Other people's business

There’s a generator running in the canyon that sounds like a helicopter circling overhead. That’s exactly what I thought it was at first. I kept looking up with binoculars but couldn’t see anything. So, I walked around the neighborhood to see if I could find out what’s going on. Turns out a father and son are building a small house on the side of the canyon. Only problem is, they’re landlocked and haven’t got any electricity. So, in the meantime, it’s going to sound like a landing zone around here until they get connected to the grid. I ask them how they got a building permit without a utility easement in the first place. The plot thickens. They had one. It was on a pole going to, what looked like, an old miners shack that was here before. But, when the miner died; somebody took it down. Now their neighbors won’t let them run underground cables below ..and the City won’t let them hang wires above. I sympathize and tell them I think Santa Barbara is a hard place to get things done. They ask me where I live. When I point it out ..they start looking at a ‘site plan’ and discover that we share a border. Now they’re scrambling around looking for a pole they can connect to by passing below my property. A pole is hard to find because everyone else around here has underground utilities ..except for Dr Jones and his surrounding rentals. But, to hook-up there becomes a mechanical nightmare because they would have to slant drill underneath a creek ..then along my border with Dr Jones, for a distance of about 500 feet. Now they’re talking about it as though it were a done-deal. They snap off the generator and start making phone calls ..and I’m like ..hold on a minute. The plot thickens further. Turns out they already have an easement to get in and out of their property; there’s a road they share with the neighbors on the other side of the creek. In fact, they already have underground utilities they can hook-up to about 20 feet away from them on that road. The only problem is, it wasn’t spelled out legally .. so their neighbors are asking them for a king's ransom to do it. In reality, they already have the right to do it ..and they know it. But one of the neighbors is like, the head of Edison’s construction department, and he can push the work-order so far into the future; it’ll be decades before they get electricity. They know that too. So now they’re negotiating with him to see if they can get his price down somewhere below what it would cost them if they had to mount a legal battle. I learned something from this ..I found out what can happen when I stick my nose into other people’s business.

Lifestyle choice

We’re having a lively discussion at the baths tonight, talking about the marijuana dispensaries in town ..and laughing because we can all come up with reasons why we qualify for a prescription. A young athlete, who tweaked her hip while training, says she qualifies .. marijuana helps relax the muscles in her back ..the ones that she uses to compensate for it. Even her physical therapist recommends it. The couple sitting next to me have a valid concern; they say it lowers their ambition and makes it easier for them to blow-off going to the gym in the evening. Sounds like a good observation. Then a young doctor says that it should not be so readily available ..and legalization is really a bad idea “Marijuana is highly addictive” he says “ .. it’s pretty obvious from what I've seen in my practice”. Now, that's a compelling reason if I ever heard one. I tell him I did not know that ..and ask him what sort of withdrawal symptoms he sees (because I do know that the medical definition of ‘addiction’ requires withdrawal symptoms). He looks away and, in a far-off voice, says “Well, none really ..” then looks back and says “It does become part of your lifestyle though ..especially with people I’ve seen in California” Now that strikes a well-frayed nerve in me ..fortunately it’s one that I’m accustomed to people striking, so I’ve learned not to react so fast. I ask him where he’s from. “New York” he replies. I stand up, shake his hand and say “Welcome to the West Coast ..!” and sit back down while the others greet him in a similar manner. Then someone asks what he likes most about living here. “The wine country” he replies ..and holds up a thermos full of Chardonnay.

Numbskull

I wake up in a fuzzy place ..my vision is blurry ..my hands are numb ..and halfway through preparing breakfast, I forget what I’m doing. It takes longer than usual before I can re-connect the water, splashing over strawberries in my hands, with a bowl of yogurt and cup of coffee sitting on the table. The newspaper looks like someone deposited little drops of ink in water ..the words drift apart before I can decipher what they mean. Somehow, something must have penetrated because I’m left with a lingering impression. Now I’ve lost the impression. I skim back over the article to see if I can retrieve it ..because it just seems so damned important. Now it re-appears in the form of a half-ass opinion. I grab hold of pencil and paper so I can jot it down quickly. Otherwise, I’ll forget and do the same thing all over again.

