When Bill and I found this house two years ago, we knew it was special. It had a special feel about it. Bill said he 'felt' the house the minute he stepped into it and knew it was the one. I've always felt it exude a warm welcome and frankly, have a hard time leaving it. It always makes me wants to cry and feels like the house is saying, "Don't go!"
Maybe you're saying to yourself, "That's nuts! Houses don't have feelings. They're just wood and stone." Ah, but maybe you're wrong.
Of course, the thing I love most about this house is the sunroom. That's what hit Bill too when he first toured it. The sunroom facing the southeast and Apache Leap mountain blazing down on it. The first time I saw it, I knew that room was special and that's why I loved the house. The sunroom was originally the living room back when the house was first built. Later, it was remodeled to include another living/dining area and a bathroom. So the first living room, what we call the sunroom, was left as sort of a formal sitting room or front room. But since it has these great windows looking out at the mountain, we've fashioned it into a great space for meditating and reading and just gathering our thoughts.
We headed down the mountain to the valley to get supplies last Wednesday and didn't return until after dark. I was surprised to find the lights on in the sunroom and the room lit up brilliantly.
"I'm sorry!" I apologized to Bill. "I guess I left the lights on. But I don't think I did. Why would I have even turned them on in the day?"
"You didn't." He spoke shortly. "They were off. That's happened to me before. It's just the sunroom. I arrived from Dillon Beach on one trip and found those lights on."
"Ohhh." I didn't want to think about it. I felt like Sage when he says, "You cweeping me out, Boppy!"
Two days later, I took Chuy out for a nighttime walk. When I came back in, I was surprised to find the light ablaze in the guest bedroom. I went in and sure enough, the lights for the ceiling fan were bright on. "What's going on?" I asked aloud.
Kickers, the Persian, was sleeping atop the pillows on the bed, blinked her sleepy eyes as if asking it was time to get up. I'm pretty sure the cats hadn't turned them on. Neither had Bill. Chuy was blameless. One more.
Then, the next night, the strangest one yet. It was seven in the evening. We'd been watching one of the playoff football games on TV. Bill was sitting on the floor playing with Chuy. I was sitting across the room in a loveseat reading a book. Bill picked the remote up and changed the channel to Sci-Fi network since the game was getting too boring to continue watching. He threw a ball for Chuy. The remote was sitting by itself on a side table. Suddenly, the football game was back on the TV. I looked up briefly, thinking Bill was done with the Sci-Fi show. Men do like to flick the remote, you know.
"What the..." Bill stopped throwing the ball for Chuy. "Did you change that?"
"Do what? I thought you were watching the football game."
"I had it on the Sci-Fi channel. It just changed itself."
"Ooooh." Now I got goosebumps down my neck and back. Those psychic tingles. I do pay attention to them. "Somebody wanted to watch the football game?"
"Apparently," Bill said grimly. But he didn't change the channel. He left it on the football game for the next fifteen minutes. If there had been somebody in there wanting to know how the game turned out, Bill wasn't going to agitate them and turn the channel to something else. You gotta know when to keep the status quo happy, I guess.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Saturday, January 12, 2008
The Old West
We took a ride out to the desert today. Five days after arriving in Arizona, it was time to see some cacti, close up. We loaded up a reluctant Chuy in the FJ Cruiser and drove off toward Picket Post Mountain to find some adventure. Picket Post is big peak west of Superior where the white man settled the first mining town in this area, the town of Pinal back in the mid-1870's. The town didn't last very long. It went bust when the mine quit and died sometime in 1878. The way the history books tell it, the town just dried up and died in about six months. The townspeople and the miners who had become accustomed to the area either went southwest towards Florence or clustered into Superior which declared itself a town in 1882. Superior was only about three or four miles east of Pinal and it was there that the Silver King Mine provided work for the miners.
Anyway, the ruins of Pinal would be fun to poke around in, but I'm not certain whereabouts they are. They'll have to wait until another day. There's still some quarries in the neighborhood of Picket Post and it's also where you can find the Apache Tears rocks (obsidian rocks wrapped in a white round coating, sort of like yogurt covered raisins). So we were just taking a jaunt, seeing where we'd end up and what we might find. Bill turned off State 177 on a farm road and zigged and zagged several times, finding smaller more rutted roads as we drove slowly towards the imposing Picket Post. There were other folks out on this fine clear day: four wheelers taking the air, a small group of teenaged boys roasting hotdogs by a stream, a man trying to get his new four wheel drive vehicle muddied up for the first time, a group of hunters looking for somewhere to go. Most would nod pleasantly as we made our way over the muddy ruts in the road.
