !!

2009-04-15T15:22:00.000-07:00

JB ~ who’s your fave?

2009-04-13T16:22:00.000-07:00

interesting to me
these heroes three
all with names of “J” and “B”

do we have any of these guys in real life ??

Jason Bourne

Jack Bauer

James Bond

(all three of these photos I swiped from online public domain websites…no infringement.)

alleluia

2009-04-12T06:22:00.000-07:00

Christ the Lord is risen today, Alleluia!
Earth and heaven in chorus say, Alleluia!
Raise your joys and triumphs high, Alleluia!
Sing, ye heavens, and earth reply, Alleluia!

King of glory, soul of bliss, Alleluia!
Everlasting life is this, Alleluia!
Thee to know, thy power to prove, Alleluia!
Thus to sing, and thus to love, Alleluia!

In the words of Mr Charles Wesley….
wishing you and yours a joyful Easter

SugarCookie…Coloring goose eggs with her gramma-great.
(Indiana…1990)

hey you…with the clippers

2009-04-10T13:22:00.000-07:00

Imagine along with me…

You wake up in the morning and have no internet access. No big deal…glitches happen. Ten minutes later you try to text and realize you have no cell phone service…okay….so you pick up the land line…nothing.

You flip on the television and wait through fifteen minutes of fluffy GMA until the local news comes on. At this point you just want to find out what the sam hill is going on. The familiar morning anchor out of San Francisco has it as his lead story.

Fiber optic cables have been cut.

Four of ‘em. Two in San Carlos….two in San Jose. Beneath manhole covers weighing hundreds of pounds. Down a couple of ten foot shafts. In up to four feet of water amid poisonous gases. Only those four cables were damaged. Nothing else. Someone knew exactly what they were doing.

Parts of San Jose, all of Santa Cruz county and San Benito counties are without cell and land lines for fourteen to sixteen HOURS.

This is what transpired yesterday. I am cognizant your initial reaction includes smug acknowledgment of how we have become far too dependent on our cell phones and internet access. Those who know me got a little laugh imagining me without connectivity. But there is far more to this story.

What was the result of no cell phone, no land line phone, and no internet service?

Stores, restaurants, gas stations, et cetera could not take credit or debit cards. Which of course sent people out to withdraw cash…however…

No ATMs were working. (picture 40+ people in line for the teller) Hospitals without their medical records access, pharmacies unable to fill patient prescriptions.

And the kicker…. no 911 service.

All law enforcement and fire service personnel were called in. Manning every available vehicle they drove around the city….through neighborhoods…up and down streets. People were suppose go outside to flag them down in case of emergency for cryin’ out loud.

So you….with the clippers….what is your deal?
Obviously you KNEW what you were doing. Two o’clock in the morning. You knew how to gain access…you had right tools. You chose two specific cables in locations two hours apart from one another. You did not take down Silicon Valley or San Francisco which would have made national, if not international headlines, immediately. You cut the cables that are 60-100 miles away from the affected area. This was not a random act of vandalism. This was targeted.

I heard the media speculation you are a member of the CWA…the communication UNION…with a not so subtle threat. I get you all have been working without a contract for over a week. My step dad tells stories of lines being cut back in the day during negotiations. But really? Taking out banks and hospitals and 911? You think the surfers and bohemian artist population of aging hippies in Santa Cruz won’t raise an uproar because we will be sympathetic to your labor union cause?

Was it a test? Are you part of some nefarious terrorist cell testing what would happen if a couple wires were cut? Making notes on how long it would take to identify and splice? Were you monitoring how law enforcement responds to being cut off from the populace?

This little part of the world is pretty small. Considered rather unimportant in the grand scheme of things. We have very few headquarters of industry. But being just over the hill from the computing capital of the world provides us with a state of the art infrastructure.

You hit a day before the spring break tourist crowd arrives. So the panic of visiting extraterrestrials not being able to phone home was avoided.

You basically took away our ability to communicate out or operate business for the better part of a business day.

This is where my conspiracy theory imagination kicks in. I cut my espionage teeth on the likes of Ludlum and Clancy.

Why does this not make the national news?
Four cables strategically cut. No banking, no ability to contact law enforcement or emergency services. No communication out. We have radio and television getting the message in…but no way to communicate out. Think about it.

Not to mention the fact our ability to access to our own recourses to acquire goods and services was just about completely severed.