Reconstructing the past

Most of the time I manage to stay pretty focused on what I’m doing, whether it’s reading or working around the house. From time to time, however, my thoughts will step in and take over. When that happens, I’ve learned to set aside what I’m doing, back away from the keyboard ..put the newspaper down, whatever, and see what they’re trying to say. Usually, it’s something about what may lie ahead ..such as who I’m going to see ..or what the conditions at the beach may be. This morning, however, they’ve taken a decidedly different tact and have knocked me somewhere back in the past ..and they’re challenging me to reconstruct events that took place there. I think I know what the problem is. Yesterday I put some of my old college textbooks in a virtual online ‘library’ (visual bookshelf) where I have most of my more interesting books. This morning I’m sitting here going “where did these old textbooks come from”. So now, for each one, I feel compelled to answer: what class was I in, what year was I in it, and what possible reason could I have for hanging on to it for so long that I can’t remember anything about it. What I discovered is interesting. It’s not the subject of the book, or the year it was published that matters ..it’s the people I was hanging out with ..or the girls I was seeing, that help me locate the information I’m looking for.

Summertime

I’m buzzing with anticipation. Even though I live with a conventional ‘roof’ over my head ..it is the first day of summer and, somewhere in my bones, summer is still an endless cycle of sleeping outdoors on the beach ..riding waves at dawn ..crashing parties at night ..and either hooking-up, or crashing on the beach until dawn. Then we’d wake up with coffee and granola bars from 7-eleven ..ride waves till noon ..and argue about whether we should stay or move on. Unless there’s a compelling offshore wind ..the surf at Balboa gets blown out by late morning. So it would be time to roll up our packs ..catch the ferry to Coast Highway ..and hitch a ride to Laguna Beach where there are sheltered coves and clean breaks all day long. There were also hidden coves with sandy beaches for us to crash on ..unless we hooked-up with some ‘hippie-chicks’ at Taco Bell ..or trust-funders staying at daddy’s beach house while he’s back home in Chicago ..or a youth group spending the week crammed into a two-room summer rental. Sometimes we’d just go to the Hare Krishna temple for a free dinner ..then head back to the coves and crash. Further down the coast is San Clemente with aqua blue surf, campsites, bonfires, tents and kegs of beer. Charlie usually carried a large stash of hash, which was often our ticket in.

Solstice festival

I roll outta’ bed way too late ..search my cabinets for breakfast supplies ..plan the day over yogurt and coffee ..and get interrupted by a phone call from the parade route where Jim is hollering “where the fuck are you ..?” I say I’ll catch up with him ..but I may have to blow off the parade and go directly to the park, where the festival is taking place. It’s like walking into a bazaar. I pass tents selling Indian tapestries, halter-tops, hand-made jewelry and black T-shirts with white skulls and iron crosses. I stop inside a tent carrying supplies for the mediation hall and listen to a guy make this cool humming sound by running a puja stick around the outside of a bronze bowl. I run into Jim sitting with a group of people from NORML ..and go “Heyyy, there’s some normal people here.” One guy is telling a story about how he and his buds used to crash on John Wayne’s boat while it sat vacant in the harbor ..another guy asks me if I’m with the band and I go “what ..?” The girl sitting next to me says she likes the Eagles ..and another guy is trying to remember the name of the singer who does “..I’m bad to the bone.” I blurt out “George Thorogood” ..then turn to the girl and ask her how she knows music from a band that broke up way before she was born (I ask stupid questions like that). “I just love the song Desperado” she beams, and I go “..guess rock ‘n roll will never die” and somebody shouts “I know that one .. Neil Young.” Then someone else goes “No ..you’re thinking of rust will never die” and I go “sleeps..” and he goes “What ..?” and I say “..rust never sleeps” and he says “that doesn’t make sense” and I tell him that I stopped making sense a long time ago ..and start drifting off in the direction of the sound coming from the drum circle, where I will dance to the beat until I stop caring whether or not I make any sense.