We stopped at a high overlook, caught somewhere between Picket Post to the west and the more imposing Apache Leap to our east. We got out and started picking our way down a cactied and rocky strewn hill where a little stream gurgled over more boulders and a few yellow sycamore trees vibrated in the breeze. It was real pretty. Bill found an abandoned rattlesnake's rattle first off. It had about eight segments on it and I spent a few minutes looking over the area closely, hoping the big fella wouldn't come back for it. Later, I found a nice piece of rose quartz and a freshwater snail shell. It felt 'funny' to be picking up shells in the desert. But since I'm fresh from the ocean, I guess that was apropro.
Chuy was intent on smelling every last smell that the desert served up and his little nose worked incessantly. Whether it was the straggly remains of a sagebrush, or the droppings of a brush bunny or even the glinting remains of a Dos Equis bottle, the puppy had to smell it and classify it. An hour's walk just about wore out his poor nose!
But toward the end of our walk, we heard five rapid fire gun shots. They sounded like they were coming from the area of Apache Leap. Bill and I looked at each other. "It might be deer season. But I don't know what's 'open' in Arizona right now," he said. We continued on, retracing our footsteps toward the parked car. A few minutes later, we heard a ripping slug of bullets, maybe twenty or thirty, automatic fire, machine gun fire?
It was something I certainly never expected to hear in the empty confines of the Sonoran Desert. And then, nothing. All perfectly quiet. The shooter emptied his rounds and departed maybe. Maybe. But so did we. Back in the car and back to the paved roads and civilization. Gee, what an enigmatic place this is turning out to be!
Anyway, the ruins of Pinal would be fun to poke around in, but I'm not certain whereabouts they are. They'll have to wait until another day. There's still some quarries in the neighborhood of Picket Post and it's also where you can find the Apache Tears rocks (obsidian rocks wrapped in a white round coating, sort of like yogurt covered raisins). So we were just taking a jaunt, seeing where we'd end up and what we might find. Bill turned off State 177 on a farm road and zigged and zagged several times, finding smaller more rutted roads as we drove slowly towards the imposing Picket Post. There were other folks out on this fine clear day: four wheelers taking the air, a small group of teenaged boys roasting hotdogs by a stream, a man trying to get his new four wheel drive vehicle muddied up for the first time, a group of hunters looking for somewhere to go. Most would nod pleasantly as we made our way over the muddy ruts in the road.
We stopped at a high overlook, caught somewhere between Picket Post to the west and the more imposing Apache Leap to our east. We got out and started picking our way down a cactied and rocky strewn hill where a little stream gurgled over more boulders and a few yellow sycamore trees vibrated in the breeze. It was real pretty. Bill found an abandoned rattlesnake's rattle first off. It had about eight segments on it and I spent a few minutes looking over the area closely, hoping the big fella wouldn't come back for it. Later, I found a nice piece of rose quartz and a freshwater snail shell. It felt 'funny' to be picking up shells in the desert. But since I'm fresh from the ocean, I guess that was apropro.
Chuy was intent on smelling every last smell that the desert served up and his little nose worked incessantly. Whether it was the straggly remains of a sagebrush, or the droppings of a brush bunny or even the glinting remains of a Dos Equis bottle, the puppy had to smell it and classify it. An hour's walk just about wore out his poor nose!
But toward the end of our walk, we heard five rapid fire gun shots. They sounded like they were coming from the area of Apache Leap. Bill and I looked at each other. "It might be deer season. But I don't know what's 'open' in Arizona right now," he said. We continued on, retracing our footsteps toward the parked car. A few minutes later, we heard a ripping slug of bullets, maybe twenty or thirty, automatic fire, machine gun fire?
It was something I certainly never expected to hear in the empty confines of the Sonoran Desert. And then, nothing. All perfectly quiet. The shooter emptied his rounds and departed maybe. Maybe. But so did we. Back in the car and back to the paved roads and civilization. Gee, what an enigmatic place this is turning out to be!
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Superior Streets
The streets of this town are so different from anything I've seen in California, I just have to blog about them. Maybe if I looked real hard in some dim corner of California, I might find something to compare them with, but coming from the over grown jungles of Sonoma and Marin Counties, Superior streets are unique.
