A Bad Day

First off, my apologies for neglecting the blog. Summer and lots of activities got in the way, but I promise to do better. A rather bizarre story surfaced a week ago and I've got to tell it. I have changed the names of the participants, but the story is so bad it's good to remember when you roll over in bed one morning and think you'll have a 'bad day'. Nah... it couldn't be that bad!

We've got a good customer at the Landing who's been one of our regulars for at leastl twenty- five years. His name is Charles. The last few summers, Charles' wife, Edna has been spending less and less time here, but Charles loves to halibut fish and claims it's more peaceful here than in Lodi with Edna. He's a fairly amiable man. Last week, Charles was out fishing when he received an emergency message from Edna. The night before, Edna and her daughter-in-law and her twenty one year old grandson were on their way to Coalinga to spend the night. Why, Coalinga? Because Edna's son, and the grandson's dad, was getting released from prison where he'd been incarcerated for the past couple of years for drug possession. Charles wasn't with them because he'd washed his hands of his son's actions several years ago and doesn't have anything to do with him. Ditto for his grandson. Grandpa Charles had washed his hands of him about three years ago a) because the kid was gay and b) because he too was having trouble with drugs. Edna persisted in giving both the son and the grandson her attention (and money). They checked into a motel so they could get up good and early to go pick up dad at the prison, but the grandson got to thinking a couple of things. Since he was in possession of some drugs and either a) didn't want to get caught with them in the proximity of a state prison or b) (my personal favorite) he'd better use up his stash before his old man got released and used them up. So the grandson shot up that night while staying in the same room with mom and grandma. Next morning when the ladies woke up, the grandson is dead in bed with an overdose. Oh boy... how low can you go?

When Charles finally got in from fishing six hours later, he calls Edna on somebody's cell phone. I heard him ask plaintively, "Well, do you expect me to come home? I just got here and there's fish biting. You don't need me now, do you?" Phew! Charles-Buddy, haven't you learned anything after forty odd years of marriage????!!! And no, we haven't seen Charles this week. I bet he's stuck in Lodi until next summer.

Have a good day!

Dog Person

I never considered myself a dog person until Chuy came along. I liked dogs fine. I've been owned by a number of them throughout the years. But I've always been partial to cats and never was what you would call a Dog Person. Chuy seems to be changing all that.

Since Memorial Day Bill has spent the majority of his time in Arizona fixing up the house and Chuy and the cats and the parrots and I are here in Dillon Beach. Chuy misses his dad greatly but has wormed himself pretty fully into my life. He realizes I'm a different type of person than his daddy who will rough house with him in the evenings (throwing the stupid "Legs" toy numeroso times to the dog's delight). Chuy's lucky if he can get Mom to throw it five or six times. But Chuy is smart enough to know that each of his parents react in different ways and the doggie has picked up on that.

He knows that when Mom comes home at the end of a busy day at the boathouse, he's prepared to wrap himself around the pillow on the couch so she can lay down and nap for a few minutes before he starts pestering her to play with him. He knows she likes to read a book laying down on the couch while the cats nap on her belly and legs, so he too finds a spot near her head, sometimes kicking her in the face with his little feet while she attempts to read.

Friday I was upset with the puppy for pulling out the newspaper from the macaws' cages while I was working. When I returned every hour or two to walk him, I'd find torn up newspaper scattered around the birds' cages, and I'd reprimand him while I cleaned up the mess. Chuy began hiding behind the couch when I came in instead of greeting me with delight at the door.

So on Saturday, I decided I wouldn't pick up the paper messes each time I came in and not say anything to him. No need to be reprimanding him when it was doing no good, I reasoned. Saturday was a long day and Chuy didn't get out much to play, but each time I returned to the house, he hadn't messed with the birds' papers but he still remained hiding behind the couch, peeking out when I came into the room to see if I was going to yell at him. (I didn't!)