Going lunar

Overhead, crows are shouting ..and drowning out the music on my deck. I look up and see them clustered in the trees and scenes from the Hitchcock movie ‘The Birds’ flash by and I feel a twinge of ‘can that happen here’. Something tells me no so I howl back at them. There’s a momentary pause as they lift off .. cluster in another group of trees ..and crank up the volume. Crows are not my bird of choice to take with me if I ever had to live on a deserted island. I start reading an article in the news about future space colonies on the moon ..and mistake the term ‘reconnaissance orbiter’ for ‘renaissance orbiter’. For some reason, I think the word renaissance is more fitting. Then a movie scene from early-childhood comes to mind (from before we walked on the moon) .. where one of the astronauts goes crazy ..breaks away from the pack ..crosses over to the ‘sunny side’ and immediately disintegrates and turns into a skeleton. I cringe when I think about packing the kids and the dog and moving there. Now I'm worried that everything I know comes from either the movies or television shows.

Fiasco

I order a bucket of chicken ..but I don’t have enough cash on me and KFC doesn’t take credit cards. I’m too tired to go to the bank ATM so I use the one in-store ..and bring it down, twice. I’ve never used one before and the only time I ever used my debit card was by accident. So, the manager suggests I use the ATM at the liquor store on the corner ..it’s more like the one at the bank. I get lost on a street that I thought I knew well. I’m exhausted from hiking all day and putting off dinner until way too late. My clothes are dirty and my hair slipped it’s knot hours ago .. it hangs over my shoulders like oily dreadlocks. In other words, I look like a bum. I decide to go back and drive to the bank when I walk by the liquor store (which is not on the corner ..but down a side street several blocks away). Now I’m staring at the ATM dumbfounded. It says it takes American Express, but insists that I give it a pin number. I cannot, for the life of me, remember a pin number ..so I try to cancel the transaction ..causing the machine to freeze. The liquor storeowner looks at me in disgust ..there’s a surly line of customers waiting behind me. I try to explain but it comes out garbled. He threatens to call the cops. I ask if he’ll take a check for a bottle of glenlivet plus $20 cash back ..he comes around the counter shouting, ordering me out. Back on the street I feel hungry, exhausted and confused ..there’s a bucket of chicken waiting for me at KFC ..but they’ll be closed by the time I get there. I look up at the building beside me and discover I’m standing next to the Alta Mare restaurant .. displaying logos for Visa, MasterCard and American Express. I duck inside and order a big bucket of calamari, the fish-taco platter and a tall pitcher of beer. The waitress asks if I’m expecting anyone else and I say no ..in fact, I tell her to just bring the pitcher and forget about the glasses.

Coastal poem

I hike up to a shady grove
and sit beside a wandering stream.
Watch water splash over polished stones
of silver, red and gold
then disappear through the ferns
and whatever else that grows
under a canopy of redwood trees
somewhere above the coastal zone.

Letter to the editor

This is my letter in response to the LA Times article ~~>Two sides to Sonia Sotomayor

It sounds to me like you’re asking the question: Will judge Sotomayor’s college experience, advocating greater Latino representation, weigh more than 30 years of unbiased decision-making as a prosecutor and federal judge. It seems to me as though she has experience enough to know that the US Supreme Court is not Princeton University. However, she also has the experience and empathy required to be human as well as Supreme Court Judge. They're inseparable.

Fully alive

All around me

Lacey Mosley

NinJa

My neighbor is pointing at a group of trees and saying “..they just gotta’ go!” It feels like another part of me is about to be yanked out. I also found out Dez and Anastasia are moving back to LA. Boy, I sure hate seeing them go ..how sad. A principle of zen pops into my head .. ‘notice change’ ..followed by another ..‘notice reactions’. I decide to go for a walk and try to shake-off these feelings. The atmosphere on the street is festive ..lawn parties and beer kegs ..and the weekend isn’t quite upon us yet. It’s because Nine Inch Nails and Jane’s Addiction are playing at the Bowl. I can sense the energy ..makes me feel like a teenager again. The street is filled with kids dressed in black and white .. and splattered with orange and red. “Dazzling” says Señor Jim as he walks up from behind ..startling me ..and disappears down the street. I see one group weaving through the crowd .. hoping to get free tickets to see the show (the way I used to). Others are just looking for a free high (the way I used to). I’m getting high just standing here. A young couple tells me, in a serious manner, that they’re here mainly to see NIN. Jane’s Addiction is like, so old school, they say. Uh-huh (?) Some people don’t know who’s playing ..or what’s going on even ..but it doesn’t seem to matter much to them. They’re like “Where’s the party ..bro!”