In a related story:
After the initial report by the Wall Street Journal, there hasn’t been much information on the infiltration of our nation’s power grid applications by foreign entities… potentially from China and Russia. The electrical grid for the entire nation. Not just electricity either….the grid which includes the running of all our water and sewage systems.

Where is the media coverage on these events?

While the death of Natasha Richardson was a tragedy and Farrah Fawcett’s illness is very sad, does the American public really need to hear about it day after day?? (Travis points out the inappropriate absurdity.) We heard over a week of posturing from Congress and the Senate and the White House over AIG bonuses. (Which by the way were paid…as were the ones to Fannie and Freddie and the automakers…)

Where is all the outrage and demand for investigation over serious threats to our daily existence? Why is the national main stream media not reporting on the vulnerability?

I am reminded of a couple posts I read lately from Hammer and Gene about stocking up on supplies and keeping a transistor radio.

Hostile foreign entities plugging into our electrical grid…communication lines being severed. Maybe I ought to establish a family meeting place if need be. I consider reinstating my gun permit, learning how to operate a ham radio…and burying a bundle of cash in the backyard. At what point does making contingency plans start to sound whacko….like Ruby Ridge and Waco?

I dunno.
But I’m starting to pay close attention.

Forget Raymond….Everybody Loves Maggie

2009-04-05T07:22:00.000-07:00

Today is my Mama’s Birthday !

Lightening will strike if I mention which one. She has always been the type to politely refuse to disclose her age. On the side chair sits her embroidered pillow which reads:

”Age is only a number….and mine is unlisted”

(the irony is for the past ten months, every time she sees a doctor, has a test or procedure performed, or even picks up a prescription the medical professional confirms her birthday. Out loud. So everyone can hear. She gets oh-so-ticked-off. And then she glares at me chuckling)

All my life my Mama has been surrounded by people who love her. Family. Friends. Neighbors. Co-workers. Churchmates. Not so unusual until you take a look at the range of individuals.

PTA moms. Soccer Moms. Corporate Moms. Women who would never have a child of their own. There are pious believers…and those who refuse God. Neighbors who can’t get along with anyone else but her. The preacher…and the members of the choir. Drunks. Murderers. The Judge. Sorority girls and Fraternity boys. Old. Young. Holy Rollers and Whores. Blue collar, white collar, and the guy with pink lace on his panties. Red necks and no necks. Hillbillys. Captains of Industry, Rocket Scientists, and the guy who lives under the bridge with a blanket.

Everybody Loves Maggie.

(the summer of sweet sixteen)

While we have many things in common, and I have a wide range of friends…I do not take after my Mama so much. It has been said that I am my Father’s daughter. My temperament is not of mother born. (smile) There was a time that bothered me a great deal. A time when I wanted to be the woman she is. But alas…heavy sigh…I am not. I am a smartass….and she is not.

I have been known to explain “I try to always be a good person. I may not always be a nice person…but I always try to be a good person” Mama and I learned to accept this a long time ago. (although there are a few dozen people who ardently wish I would be more like her.)

(maggie as a first born…and with her first born)

(as the bride….and the mother of the bride.
Yes, it is the same dress…the first time she was married was on her 21st birthday….)

(I am the only woman I know who was able to be the Best Man at her own mother’s wedding)

(Maggie and Shirley…BFF at 16 and 60)

There was a time a few months back, I wasn’t sure we’d get to this 5th of April with my Mama here on Earth. And I wouldn’t be so foolish has to be certain of the next. But today…I praise God for being able to celebrate this day with her.

(evidence that I have been a klutz my entire life)

This little one minute ditty is my first attempt at making a .wav file from photos. No music or special effects. This could get fun.

Happy Birthday Mama….I love you….

photo hunting ~ stripes

2009-04-04T09:22:00.000-07:00

(Don’t miss Tennessee Chick leader of the Photo Hunters.)

This is part of a piece in the lobby of the San Francisco Museum of Metropolitan Art. (SFMOMA)
I shot it last summer when The Teamster took me to see the Frida Kahlo exhibit…which was excellent!

Looking at the sky on Friday ~ fifth

2009-04-02T19:22:00.000-07:00

Thank goodness Tisha launched this Friday meme….it sorta reminds me to post and not just read…surf over to see the other players.

I think I could call this one:

“riding off into the sunset…my perspective”

wordless wednesday ~ flores encantadoras

2009-03-25T14:22:00.000-07:00

getting the perfect gig

2009-03-22T15:22:00.000-07:00

I spent most of an entire day piecing together my resume. It's time to return to the real world. Go back on the grid. Become a productive contributor to the gross national product.