First off, there is very little business. I don't really know when the 'season' would get going down here. Maybe it happened in December. It's usually just as quiet in July and August because of the heat. Maybe it just doesn't happen down here. But the streets are quiet. Main Street is definitely The Best. It's wide and two laned. You can park diagonally on it, like some of those wide open streets in Australia and still have room for ten wheelers to pass, occasionally there is one, a ten wheeler,I mean. There are nice sidewalks to walk on. The City Council has seen fit to provide lots of wide benches to sit on and while away the time with one's neighbors. There's even some beautiful planter boxes with cactus and bougainvillea on two or three of the downtown blocks. Main Street runs for a quarter mile or more, all under the watchful gaze of the mountain where the Silver King mine was located. It's beautiful. It's like stepping back in time. And it's damned quiet!
I remarked to Bill on a walk up Main Street today that it would be odd to even meet another person. I guess that's why I get reminded of all the spirits and ghosts lurking in the many shuttered up buildings on Main Street. This town was bustling once. It was a municipal center. This town had LIFE! I refuse to think that Superior is dead. I prefer to think that it's just mulling over its possibilities for life in the Twenty-First Century and hasn't decided what it wants to be yet.
One of the best buildings in the whole town and the one that has consistently captured my imagination is the old 1908 Magma Hotel. It sits right on the corner of Magma and Main, the downright epicenter of town. It was built in two sections, brick buildings on either end of a showy adobe center and courtyard. In its day, it featured a bar (standard equipment for a Western hotel), restaurant and upstairs rooms. You can still see the rooms. Now, better than ever. For a month ago after some torrential rains, the adobe facade of the hotel sloughed off and crumbled into the street. It's a devastating loss for the town with the demise of the treasured building. The town is fussing with the owners over who is responsible for razing the building. The owners feel betrayed by the town council over having to contend with too much government bureaucracy in the first place before they could do the repairs that needed done ASAP. There's a lot of finger pointing and more controversy. (Boy, I have to admit this town does have some controversies going for it!) And before it's all said and done, more recriminations will be heard, I expect. But the greatest loss will be the town's and the townspeople for losing this treasured landmark. I hope it isn't entirely razed before some miracle intervenes and it could be rebuilt or reconstructed. The town won't be the same without the Magma Hotel.
Anyway, I'm new here. I'm just reporting on it. Watching what will happen. I think the town will pull through. The only thing it's got going for it currently is its Soap Box Derbies and the occasional movie filmed here. It's great for those two things, of course. But it could be so much more. If only.... Stay tuned. I know there will be more!
First off, there is very little business. I don't really know when the 'season' would get going down here. Maybe it happened in December. It's usually just as quiet in July and August because of the heat. Maybe it just doesn't happen down here. But the streets are quiet. Main Street is definitely The Best. It's wide and two laned. You can park diagonally on it, like some of those wide open streets in Australia and still have room for ten wheelers to pass, occasionally there is one, a ten wheeler,I mean. There are nice sidewalks to walk on. The City Council has seen fit to provide lots of wide benches to sit on and while away the time with one's neighbors. There's even some beautiful planter boxes with cactus and bougainvillea on two or three of the downtown blocks. Main Street runs for a quarter mile or more, all under the watchful gaze of the mountain where the Silver King mine was located. It's beautiful. It's like stepping back in time. And it's damned quiet!
I remarked to Bill on a walk up Main Street today that it would be odd to even meet another person. I guess that's why I get reminded of all the spirits and ghosts lurking in the many shuttered up buildings on Main Street. This town was bustling once. It was a municipal center. This town had LIFE! I refuse to think that Superior is dead. I prefer to think that it's just mulling over its possibilities for life in the Twenty-First Century and hasn't decided what it wants to be yet.
One of the best buildings in the whole town and the one that has consistently captured my imagination is the old 1908 Magma Hotel. It sits right on the corner of Magma and Main, the downright epicenter of town. It was built in two sections, brick buildings on either end of a showy adobe center and courtyard. In its day, it featured a bar (standard equipment for a Western hotel), restaurant and upstairs rooms. You can still see the rooms. Now, better than ever. For a month ago after some torrential rains, the adobe facade of the hotel sloughed off and crumbled into the street. It's a devastating loss for the town with the demise of the treasured building. The town is fussing with the owners over who is responsible for razing the building. The owners feel betrayed by the town council over having to contend with too much government bureaucracy in the first place before they could do the repairs that needed done ASAP. There's a lot of finger pointing and more controversy. (Boy, I have to admit this town does have some controversies going for it!) And before it's all said and done, more recriminations will be heard, I expect. But the greatest loss will be the town's and the townspeople for losing this treasured landmark. I hope it isn't entirely razed before some miracle intervenes and it could be rebuilt or reconstructed. The town won't be the same without the Magma Hotel.