I can hear Chuy's side of the story: I can't understand my mom. Every time she came back to the house on Friday, she was chewing me out for something or other. I took to hiding behind the couch because you could tell nothing was going to make her happy. Then, like magic, on Saturday every time she came in to walk me, she was all sweet and nice and never yelled at me. But I hid out each time anyway. That Mom... you just don't know when she's going to get pissed at you!

So yes, I've become one of those "Dog People". We try to understand what's going on in those little doggie minds and either live with it or try to change the behavior. We delight in those happy-go-lucky doggie grins when Puppy is happy and all is Right with the World. We get all proud when strangers stop to admire our dog and tell us what a cutie he is. (And they are right of course!) We begin to know strangers by their dog's names before we know theirs.

These are just some of the character traits of Dog People I've added lately. I'm sure there are others. I'll probably get worse before I get better. And I still love my cats. But really... Chuy is growing on me and maybe he's just bringing out the inherent Dog Person that lived in me along.

Cleaning Up The World

I have never considered myself a Busy Body and certainly didn't ever think I was the pushy sort of person who constantly told people what they should or shouldn't be doing. But I'll tellya, the older I'm getting, the more I'm fitting into that category.

This week-end, I found myself trying to set some young people straight. Oh yes, for the past forty-something years, since being an adult, I've had to let some young folks know that their behavior needed to be changed. But the things I reprimanded kids for this week-end were things that under normal circumstances, should never be happening anyway.

We have a small store at the Landing where we sell bait and tackle, rent boats and motors and dispense snacks and drinks, particularly coffee and candy. There are usually two or three of us clerks behind the counter and at times we can get crowded with thirty or more people coming in to get their goodies at the same time. Needless to say, July is our busiest time of the year and a week-end is even busier. Our aim is to help our customers get their goods promptly and not have to wait.

There's usually a wait around the coffee counter, where customers draw their own cups of cocoa and coffee. This morning was cold and foggy and windy, so the crowd around the coffee was bigger than usual. Sometimes it's little kids that take more time to get their cocoa cups filled; other times, it's sleepy big people that just don't move very fast before they've had their first cup of coffee. But we try to keep the area clean and tidied up and above all, keep them moving! A young girl and her three brothers came in and began filling cups of cocoa. I was selling bait to another man and didn't look up at first, but then noticed a large down coat, nearly as big as a sleeping bag, spread out on the floor in front of the bait freezer.

"What's this?" I asked, stepping around the counter and picking up the coat. "Who dropped their coat?"

"Uh, it's mine!" the girl, about thirteen, said. She didn't bother to look around as she finished getting her cocoa.

"It doesn't belong on the floor!" I picked it up and put it on top of the bait freezer. "Somebody's going to trip on it."

The girl didn't say anything and in a few minutes, when she was done getting her cocoa, turned and picked it up. I gave her a hard look. I'm sure in her own home, the young girl might carelessly throw her coat on the floor if her mother wasn't telling her to pick it up. But in a public place? Is that something that is becoming a normal thing or am I just being a picky old lady?

Okay, now as far as picky old lady goes, yeah, I've become one! Yesterday, again with a crowd of summer visitors, I looked up from the counter and was aghast to find myself looking at the back of a fat teen-aged girl. Her jeans were loose and hanging half way down her bulging hips. Her panties were more than visible as well as a not very attractive butt crack. She was leaning over the bait freezer picking out crab bait with an equally sloppy young man, but at least his underwear or butt crack wasn't showing.

"Ma'am!" I yelled across the crowded room. "Ma'am!"

She didn't turn or acknowledge or even look up to see who I might be yelling at. Evidently, she hadn't been addressed as "Ma'am!" very often and certainly didn't think she was one.

"Young lady!" I changed my pitch. "Young lady!"

Again, she blithely ignored me, intent on the packages of mackerel in the freezer. Okay, then.... desperate times call for desperate measures.

"Hey, Girl! You! With the pants hanging down!"

Ah ha! I had her attention now. She turned around, her hair hanging lankly into her eyes. "Pull your pants up, Honey!" I hissed, as more customers turned to see what I was harping on. "Your undies are showing!"

