Throwing It All Away

A robin is NOT a sea bird. The robin gets the worm, right? What could this guy possibly be looking for in the sand? Perhaps he was just there to greet me as I headed out from the parking lot on the South Spit.

The beach at the south end of the spit is great for driftwood hunting and these would make great focal points in my garden but there was no way these would fit in my car or even on the roof rack. What must these have been like floating down the coastline? What must it be like for a fishing boat to encounter a floating tree on the water?

I found two floats on my short walk along this lonely stretch of sand. I also left with a bag full of bottles and caps and various other scraps of trash including a bleach bottle and a big 10-gallon pot that had likely held a substantial "plant" of some sort up stream.

Some of the trash was clearly left behind by beach goers, beer bottle left to mark the spot they held while enjoying the beauty of the sunset. Other detritus washed up on the night's high tide, flushed from hiding spots on the rivers or dropped from boats. We must learn to take care of our ocean so she doesn't have to regurgitate our trash from her bowels.

Hello, Bonjour - Happy Birthday Girl Scouts

Happy Hundredth Birthday, Girl Scouts.

Michael Franti might be surprised that his song, "Hola Bonjour", reminds me of Girl Scouts. "Hola. Bonjour. Guten Tag. Konitchiwa...we are glad to meet you. We are glad to greet you." Just one of about a billion songs I sang in Girl Scouts. As part of World Friendship day each year, we would celebrate cultures. As a Brownie, Junior, Cadette and, eventually as a leader, I taught those same songs to my troops. "Make new friends and keep the old...one is silver and the other's gold".

For me, Girl Scouts conjures memories of guitars, wood smoke and campouts... and singing...and s'mores. SO many memories. Memories of my Junior leader in Santa Cruz, Jackie Shea, who was a truly awesome lady. She (and her husband, Ludd, who always seemed to disappear after set up until it was time to pack up again) took us camping a lot! Most memorable was getting rained out at our big campout at McCrary Ranch when we had to tear down camp in a hurry in the middle of the night, tossing soggy sleeping bags and ground cloths in the back of a truck to be sorted out later, being dropped off at home well after dark. Guitars were as required as s'more fixins in those days so, whether campfire or trip in the car, we played and sang. We cooked hobo stew in little foil pouches over the coals. We had mess kits and dunk bags. We roasted marshmallows for s'mores. I was the master at french toast and I cooked a lot of it over the fire. We never slept in tents but under the stars and I woke many a morning to the squawk of a Stellar Jay. SO many memories built in that troop and riding through the redwoods on a chilly morning will bring back those memories quicker than anything. Did I mention, we sold Girl Scout cookies?

Our "Troops Own Badge" was a butterfly badge which, among other requirements, involved tagging monarch butterflies at Natural Bridges Beach. With my new-found interest in photographing headstones, I often remember our regular trek to maintain the gravesite of Louden Nelson, a former slave and pioneer in Santa Cruz educational history. We would climb the hill in Evergreen Cemetery which at the time was sorely neglected, and cut brush and pull weeds. I also remember wandering the rows and, every year, visiting one particular grave of a small child whose headstone was ornately-carved marble..was it a lamb? Or a baby carriage? I just remember visiting her each time we were there. Again, something in my world that began with Girl Scouts and probably the reason cemeteries fascinate rather than frighten me. I bridged (did we Bridge in those days?) from Juniors into Cadettes and a troop led by Dolores Pound where I continued to gather memories of camps and outings. Whenever I have the chance to trudge down a dirt trail, recognizing miner's lettuce and avoiding poison oak, I realize how much I learned through those years.

I took those memories forward when I became a leader to Monica's troop in Nevada. I joined with her leader, Audrey Frazee for a bit and, among other things, we planted trees at a new neighborhood park and we led a neighborhood trash cleanup for Earth Day. I like to think that we introduced those girls to interests and opportunities just as Jackie Shea and Dolores Pound did for my peers. And we sold Girl Scout cookies.