Anyway, I'm new here. I'm just reporting on it. Watching what will happen. I think the town will pull through. The only thing it's got going for it currently is its Soap Box Derbies and the occasional movie filmed here. It's great for those two things, of course. But it could be so much more. If only.... Stay tuned. I know there will be more!
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Gittin' Gone
The day finally came and Monday we found ourselves on the road relocating to our winter home in Superior, Arizona. I spent the week-end packing up last minute items I might not be able to live without the next five months in AZ. I cleaned out overstuffed baskets of papers that hadn't been sorted in ten years. I cleared off countertops and end tables so that my beach home appears almost barren. Taking a last walk-thru just before locking up and leaving, I marveled at the fact that my normally cluttered, over stuffed home was looking as though somebody else might have lived there. A very Neat Somebody!
Our aim was to depart at ten AM on Monday morning. But it was closer to ten thirty when we finally got going. Bill led the way in his FJ Trooper with the puppy Chuy clinging to his lap. Chuy has a bad habit of not liking to drive anywhere and usually throws up sometime in the beginning of the trip. I followed behind driving the Ford Explorer, stuffed with pet carriers. In the trunk, were two big carriers holding the macaws. In the back seat were two middle sized carriers with my two cats, Kickers and Spooky. And like the cherry on the top of the sundae, on the front seat, wedged in next to me to keep me company on the seventeen hour trip, was a small carrier with the African Grey parrot, Sam.
I put the blue and gold macaw, Cabo, in first. She purely hates to get in her carrier and erupts with hatred when she glimpses it. I'm sure she associates it with a trip to the vet. Zeus, the scarlet macaw, was easier She actually seems to like to travel and got in readily, yelling out jubilant whoops when I got them settled in the back of the car. Sam, the African gray, began talking, "Hello! Wow! Good bird!" as soon as I got behind the wheel. The Persian was no problem getting in her carrying cage. But the Siamese, Spooky, went berserk and squirted out of my arms, gouging my neck and making it bleed before I could corral her and jam her in the carrier. So amid the whoops of the parrots, I also had some painful bleating from the aggrieved Siamese, telling me how awful she thought the whole thing was.
By the time we'd been on the road for two hours, the animals settled down and there wasn't as much crying and carrying on. Sam, besides being the best talker, also has the nastiest habit of emitting a loud annoying bark when he's upset. He did a great deal of barking during the day, but I have to admit when I got in the traffic in the Bay Area and later driving through Phoenix, the bird was blessedly quiet.
Our first stop was in Fairfield, where Chuy, the puppy, threw up all over Bill and the front seat. We cleaned him up and walked him, then got back on the freeway. From then on, the puppy was fine, but far from happy from travelling all that way. When it got dark, we were just driving over the Tehaciapi Pass and I got separated from Bill by five or six cars and trucks fighting their way over the mountain. Bill was on the two way radio telling me to drive faster, but it was full on dark, I was having trouble getting my night vision corrected, and even going seventy, it took me half the mountain to re-connect with him. I was far from a Happy Camper at that moment and raged back at him when he told me go faster. Because Mom was yelling at Dad, the macaws decided to raise their voices in the cacophony and Sam added a few barks. I think the cats cried too, but I was too upset to quiet them down. I was pretty upset but glad when I slid in behind Bill again and he led us safely down the hill.
It was mostly pure boredom across Barstow to Needles and a late ten PM hamburger dinner there. Then, onward for the next five hours into Superior. It was four-thirty when we pulled into our driveway in Superior. I settled the cats in the guest bedroom, confining them from the rest of the house as a cat manual recommended. The birds settled into their new cages and went to sleep with very little fuss. Chuy was just exhausted and settled himself into bed between Bill and me and promptly fell asleep, although Bill said he'd slept most of the day away.
Bill and I slept only about three hours yesterday. I think we were too excited about our Retirement Life starting. Plus we knew we had piles of boxes to unload and find places for. We took a long walk to the post office and grocery store and had time for a trip to the Dairy Queen for ice cream. So it was a good day but I kept running out of energy and found myself napping a lot.
Today, I felt more like myself. The cats are beginning to creep out of the bedroom and look around the rest of the house. The puppy is starting to feel like this might actually be 'home'. And me? I'm very grateful to have this beautiful desert home to call my Retirement home and thankful that Bill has taken so much time to prepare the house so well. I probably don't 'deserve' anything so nice but I'm extremely thankful it's all come to pass.