She hitched them up and twitched her hips and they promptly sank back down. I guess a belt was out of the question. The boy with her slunk out the door leaving her to pay for the bait.

But I doubt my reprimand did any good. The girl was back this morning, with her pants hanging 'half-ass' off again. Only this time, it was so cold, she was wearing a long parka over the whole lot. Oh me! Guess I should keep my mouth shut. But the older I get, the more I think I need to get this ol' world in shape. One kid at a time.

Best Wishes

We were walking in the park when three year old Ronnie found a dandelion puff.

"Look!" he pounced upon it exuberantly. "You can wish!" He picked the flower and puffed his cheeks out.

"Ronnie's making a wish," I said as Charlie turned and walked over to us.

The little boy blew the dandelion puffs to the wind. His face broke into a big grin.

"What'd you wish for?" Charlie demanded.

"Bananas." Ronnie's attention was on the ground looking for another flower.

"Bananas?" Charlie's tone was incredulous. "You can have bananas! Why not ask for something hard?"

"Like money, Charlie?" I asked.

"No! Like world peace. I would wish for world peace rather than plain ol' bananas!"

Grandma Duty

IT was a Red Letter Day for me today in that it was the first day I got to care for all three of my grandchildren. Sage and Charlie have been visiting me all summer on my days off and afternoons, but it was the first time we added three year old Ronnie to the boy-pack. Ronnie is Tad's soon-to-be-stepson, and as far as I'm concerned, my third grandson.



We started off for a walk on the beach. Sage wanted to show Ronnie the sand dune near the beach we've been playing on all summer. It was a hit. Ronnie liked it so much he didn't care if we went anywhere else. But we had an ambitious day planned. Noontime found us packed in the car, Chuy included, headed for Sebastopol and a visit to the apple farm. The apple farm didn't materialize. I heard the Gravensteins were ripe and I was hoping to buy several boxes for applesauce but we learned at the fruit stand the growers were only picking this day and there was no product to buy. So we made a provisioning stop at the local organic produce place for fresh mozarella balls and breadsticks and a wierd yellow watermelon for a picnic lunch at the local park.



Chuy was happy. He nibbled everybody's leftovers and the bottles of gourmet root beer were a big hit. Sage burped his way through lunch, then admitted, "I might have drank too much of that, Grandma!" A walk afterward settled everybody's tipsy tummies and then we drove home. Though it's only twenty-some miles, Sage complained that it was "a long drive!"

Ronnie couldn't keep his eyes open on the ride home and nodded off. I had put him in the middle seat between the two older boys.

"I think Ronnie's gone to sleep!" Sage announced in a shocked voice midway home.

"I imagine he has," I answered. "He's a little boy trying to keep up with you big fellas. He's probably worn out."

From the front seat, Chuy looked up at me bleary eyed, agreeing in his dog fashion.

"Nope!" Sage shouted. He was leaning over and peering into Danny's drooping face. "I don't think he's really asleep, Grandma. He's got one eye open a tiny slit and I bet he's faking!"

"Yeah!" Charlie confirmed. "You can't sleep with one eye open!"

"Boys! Leave him alone! He's worn out!" I hissed from the driver's seat.

Chuy closed his eyes and went back to sleep. He knew when to gather his energy for this crew.

A bit later, Charlie announced. "No! He can't be asleep. He's drooling now! Oh yuck! Little-boy-drool!"

"Boys!" I warned, my teeth clenched.

"Oh, look at him!" Sage chortled. "He looks like a Zombie!"

We finally got home and I ordered the big boys out of the car. They took a suddenly awake Chuy into the house and I gathered up the still sleeping Ronnie in my arms. He turned and stretched and mumbled something.

"What'd you say, Baby?" I asked, carrying him into the house.

"The Hucka Muckas were after me." He slowly woke up.

"They were? I hate it when that happens!"

"Yeah, they were chasing me. But the Hucka Muckas didn't get me!"

"Not this time." (Hmmmmm, those Hucka Muckas couldn't have been Charlie and Sage, could they?")