Birdsongs

It’s like an aviary out here this morning. Guess the fire flushed the birds out of the hills. There are so many different singing groups ..it sounds like pandemonium. I can’t tell whether those are fighting words, mating calls or territorial disputes. I’m sure they can tell tho. I know birds have a highly developed system for bird songs. It helps them recognize members of their own species .. estimate the suitability of prospective mates ..and figure out when they’ve crossed territorial boundaries. They can even follow the beat of the music coming out of my speakers. I know my dog Andy can’t do that ..he doesn’t hear so well. But, he sure has a keen sense of smell. I have to break the smell barrier in order to get him to listen.

Drifters

I work for student services at a local college. Most of the kids that come in here have legitimate learning problems. However, we frequently get kids with problems that lay elsewhere. Those are the ones I see. For some of them, it may be their last contact with mainstream society. They talk about life on the road as if it were religion ..and then disappear. I understand the appeal ..I love the outdoors too ..but sleeping on solid ground for too many days can be rough ..not to mention city streets can be dangerous. However, talking to them, I get the impression that life on the road feels less threatening than an adult-life filled with obligations, sadistic bosses and debt-collectors. Periodically they try re-entry. Haley’s father wired her money so she could enroll in college courses. She tells me her problems started in high school. She felt so angry that she’d cut herself .. medicate herself ..and lash out at practically everyone in sight. She wasn’t making friends. At age 16, they diagnosed her with ‘borderline personality disorder’ ..whatever the fuck that means. However, she found a cure of her own: drop out of a school ..run away from home ..leave the pills behind ..hop a train for the west coast ..and don’t stop moving. She’s been riding trains since 2006. Now, I have a theory. We’re all born with a mixture of genes from our ancestral past (if you believe in that sort of thing). Some may get more genes from our ‘rooted’ ancestors (like farming tribes) while others get a higher proportion from our nomadic ancestors ..those whose survival depended on moving from place to place. For these kids, stability is threatening ..home feels like a cage ..and city streets make them feel claustrophobic. I’ve learned that there is no ‘talking cure’ ..no amount of reasoned-speech will overcome it and I cannot offer any recommendations for it. I think there will always be a segment of humanity that prefers a nomadic lifestyle. Some may work out an accommodation (like foreign service reps, traveling salesmen or covert polygamists) while others remain in perpetual orbit.

Noblesse Oblige Award

The recipient of this award is recognized for the following:

• The Blogger manifests exemplary attitude, respecting the nuances that pervade amongst different cultures and beliefs.
• Their Blog contents inspire; strives to encourage, and offers solutions.
• There is a clear purpose at the Blog; one that fosters a better understanding on Social, Political, Economic, the Arts, Cultures, Sciences and Beliefs.
• The Blog is refreshing and creative.
• The Blogger promotes friendship and positive thinking.

Bill Quinn presented me with the Noblesse Oblige award for journal writing. It’s an honor for me because I value Bill’s journal writing very highly. He writes from a place in his heart that resonates with the rest of us. Bill’s journal ~> Thought Sketches is like a book of poems that I keep by my bedside at night.

My own blog, Observation Deck, is a journal of ordinary events ..sometimes followed by my own half-baked ideas. What am I trying to achieve ..? A writing practice that will allow me to catch a glimpse of my own internal dialogue every once in a while. Hopefully others will hear something familiar.

In turn, I am passing this award to Amy Spain for her blog Cookiewonton. Amy can turn everyday occurrences into literature. Her style sounds natural ..like Faulkner. I especially enjoy reading stories about her children Noah and France. They are written with such clarity and humanity that I feel like I just spent a delightful afternoon with them ..makes me want to return as often as I can.

Thank you Amy ..!