Our aim was to depart at ten AM on Monday morning. But it was closer to ten thirty when we finally got going. Bill led the way in his FJ Trooper with the puppy Chuy clinging to his lap. Chuy has a bad habit of not liking to drive anywhere and usually throws up sometime in the beginning of the trip. I followed behind driving the Ford Explorer, stuffed with pet carriers. In the trunk, were two big carriers holding the macaws. In the back seat were two middle sized carriers with my two cats, Kickers and Spooky. And like the cherry on the top of the sundae, on the front seat, wedged in next to me to keep me company on the seventeen hour trip, was a small carrier with the African Grey parrot, Sam.
I put the blue and gold macaw, Cabo, in first. She purely hates to get in her carrier and erupts with hatred when she glimpses it. I'm sure she associates it with a trip to the vet. Zeus, the scarlet macaw, was easier She actually seems to like to travel and got in readily, yelling out jubilant whoops when I got them settled in the back of the car. Sam, the African gray, began talking, "Hello! Wow! Good bird!" as soon as I got behind the wheel. The Persian was no problem getting in her carrying cage. But the Siamese, Spooky, went berserk and squirted out of my arms, gouging my neck and making it bleed before I could corral her and jam her in the carrier. So amid the whoops of the parrots, I also had some painful bleating from the aggrieved Siamese, telling me how awful she thought the whole thing was.
By the time we'd been on the road for two hours, the animals settled down and there wasn't as much crying and carrying on. Sam, besides being the best talker, also has the nastiest habit of emitting a loud annoying bark when he's upset. He did a great deal of barking during the day, but I have to admit when I got in the traffic in the Bay Area and later driving through Phoenix, the bird was blessedly quiet.
Our first stop was in Fairfield, where Chuy, the puppy, threw up all over Bill and the front seat. We cleaned him up and walked him, then got back on the freeway. From then on, the puppy was fine, but far from happy from travelling all that way. When it got dark, we were just driving over the Tehaciapi Pass and I got separated from Bill by five or six cars and trucks fighting their way over the mountain. Bill was on the two way radio telling me to drive faster, but it was full on dark, I was having trouble getting my night vision corrected, and even going seventy, it took me half the mountain to re-connect with him. I was far from a Happy Camper at that moment and raged back at him when he told me go faster. Because Mom was yelling at Dad, the macaws decided to raise their voices in the cacophony and Sam added a few barks. I think the cats cried too, but I was too upset to quiet them down. I was pretty upset but glad when I slid in behind Bill again and he led us safely down the hill.
It was mostly pure boredom across Barstow to Needles and a late ten PM hamburger dinner there. Then, onward for the next five hours into Superior. It was four-thirty when we pulled into our driveway in Superior. I settled the cats in the guest bedroom, confining them from the rest of the house as a cat manual recommended. The birds settled into their new cages and went to sleep with very little fuss. Chuy was just exhausted and settled himself into bed between Bill and me and promptly fell asleep, although Bill said he'd slept most of the day away.
Bill and I slept only about three hours yesterday. I think we were too excited about our Retirement Life starting. Plus we knew we had piles of boxes to unload and find places for. We took a long walk to the post office and grocery store and had time for a trip to the Dairy Queen for ice cream. So it was a good day but I kept running out of energy and found myself napping a lot.
Today, I felt more like myself. The cats are beginning to creep out of the bedroom and look around the rest of the house. The puppy is starting to feel like this might actually be 'home'. And me? I'm very grateful to have this beautiful desert home to call my Retirement home and thankful that Bill has taken so much time to prepare the house so well. I probably don't 'deserve' anything so nice but I'm extremely thankful it's all come to pass.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Tiger Attack!
I rolled over in bed yesterday morning, replete with happy Christmas memories and heard the bizarre news that a man had been mauled and killed by a tiger on the loose in San Francisco. I stared at the TV, not quite certain I'd heard it right. But I had. A man HAD been killed by a tiger. In San Francisco. On Christmas Day. Why is it that the Truth is always stranger than anything you can imagine? I consult psychics quite regularly but if they were to tell me that a man would be consumed by a tiger on Christmas Day in San Francisco, I think I'd change psychics. This is just too weird. And why is it, that anything that actually happens is so much more loony than anything we can imagine?
I'd like to know why that young man had to die at the mouth of a tiger. What in the world was going on? In some of Sylvia Browne's books, where she tells of life on the Other Side, she says we are all pre-destined to know what day we will pass long before we come back to make this human life on this side. It is all carefully recorded and arranged long before we are born. She says you spend years arranging your human life and how it will spin out and who you will know and meet in this life while you're in spirit form on the Other Side. But what in the world... I mean, what would possess somebody from wanting to be mauled and eaten by a tiger as his means of exiting this world? It's not one of those Ten Most Popular Ways To Die, is it?