Velynda Wiley and I took on that troop after they Bridged into Juniors. Already friends, both having come from active Junior troops, we couldn't wait to share it ALL. We made stuff. We sang songs. We went places. She and I went to leader trainings and learned MORE songs and more stuff to teach our charges (Girl Scout leaders in "training" mode is a high-energy weekend!) High point had to be loading our entire platoon into her Camaro and my Volvo and making the six-hour trip from Minden to Sacramento to Sutter's Fort and the Zoo to do work on three badges. I would wager the girls STILL talk about Living History Day at the Fort. A hundred and five degrees, standing in front of the beehive oven watching the woman in the long wool dress shovel wood to bake her bread, gave us all an appreciation for the niceties in our world. There were the unruly trio of mountain men who ask how much we wanted for "the tall blonde one" and the shocked settlers who wondered why we were running around in our "bloomers". After we got into the spirit of the period we were experiencing, it was easy to blame the lack of skirts on "the mountain men". Knowing nods followed.

Velynda and I experienced our own camp rainout when we were preparing couscous and kebobs for a Greek exploration, to be shared with the parents due anytime, and it began to rain. Then it began to hail. By the time we loaded soggy gear into cars and got the girls home, we were soaked. Girl Scout traditions come in funny places! And we sold Girl Scout cookies.

When we moved to Humboldt and Hope was small, and her troop was in need of leaders. I helped with her Daisy and Brownie troops. Our cultural food explorations for World Friendship Day were legend - try making gnocchi or baklava with twenty Brownies! As she advanced into Juniors, I once-again joined with the leader Cathy Martin, and we began to set our sites on the dream pilgrimage to Savannah, birthplace of Juliette Gordon Lowe. We plotted and planned the trip as badge work and we sold Girl Scout cookies like we NEVER sold them before. Once there, we visited Juliette's grave and many of the homes and buildings prominent in Girl Scout history. We tried on hoop skirts and learned to serve tea as Juliette would have. My life as a Girl Scout came full circle.
And this year, Girl Scouts celebrate a century of celebrating girls. And teaching girls. Honoring girls. Encouraging girls to be strong and to do anything they want to do. Hopefully, someday the girls in those troops will write something like this blog because they have become leaders because THEY remember the fun they had in OUR troops. Here's hoping you bought enough cookies so you don't run out of Thin Mints too soon and so that Girl Scouts will continue to teach strong girls in our community.

"Day is done...gone the sun...from the lake, from the hills, from the sky.... "

Like A Boat Out on the Ocean I'm Rocking You To Sleep

Really? Finally! I’m going to be a Grandma. My first-born is having her first-born. Mark and I have watched with a bit of envy friends who have grandbabies. Mark does love to hold babies. For ages, long after our babies were no longer babies, he would come home from work and tell me “I held a baby today”. Maybe a co-worker brought in a newborn or a customer needed a hand to hold that papoose while they paid their bill. I always found it amusing since, and I don’t think he’d argue this point, he was never REALLY ready for parenthood.

We got married very young - at least I was very young. I wasn’t yet 18, he was 20. We were even required to go, along with my mom, to meet with a counselor at Juvenile Probation to be sure we were aware of what we were getting into. Of course at the time we were SURE we knew. After more than 37 years, I can tell you we didn’t have a clue! It should be noted that we were NOT pregnant at the time - just wonderfully, blissfully head-over-heals in love (and perhaps lust). In fact, it was more than five years before Monica blessed our lives with her arrival and I still remember the deer-in-the-headlights look Mark had on his face when I told him about his impending fatherhood. Even after five years, it was a shock.