Now I just gotta figure out what I want to do.
I need to be open to what the Big Guy intends for me to do.

I realize to some that shouldn't be the foremost question. History shows for me that is absolutely the first thing to figure out. When I don't like what I do...when I am not where I am suppose to be...I start little projects on the side. I cause a little bit of trouble. Many, Many people would be thankful to be able to secure a job...any job...right now. And I may very well get to that point.

It is probably one of the worst times in my adult life to try and step back into the job market. Then again timing as never been my forte. I have always been a little heavy footed...just a step or two off....(que the music Travis....)

Have you ever been in a job interview where they ask you some question along the lines of:

"If you could work for any company in the whole world....which one would it be?"

My answer has ALWAYS been ILM...Industrial Light and Magic. Typing the name alone makes me smile....you have to say it with a kind of giddy reverence...

Induuustrialllll Li(sigh)ght and Maaaagic.

Until recently ILM was located in an obscure city back off the main drag in a place called Skywalker Ranch...buried deep in the Redwoods. Not anymore. Now they have this state-of-the-art amazing new campus...about a three minute walk from HERE. Be still my heart.

When I told Sugar Cookie I was thinking about applying there she nodded knowingly and said "ahhh Momma...you should."

When I told her that meant I would be working (and possibly) living in her neighborhood...she didn't look quite so enthusiastic.

When I told Little Missy I was getting ready to go back to work...she asked "Where?" I told her "maybe ILM" She looked at me over her taco and shrugged..."hasn't that been your dream?"

But see....there is this other company. IJM. International Justice Mission. I've been keeping my eye on them for over a year...they are doing some good work. In a field that I feel very VERY strongly about. Found out last week that I may have a connection. They are located just over the river from HERE.

IJM is probably not as well known to most of you as ILM, although you may have seen their work on MSNBC Dateline...or read about them in last January's edition of The New Yorker magazine.

IJM? ILM? IJM? ILM?

Or...maybe I could just flip burgers...

photo hunting ~ yellow

2009-03-21T07:22:00.000-07:00

We rode to Daffodil Hill yesterday...this place is so beautiful...what a wonderful place to celebrate the first day of Spring....
(click to fill your screen with yellow)

Surf over to TnChick to see the other yellow theme-ed Photo Hunters!

Looking at the sky on Friday ~ fourth

2009-03-20T20:22:00.000-07:00

We rarely get golden sunsets...
so this one was special.

Go visit that Crazy Mom, Tisha and see all the other wonderful skies on Friday!

wordless wednesday ~ wilder ranch

2009-03-10T22:22:00.000-07:00

just another fan....

2009-03-04T22:22:00.000-08:00

There are a whole slew of U2 posts out there this week...most of them mention Letterman. (you do know that U2 performs on The Late Show every day this week...don't you? Bono and Dave together...is this a great country or what?)

You can find Bono on Vinny's Couch...in Dad'sHouse...and he'll probably show up in The Ice Box with the Songbird. But the posts that really shine are with Starlight...she knows her U2.

Dad turned me on to a tribute site which features the man wearing a necktie and an earring. I'm especially liking the quote page. Not to mention he says all this with that incredible Irish accent....sigh....

"You put on the leather pants
and the pants start telling you what to do."

You say you'll give me eyes in the moon of blindness
A river in a time of dryness
A harbour in the tempest.
All the promises we make,
from the cradle to the grave.

"Never trust a man who tells you it's from the heart,
never trust a man smoking a cigar,
never trust a cowboy
or a man who wears shades..."

If you didn't catch Letterman last night...the Top Ten was a riot... I suck at Guitar Hero too....(note The Edge gave his own version of #5....NOT the one written)

The Top Ten Things U2 Has Learned Over The Years

playing "Telephone" and assuming the worst....

2009-03-03T15:22:00.000-08:00

All's well that ends well....

I fondly remember late night phone calls when a guy rang me in the middle of the night to tell me he loved me and missed me and would be home soon. It was sleepily sweet and dreamy. I felt warm when I whispered good bye with a happy smile on face.

No mas.
Those days are long gone.
Late night phone calls are no fun anymore.
At times they are a harsh waking bringing cold fear.

These days late night phone calls include:
I didn't mean to call...my phone dialed you accidentally.
I ran out of gas. Can you bring me some?
My heart is broken and I am sad.
Someone is dying.

Last night when the phones all rang, we assumed the worst. A series of ringing phones.
Like a game of...wait for it...telephone.