I'm envisioning a line of spirits on the Other Side, arranging the lives they will live when they are born. It must be sort of like the lines we used to have to stand in when we were registering for classes in college, before they had the online registrations they have now. Folks standing there with long lists of paper, trying to get the courses they need to complete their majors. Only these Spirit Folks are trying to arrange the right set of happenstances for living their lives to the fullest and fulfilling their destiny.
There's this line marked "Passing on the 25th of December, 2007" and a lady is standing behind a man. The lady looks over at the man's paper and asks, "So how are you planning on passing?"
He flourishes his paper in front of him importantly. "I'm going to get slashed by a tiger at the zoo."
"No way!" Open mouthed she gawps at him. "In this day and age? You can do that?"
"Yup!" he grins triumphantly. "Not many go that way, but I've got permission."
"Oh, so unfair!" she gripes. "I want to go that way too!"
"You can't," he flashed his papers in her face again. "We're passing on the same day. In the same state too. You're California, aren't you?"
"Yes, but... Gee... what a great way to go! I wish I'd thought of that! I didn't know in the Twenty First century you could choose that passing, especially in an industrialized country. Especially California!"
"Yeah, well, I've been working on this quite a while. It wasn't easy, believe me!"
"Well, shoot! Congratulations, Buddy. You've one-upped me! But see here.... I put down mauled by pit bulls on mine."
"Yeah, that's not bad. It sure beats passing in your sleep. Good luck to you!"
So that's the conversation I think they had in that line on the Other Side. For the rest of the news yesterday morning mentioned that a woman in Yermo in Southern California got mauled to death by pit bulls too. On Christmas Day. Hey, I'm not making this up. I'm only trying to imagine how it got to this in the first place.
I'd like to know why that young man had to die at the mouth of a tiger. What in the world was going on? In some of Sylvia Browne's books, where she tells of life on the Other Side, she says we are all pre-destined to know what day we will pass long before we come back to make this human life on this side. It is all carefully recorded and arranged long before we are born. She says you spend years arranging your human life and how it will spin out and who you will know and meet in this life while you're in spirit form on the Other Side. But what in the world... I mean, what would possess somebody from wanting to be mauled and eaten by a tiger as his means of exiting this world? It's not one of those Ten Most Popular Ways To Die, is it?
I'm envisioning a line of spirits on the Other Side, arranging the lives they will live when they are born. It must be sort of like the lines we used to have to stand in when we were registering for classes in college, before they had the online registrations they have now. Folks standing there with long lists of paper, trying to get the courses they need to complete their majors. Only these Spirit Folks are trying to arrange the right set of happenstances for living their lives to the fullest and fulfilling their destiny.
There's this line marked "Passing on the 25th of December, 2007" and a lady is standing behind a man. The lady looks over at the man's paper and asks, "So how are you planning on passing?"
He flourishes his paper in front of him importantly. "I'm going to get slashed by a tiger at the zoo."
"No way!" Open mouthed she gawps at him. "In this day and age? You can do that?"
"Yup!" he grins triumphantly. "Not many go that way, but I've got permission."
"Oh, so unfair!" she gripes. "I want to go that way too!"
"You can't," he flashed his papers in her face again. "We're passing on the same day. In the same state too. You're California, aren't you?"
"Yes, but... Gee... what a great way to go! I wish I'd thought of that! I didn't know in the Twenty First century you could choose that passing, especially in an industrialized country. Especially California!"
"Yeah, well, I've been working on this quite a while. It wasn't easy, believe me!"
"Well, shoot! Congratulations, Buddy. You've one-upped me! But see here.... I put down mauled by pit bulls on mine."
"Yeah, that's not bad. It sure beats passing in your sleep. Good luck to you!"
So that's the conversation I think they had in that line on the Other Side. For the rest of the news yesterday morning mentioned that a woman in Yermo in Southern California got mauled to death by pit bulls too. On Christmas Day. Hey, I'm not making this up. I'm only trying to imagine how it got to this in the first place.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Countdown
The healthy little 'pad' of days before Christmas has eroded away and with a measly seven left, time is running out. I checked my lists and found an order that hadn't arrived. I've checked another list and found out I still need to bake about six more Christmas breads or batches of cookies to fulfill my always-too-long gift list. The days until The Big Day remain full: dinner with friends, Christmas parties, outings with the children, get-togethers with family and friends, last minute appointments to primp or get that end-of-the-year doctor or dentist appointment in, you name it, there's something going on almost every day.