Out of fairness, he was not raised with younger siblings nor did he babysit as I had. He did a fine job but I believe he was often overwhelmed, and perhaps still is, though dealing with adult daughters takes a little different skillset and he is probably a little more equipped to deal with grown up issues. But babies....they smell nice, except when they don’t. They love you unconditionally, kinda like a puppy. And best of all, we get a chance at do-overs but DON'T have to be the disciplinarians. I suspect I wasn’t the most patient Mom even though I would have liked to have been. But we did read to our kids. And we made them nap (for their sake and our sanity). And we used a play-pen so they could play and we could get something done.....sometimes the playpen would be in the yard while I gardened. Sometimes Mark’s daddy time involved a baby in a play pen at the wrecking yard while he worked on his race car. Some people see play-pens as baby cages but, when I see parents trying to wrangle a kid, I see a play pen as a little rubber room to keep us all sane. We didn't beat our girls but, in fact, were often asked how often we beat them to make them so good. In hindsight, we did okay and you'll never find those welts!

And now we have a grandbaby on the way and have to, once again, think of baby-proofing. And replacing carpet that just won’t NOT smell. And think about my bowls of seashells. And plants on low tables. And stairs...yikes, I forgot about the stairs! And, what do we want to be called? Granny? No! Nana? Nona? Gramma? I so look forward to sharing tidepools and gardens and chickens with this baby. And sharing smooshy cute, chubby little baby cheeks and (personal fave) baby feet to EVERYONE who follows my Twitter feed and Facebook. I can't wait to do the spoiling and have secrets just between us. I can’t wait until July (or now, June) when Monica and Gabe's little Peanut arrives and I am "Grandma". Let the spoiling begin, huh Papa?

In A New York Minute, Everything Can Change

Oh how I wish I left work just a moment earlier. Instead of that one...last...thing.... Even so, as I headed home from campus, I could see the glow in the western sky. I had been warned all day by the flashing red of my Weather Channel desktop, alerting me to the heavy surf (and the "recommend you stay away from the beach" admonishments...HA!).

The spit is so FAR. It's so close I can SEE it but so far away when you want to BE there. I have to drive north to drive south again. Not sure I'll make it but I'll try. Traffic is in my favor as I go around the golf course and through town. Turning on to 255, towards the Samoa peninsula, I can see I'm not alone. I'm not the only one heading that direction, taunted by the warm glow in the winter sky. Not the only one for whom those "High Surf Advisories" is an invitation. Driving over the bridges, I sneak quick glances to see the enormous orange ball. Dropping. Too fast! Slow DOWN! Wait for me PLEASE!

As I sit at the stop sign waiting for the seemingly endless line of (four) cars to pass, I stow my purse and pull the straps on my shoes. No time to make it to the far end, to the harbor mouth where the final drop would surely be most spectacular. I pull into the parking lot at Samoa Beach, finding a spot easily, tear off my shoes and grab my camera. The howling wind convinces me to grab the raincoat I had taken this morning. I run. Through the cold sand, over the rise, JUST in time. The ball has dropped halfway into the water. The heavy surf roars but I'm sure there must be a loud sizzle as the cold water quenches the sun. I can't draw my eyes away from the orange sphere slowly.....slipping....

..under. The few of us at the beach watch the sky change from orange to dark, muddy blue. No doubt others were farther up the beach - this is a show not to be missed. We wrap our coats around our bodies, breathe deep. And head home. Lord I love this place!

You Get What You Give

How many refrigerators does it take to light an intersection? How many CDs does it take to fill a pothole? How many new cars does it take to buy a cop or a firefighter? I can’t help but wonder but am too lazy to research the concept of what we lose in government services when we are beckoned by the bony finger of “Cyber Monday” to shop on the interwebs.