Have a better day and keep the Hucka Muckas at bay.

To-Do Lists

I'm a big believer in To-Do Lists. The older I get, (meaning: the more forgetful I become at times) the more I rely on the To-Do List to make sure I get done what needs to be done. There's something imminently satisfying about checking off numerous items one has done during the day. Makes the day seem that much fuller and your time better spent. I tend to over enumerate too many items on one To-Do List, making a regular list much too long to accomplish in one day. So my To-Do Lists are usually week long lists with anywhere from eighteen to twenty-four items on them. My grandson, Charley, is a fan of my lists and likes to read off what Grandma has failed to do. I guess for him, that's more fun than what Grandma actually got done.

So two months ago, on one of my weekly lists, I wrote down "Get wireless connected to computer". We'd just gotten back here to the beach and had shut off our wireless satellite connection last February. A phone call and it should be re-instated, right? Not so right. Seven weeks and two days after that first phone call, I have finally got our wireless connection re-connected. The "Get wireless connected to computer" has been written and re-written on my weekly To-Do Lists, until I despaired of ever getting it crossed off. There were times I thought perhaps it was too lofty a goal and I should maybe better learn to live with the old "watch the paint dry" dial up connection. It took more than one phone call too. For a while I was calling the wireless satellite people up two or three times a week. They would give me varying degrees of explanations until I'd find myself spluttering incoherently at some stupid reason why they couldn't connect me sooner. On one of those days when I muttered in front of the grandsons that I needed to call the satellite people, Charley looked at me and asked innocently, "Are you going to get mad and cuss at them again, Mackey?" And I sheepishly answered, "I hope not!"

Well, the gist of the problem was a malfunctioning dish which the satellite people finally deemed a work order for a technician to come two weeks ago, so today was the big day. It took him all of an hour to replace the broken part and at the end of the job, when he called the wireless people he was upset with how little they said they would pay him. So he turned on me and announced that he was Never coming back to Dillon Beach again for another service job. And I apologized for calling him but told him he was the one the satellite people said I had to call. So finally, he took his rotten mood back to Santa Rosa with him and I was left (a bit shaken, I admit) with my computer now hooked up to wireless. And I can read my emails and send pictures without thinking that I am in a limbo of stagnation waiting.

And oh yes.... I was able to mark another item off my too long To-Do List. Who knows? I might actually finish all the items on a list one of these weeks.

On Being A Nobody...

Most of us are Nobodies. Nobody anybody is ever going to hear about, read about. Nobody whose life is so important that it has to be talked about on tv or read about in gossip columns. Us Nobodies expect that. We don't expect to wake up Famous some morning and have our lives turned topsy turvy because now the public is watching us. So when something unexpected happens and a Nobody gets some attention, then something shifts inside of us and you start to wonder, what would it be like to not be a Nobody?

I had a niggle of non-Nobodiness happen to me this week. My sister emailed and said she'd found a lady on EBay selling one of my Something Fishy shirts. I checked, and sure enough, a shirt that I had given as a raffle prize at one of our monthly HOG meetings was being offered on EBay for $9.99. The lady said it was used, but in mint condition, which makes me think it was probably tossed in a corner and never worn. When the time came to clean out the closet, out came the Something Fishy shirt and onto EBay it went. The lady who was selling it had it almost right. She said it was a "Something Fish" shirt out of Dillon Beach, California. (Hey, when you're a Nobody and somebody gets it half right, we're satisfied!)

So I don't know whether the used shirt sold or not. The new shirts I'm listing right now aren't selling as fast as I'd like them to. There was a spurt the end of June and I thought, "Ah-Ha! Things are looking up." But maybe that was just the President's Economic Stimulus Checks that were aiding impulsive buys to sites like EBAy and I got some peripheral leftovers from that. Whatever the case, sales are languishing now.

But if somebody wants to make this Nobody feel halfway like a Somebody by re-selling her shirts on EBAy, go for it! For a small slice of time, it feels pretty good just not being a Nobody!