It's not just the adults who are awash in heavily laden To Do Lists. Charley, the eight year old, found himself shopping in the school Christmas Bazaar last Friday, then rushing off on a bus with second and third graders for an exhibition of the Nutcracker Suite (he liked it) and when they arrived home, was gussied up by his mom and dad for the company Christmas party we held at the Town Hall. He didn't get to bed until after midnight, and only then after his dad showed him the Geminid meteor shower. But he proclaimed his day, "The Best!"
Charley's all worried that Santa will fail to bring him the game system he's been asking for. A week ago, he got to talk to Santa at the Harley shop and told him what he wanted for Christmas. Santa didn't agree, he only grunted and murmured, "We'll see."
Charley was maddened by that answer. "Does that mean he'll bring it, Mackey?" he asked, worriedly when we made our way back to the car. "What does 'We'll see...' mean, anyway?"
"I guess it means Santa has a lot of requests for that item, Charley," I said. "He might not be able to bring it."
So this week, Charley penned his daddy down and asked him outright if Mommy was going to get the video game for him. Daddy shook his head. "No, she couldn't find one when she went shopping." Now Charley was worried. When his second opportunity to see Santa came up at the company Christmas party, Charley was the first in line. I saw him standing in front of Santa, imploring him at great length about something. I could guess what it was. I asked Charley later what he had said so urgently to Santa.
"I told him I really wanted that video game, Mackey," Charley reported. "But Santa didn't say he would bring it. He didn't say anything at all."
"Well, you know, Charley," I was trying to find something to say that would make him feel better. "Sometimes we ask Santa for something that he can't bring us. I remember when I was eight, I asked for a Betsy-Wetsy Doll. I really wanted this doll that you could feed a bottle to and then she wet her pants. But as much as I wanted that doll that year, I didn't get it. So sometimes, we just have to accept that Santa can't bring us everything we want."
Charley looked at me aghast. "A doll that wet its pants?" he repeated. "Why would you want that?"
"It was back in the Fifties, Charley, and that was pretty special then. That's what I wanted."
Charley shook his head. "Gee, Mackey, back in Those Days, you must have been in a desperate situation."
Before any of you head to that desperate situation, check off some items on your To Do Lists and then settle back and enjoy these next two weeks of fun and joy and Love. That's what I'm going to do!
It's not just the adults who are awash in heavily laden To Do Lists. Charley, the eight year old, found himself shopping in the school Christmas Bazaar last Friday, then rushing off on a bus with second and third graders for an exhibition of the Nutcracker Suite (he liked it) and when they arrived home, was gussied up by his mom and dad for the company Christmas party we held at the Town Hall. He didn't get to bed until after midnight, and only then after his dad showed him the Geminid meteor shower. But he proclaimed his day, "The Best!"
Charley's all worried that Santa will fail to bring him the game system he's been asking for. A week ago, he got to talk to Santa at the Harley shop and told him what he wanted for Christmas. Santa didn't agree, he only grunted and murmured, "We'll see."
Charley was maddened by that answer. "Does that mean he'll bring it, Mackey?" he asked, worriedly when we made our way back to the car. "What does 'We'll see...' mean, anyway?"
"I guess it means Santa has a lot of requests for that item, Charley," I said. "He might not be able to bring it."
So this week, Charley penned his daddy down and asked him outright if Mommy was going to get the video game for him. Daddy shook his head. "No, she couldn't find one when she went shopping." Now Charley was worried. When his second opportunity to see Santa came up at the company Christmas party, Charley was the first in line. I saw him standing in front of Santa, imploring him at great length about something. I could guess what it was. I asked Charley later what he had said so urgently to Santa.
"I told him I really wanted that video game, Mackey," Charley reported. "But Santa didn't say he would bring it. He didn't say anything at all."
"Well, you know, Charley," I was trying to find something to say that would make him feel better. "Sometimes we ask Santa for something that he can't bring us. I remember when I was eight, I asked for a Betsy-Wetsy Doll. I really wanted this doll that you could feed a bottle to and then she wet her pants. But as much as I wanted that doll that year, I didn't get it. So sometimes, we just have to accept that Santa can't bring us everything we want."
Charley looked at me aghast. "A doll that wet its pants?" he repeated. "Why would you want that?"
"It was back in the Fifties, Charley, and that was pretty special then. That's what I wanted."
Charley shook his head. "Gee, Mackey, back in Those Days, you must have been in a desperate situation."