I’m not immune; I’ve done my share of shopping online for un-obtainables but, as I’ve become more aware of the loss of government services I’ve come to realize that many of these items are more easily obtained than they appear. For example, for a recent birthday gift for a family member, I wanted a specific book. With the closing of Borders, we don’t have a new bookstore in Eureka. There is Northtown Books in Arcata but I live in Eureka and prefer to keep my money here when possible. This is an obscure book, not one even Borders would have had on the shelf, I’m sure. I looked it up on Amazon and could have put it right in my cart then and there but decided to check out local used book emporium, Booklegger in Old Town Eureka. They didn’t have a used copy but were more than happy to order it new. It arrived in a week and I was able to give love one a requested book while keeping my money where I live. Music? Same thing. I learned that Carole King has a new CD of Christmas music. The Works didn’t have it, but they've ordered it for me. I do this fairly regularly. Loss of instant gratification? A little. Would it be cheaper at Target, assuming they have it? Probably. But, think what you will about Larry Glass and his politics, the tax revenues will remain in MY town. I’m OK with that. I don’t have to grab the “No-Arkleyville” or “Dump Dave” buttons off the counter if I don’t want to.

I’m surprised by the people I know who work at government jobs that don’t get this concept. While fretting about “THE ECONOMY” (duh duh DAH!) they will drive to Santa Rosa or worse, Oregon, to buy big-ticket items. No offense to Oregon but it amazes me that the residents there are OK with paying higher income and property taxes while the residents of neighboring states come in to shop tax-free. Seems backasswards to me. At least shopping in Santa Rosa keeps the state portion of our sales tax in state but, shop in Oregon, California gets nothing. And, coincidentally, Humboldt gets nothing. And Humboldt has less to pay for roads, and lights and cops. And we can continue to complain about the lack of services “our government” isn’t giving us. What the heck? What am I missing here?!

Why bitch about WalMart if no one forces you to shop there? Why hate the big-box when you can simply shop at the business of a neighbor? Or buy the creations of our talented lot of local crafters. Or gift certificates to local restaurants. Big boxes won’t come if we prefer to shop elsewhere. In the grand scheme of things, we may save a little money shopping on the internet, but look at what we lose.

The Tide Is High and I'm Holdin' On

Tides have been running pretty high or, as we call it..."the ocean is full". Once again, it's been ages since I've been on the water and, as always, I wonder if I remember how. It doesn't take long being afloat when it all comes back. Paddling is relaxing for me and I do it for me. As much as I like it, it's not my only entertainment. I took a week off earlier this month and never got on the water, though I got in the garden and on the beach. On the beach, I tend to augment my walks with litter collection (you take a bag to the beach, too, don't you?). And like my beach walks, my paddles tend to be a opportunity to keep trash from endangering marine life. Not far from launch, I spotted something sparkling in the water. At first, I thought it might be the head of a harbor seal. Or a bobber of some sort attached to a fishing line in the rowboat that passed. As I approached, it became clear that it was a bottle...a 40-ounce beer bottle, bobbing happily. I tossed it at my feet in the boat...my first "catch" of the day.
It was a stunning day on the water. With the water level so high, it was safe to explore up Eureka Slough, behind Jacobs Avenue towards Murray Field, without worry of 'beaching' when I take my eyes and mind from what I'm doing. Wildlife was limited to a couple egrets and a heron who stood by only moments then left in a squawky huff when I dallied too long trying to loosen another bottle from the water's edge. After just a couple hours on the water, I ended up with two 40-ouncers (what is it with the people who drink 40's of Steel Reserve?!), a couple chunks of foam, a bag of/from sunflower seeds, a rubber glove, a small blue ball of some sort...and a cigarette pack. Could have gotten more, including a soccer ball but I hesitate to get too far into the shallows when I'm alone, lest I get stuck and have no one to pull me out.

I will leave you with one last shot, taken at the surface as I approached the railroad trestle coming home. A gorgeous October day on the water. If I did it more often, it wouldn't be as special.

There Are Places I Remember

Chilled autumn morning
Blanket of fog snuggled in the hollows along Elk River Road
Contrails, four, streak across the horizon, glowing pink in the sunrise
Frustrated southbound commuter
No place to take her photo
Must commit this morning to memory,
but content that I have satisfied Fred with a post, however frivolous.