It was 11:30 when I got the call from Sugar Cookie. Local news was ending. I was all excited looking forward to a near perfect combination. U2 on Letterman. Two of my celebrity crushes. Sugar Cookie was worried about Little Missy...and with good reason.

Sometime after 10:30, Little Missy had called her friend Caroline. At 21, Caroline is the only one of the "six-pack" who lives at home. Six girls who have been buddies since kindergarten... think "Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants".

Little Missy had called Caroline because she needed a ride. It was raining...she was calling collect from a pay phone. She called that number because she knew it by heart from childhood. Little Missy didn't know anyone's current cell phone numbers by heart. And apparently Little Missy was upset and crying. She had hung up, without saying where she was.

Uh Oh. At this point I was up and moving, TV off.

Sugar Cookie proceeds to tell me that Caroline called Maia (who is another of the six-pack...but closer to Sugar Cookie.) Caroline tried calling me...but has my old number (which now belongs to someone else.) Little Missy's Dad isn't answering his phone, so Caroline called Maia who called Sugar Cookie. Before calling me...they have tried to get a hold of The Cub. ('cause an 18 year old, 6 foot, 290 pound brother might know more or because they wanted the muscle??)

Sugar Cookie said The Cub isn't answering his phone.
She said The Cub's roommate isn't answering his phone.
Little Missy isn't answering her phone.
They didn't want to worry the 'rents until they had to.

I call Maia to hear first hand details only to learn that Caroline had called the police.

(The back story here is that Little Missy has recently moved in with her Boyfriend...her Novio...who is a bit older...and not well known among her friends. Little Missy is carrying a full load in school...and works graveyard driving a forklift restocking shelves at Home Depot. She doesn't have a lot of spare time...and has not been among her old friends lately. Little Missy does not go public with her crying...is rarely without her phone. Concern is somewhat understandable.)

It's 11:45, and the police are involved.
We have ourselves a show.

I no longer need to decide if the situation warrants being ramped up...someone else made that decision for me. I wouldn't have gotten law enforcement involved at that point. But it was done...and now we had to deal.

I'm praying...pulling on clothes...and calling Little Missy's dad. ( He'd been in the shower and didn't yet know Caroline and the cops had called.) I very calmly explain what is going on. The calm part didn't help. He is going to Little Missy's home NOW.

However, he has never been there...doesn't know where it is. I have the address...somewhere...in a box.   He asks a dozen questions I have no answer for...I tell him to talk to Caroline, and ask him where The Cub is. The Cub has been to his sister's new place. They have guitar hero after all. My ex thinks The Cub, and The Cub's roommate, are at work.

Now Little Missy's Dad lives way high up in the mountains. Ten minutes on a one lane gravel road....another ten on paved county roads...and twenty more on the freeway to the next town where Little Missy lives.   He heads down the mountain...I head to the gym where The Cub works.

No Cub or Cub roommate at the gym...so I tell my ex I am off to Home Depot. I text The Cub to call me now. I use the word IMPORTANT. My ex, halfway down the mountain (now with no cell coverage, increasing concern, and at unsafe speed) is met by two Sheriff cars who are on their way to his house. (I'm gonna skip the part about why two Sheriffs would make a beeline response for my ex's house cause it doesn't pertain.) Unbeknownst to me, one Sheriff follows my ex to find Little Missy's home, and the other goes to find me at Home Depot.

I pull up to the front door at Home Depot and tap on the window with my keys. I see several workers summon a guy who appears to be in charge. It occurs to me that this is Little Missy's boss...and The Boyfriend's boss. So I need to be cool. I explain who I am...and say I have a bit of a family emergency and want to know if either one of them are there.

Turns out they were both scheduled to work...but The Boyfriend had called in sick...for both of them. The night manager looks over my shoulder, and I turn around. The Sheriff.   I think he is there because I have pulled up to the door of the closed store with the engine on and lights blazing.   I don't know he is looking for Little Missy and knows who I am and why I am there. I ask the Home Depot guy if he has The Boyfriend's cell number. I am cursing my lack of bilinguality. He looks at me...and gives a lame answer about employee phone numbers being locked up. I tell him..okay...I understand he can't give it out. I tell him "if" he talks to Little Missy or The Boyfriend to have them call me or her Dad.

I leave my cell number with the Home Depot Hombre ...assure the Sheriff I'm okay and get into the truck...my phone rings. The Cub.

He was at a party. He picked up his Dad's fifth call. The previous midnight calls from Maia, Sugar Cookie, me, and the first four from his father didn't clue him in that something may be going on.