Before any of you head to that desperate situation, check off some items on your To Do Lists and then settle back and enjoy these next two weeks of fun and joy and Love. That's what I'm going to do!
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Playin' Games
In addition to Christmas being a special time for children, it's also when we take a little more time to have fun and play some games with those children. Charley likes to play word games, guessing games and any other sort of game that stimulates his mind when we're driving. He loves to have Mackey join in, and it does beat listening to the radio.
We were on our way home from an evening of Christmas shopping last night and near the dump, Charley shouted out from the back seat, "Let's play 'Read My Mind', Mackey. What number am I thinking of between one and ten?"
"Six!" I shouted back at him.
"No, eight," he yelled.
"That was my second choice," I told him. "Do it again."
"I'm ready. Guess," Charley said.
"Three!"
"You're right, Mackey! It was three. That's what I was thinking of!" (I'm only right about a third of the time. I don't want you readers thinking I'm good at this, mind you.)
"I want to play!" Sage announced, not wanting to be left out.
"Okay, Sage," I instructed. "Think of a number between one and ten and Charley and I will guess what it is."
"Okay!" He was excited to be included. "I'm weady. Three!"
"No, no, Sage!" Charley groaned. "You can't say it. You have to think it and Mackey and I will read your mind."
"Okay." Mr Agreeable.
"Now, think of a number between one and ten," Charley patiently instructed again. "And now Mackey and I will think what it is."
"Okay." There was silence from the back seat.
"Have you thought of the number yet, Sage?" I asked. I couldn't feel what number he was thinking of. All I could read from him was blankness.
"No!" he announced. "I'm thinking. Oh, okay, I got one."
"Okay," Charley and I chimed in together. We started to concentrate.
"It seven!" Sage announced proudly.
Charley groaned and I laughed. Sometimes it was hard to play with five year olds. Once again, Charley patiently explained the particular 'rules' of this game.
"Now, Sage," he repeated. "You gotta think of a number between one and ten. AND DON'T SAY IT OUT LOUD! Mackey and I will guess what it is. Now... think of a number. Okay, now don't say it out loud. We will guess."
"All wight," Sage sounded subdued.
"Now, my turn," Charley announced. "I'm thinking of six."
"Okay, Sage," I concentrated, well as hard as you can while you're driving a dark country road with two mind readers in the back seat. "I think you're thinking of one."
"Wong!" Sage chortled. "You both wong! It eleven!"
May you enjoy this season of children and games and maybe even win a few!
We were on our way home from an evening of Christmas shopping last night and near the dump, Charley shouted out from the back seat, "Let's play 'Read My Mind', Mackey. What number am I thinking of between one and ten?"
"Six!" I shouted back at him.
"No, eight," he yelled.
"That was my second choice," I told him. "Do it again."
"I'm ready. Guess," Charley said.
"Three!"
"You're right, Mackey! It was three. That's what I was thinking of!" (I'm only right about a third of the time. I don't want you readers thinking I'm good at this, mind you.)
"I want to play!" Sage announced, not wanting to be left out.
"Okay, Sage," I instructed. "Think of a number between one and ten and Charley and I will guess what it is."
"Okay!" He was excited to be included. "I'm weady. Three!"
"No, no, Sage!" Charley groaned. "You can't say it. You have to think it and Mackey and I will read your mind."
"Okay." Mr Agreeable.
"Now, think of a number between one and ten," Charley patiently instructed again. "And now Mackey and I will think what it is."
"Okay." There was silence from the back seat.
"Have you thought of the number yet, Sage?" I asked. I couldn't feel what number he was thinking of. All I could read from him was blankness.
"No!" he announced. "I'm thinking. Oh, okay, I got one."
"Okay," Charley and I chimed in together. We started to concentrate.
"It seven!" Sage announced proudly.
Charley groaned and I laughed. Sometimes it was hard to play with five year olds. Once again, Charley patiently explained the particular 'rules' of this game.
"Now, Sage," he repeated. "You gotta think of a number between one and ten. AND DON'T SAY IT OUT LOUD! Mackey and I will guess what it is. Now... think of a number. Okay, now don't say it out loud. We will guess."
"All wight," Sage sounded subdued.
"Now, my turn," Charley announced. "I'm thinking of six."
"Okay, Sage," I concentrated, well as hard as you can while you're driving a dark country road with two mind readers in the back seat. "I think you're thinking of one."
"Wong!" Sage chortled. "You both wong! It eleven!"
May you enjoy this season of children and games and maybe even win a few!
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