His friend Grace is driving him and his truck to Little Missy's place to meet his Dad. Before I could ask "Why is Grace driving your truck?" ...my phone beeps...my ex is calling.   Same. He is meeting The Cub at Little Missy's place. Apparently the Sheriff with me has called the Sheriff with him and reported back.

Just then Little Missy calls her Dad. She is home. Nothing is wrong. (her boss had called The Boyfriend and alerted him that we were looking for Little Missy)   My ex calls me back...he is still headed to their place with The Cub and the cops. He wants to see Little Missy for himself.

The Sheriff (my escort? my wingman?) is on his radio. He nods a smile to me. I do some wave/salute thing and I head home. I call Sugar Cookie...tell her to call the other girls. Little Missy calls me, says she's okay. But then she has to hang up and call me back. Her dad is at their door...with an entourage.

I am back home by the time she calls again. Yeah...Little Missy and her Beau had a "tiff" (her word). She flew out in anger...with a dead cell phone. Little Missy has dealt with serious anger management issues for a dozen years. Her anger and their argument were over a subject which had nothing to do with The Boyfriend. Another story for another day.

Everyone phones everyone. Little Missy and I talk for half an hour about how it all came down. Who called who. Why people worry. Why being out of touch and having an older boyfriend makes people suspicious. Surprisingly neither Little Missy or The Boyfriend are angry about the series of events. We spend more time talking about what she was upset about in the first place. We're gonna talk again this afternoon...and we're gonna meet for a meal in the next couple days. I want to be sure it is as she says.

In this morning's debrief with my ex, we are thankful it was a false alarm. He's glad he charged out there. Glad that Little Missy knows people care that much. Glad that The Boyfriend knows people care that much. He has not been comfortable with his daughter having an older Novio. His way of dealing is to not interact with them at all. Maybe he will lighten up now...accept their dinner invitation once in a while.

And me?
I need to look into why The Cub couldn't drive himself.

looking at the sky ~ third

2009-02-27T22:22:00.000-08:00

This is looking at the sky...tonight...
from the harbor toward the wharf.

You can look at many other skies....here at Tisha's
maybe next week you can play along?

dark driving ~ there

2009-02-27T08:22:00.000-08:00

We left southern California in 1995.

Once I decided to leave, it took me a full year to disengage our lives before we could make good our escape.
My job and her schooling.
Our friends and her family.

I never really liked it in southern California.

In 1976 I really liked Davis and Humbolt.
But I was given three choices.
Palo Alto and live at home with the folks.
Lafayette, Indiana and live with my grandparents.
Los Angeles and live with strangers.

I loved my folks and my grandfolks....
but I was ready for strangers.
I relocated south.

I had wonderful friends and terrific experiences in southern California. Many of the happiest years of my life.
I went to school there.
I got married.
Established my career.
Had my baby.
Grew up.

I just never felt at home in southern California.

I left in 1995 and I have never gone back until this week.

I had a somewhat irrational concept of being taken back against my will...like Mikhail Baryshnikov in White Nights . I had been vilified following my defection....and they have never quit their recruitment efforts for my daughter's return.

There have many opportunities to go back. I have always come up with really REALLY good reasons not to go.

This time....I couldn't not go.
For this...I had to go.

It was 17 hours of driving in a 29 hour time frame.
Mostly in the dark.
Nine hours there...eight hours back.
(I made the mistake of getting off the freeway for something yummy and got Lost in Long Beach on the way down...thank God for AAA.)

The six hours between Santa Cruz and Westwood are VERY familiar....I've made that run well over 50 times.

Watsonville, Castroville
Salinas, Soledad
King City, Paso Robles
Atascadero, San Luis Obispo
Pismo, Arroyo, Nipomo
Santa Maria
Gaviota, Goleta
Santa Barbara
and then home.

Former home rather.
Ventura County
San Fernando Valley
The 405 to Westwood.

Every exit evokes emotions.
Memories of people. Of places.
Waves of memories.
celebrations, schools, performances,
friends, colleagues, lovers, adversaries.
Good times and Great times... and the Getty.
I have not thought of these things in YEARS.
Dredged up from deep down.

It is dark and it is late.
I am tired. The coffee has made me wired.
I find that it is better to drive without sobbing.
My mind grasps my heart in a steel grip holding it in check.
I am by myself but I am not alone.

From 2:30 in the morning...until 2:30 in the afternoon.
I was actually back in southern California.
The OC no less.