Jesusita fire

In Santa Barbara we have what’s called a ‘sundowner wind’. It’s the same as a ‘Santa Ana wind’ in Orange County. However here, it’s a particularly loathsome creature. It only comes out at night, after a cool day, and howls through the canyons and passes, without warning, baking the shore in 100 degree heat until about one or two in the morning. Now, ordinarily, I like this cagey beast ..it allows me to lie on the deck in the evening, or go for a swim in the ocean at midnight. However, it also has the power to take a stray ember from a campfire and turn it into a blazing wildfire that blasts out of the mountains, and tears through town like a blowtorch without stopping until it reaches the shore. And then, just before dawn; it retreats back up into the mountains ..like the nocturnal predator that it is. Morning comes and everything is fine ..except for a few hundred acres of scorched earth and homes. No one knows when it’s coming and no one can stop it when it arrives. It’s like living next to a dragon. This afternoon is perfectly calm ..except for a high-voltage current circulating through my system. I tell my neighbor I think it’s coming back again tonight. He nods and looks up the canyon. Overhead, hawks are circling. “They’re looking for barbecued rats” he says. My nerves fray. We’ve been under evacuation orders for four days. This means that my car is packed and sitting outside the canyon. I defy the order and sit at home awake all night, listening to the drone of water-dropping helicopters rumbling overhead ..and waiting for either smoke ..sirens ..or flames ..to tell me when it’s time to leave ..or else hang around and risk being served as breakfast for hawks at sunrise.

Sunshine cleaners

My birthday came and went ..and I had a good time. First, we saw the movie ‘Sunshine Cleaners’ ..which I thought was hilarious. Afterwards, a few of us went to Aldos for pasta and wine ..and share our impressions of the movie. We're talking about the scene where a boy is pitching the ‘bionic properties’ of his grandfather’s popcorn to a girl in a candy store ..when the topic of marijuana dispensaries comes up. Oz says they carry so many different varieties now ..it’s hard to find people who can describe their ‘bionic properties’. We laugh ..but he says, seriously ..there’s a shortage of information. He tells us about a group of people promoting research on the subject. He suggests I go check it out. I tell him I think marijuana laws have kept us pretty much in the dark ages ..but medical marijuana is a step in the right direction. “..like the Renaissance” he says “..more like the Enlightenment” I say ..which brings us back to the discussion of ‘Sunshine Cleaners’.

Shiny happy faces

Karla and Laura

Quiet morning

It is so quiet this morning I’m afraid my usual wake-up music will sound too jarring. So, I listen to John Williams (the guitarist) instead. Sometimes I think that the flavor of coffee is enough to give me a buzz. A classical case of classical conditioning I suppose. I sit and read the economic news ..which somehow makes me feel smart (I think because I know what a ‘mortgage-backed security’ is). I also like reading stories about people who beat the odds. There’s one here about a woman who lost a big-time job as editor for a magazine ..at age 55. So now she’s trading what she knows for online skills at an Internet start-up. Reminds me of how adaptable people can be ..which gives me a perspective makeover when I’m feeling down, thinking my own petty-ass problems are, like ..major catastrophes or something

Saint Patrick

They close off State Street (main street) for farmers market and St. Patrick’s Day. By 2 pm the clubs are packed ..by 4 pm people are pouring into the street. I’m just passing through. There are a lot of people from out of town .. they out-number residents ..which can be interesting. I duck into Territory Ahead and buy some clothes for summer. Since it’s unseasonable warm today; I keep on one of the new shirts I bought. When I go outside ..it looks like aliens have landed. People are running around dressed in green .. totally green. I say ‘Hi’ to a group of elves ..and they point out that they’re not elves but leprechauns. One of them suggests knocking my lights out. I see a bunch of bikers, sitting outside O’Malley’s, glaring at me. A rough bunch of bikers ..and I realize, to my horror, that I’m no longer wearing green ..I changed into blue at the store. Memories of St. Patrick’s Days past leap to mind. I’ve had my hair cut ..shirt torn ..and buckets of Gatorade and green paint poured over me. They start to get up ..and I start to run. I rush passed strawberry ..artichoke ..and alfalfa sprout vendors. I dodge a moving cartload of tomatoes ..duck into a movie theater .. passed the ticket-taker ..and into ‘The Last House on the Left’. I crash and fall down the isle ..through the exit ..and into an alleyway full of consignment shops. I drop my bags behind the counter at Cominichi’s ..grab a denim vest ..and duck into a changing room. Before I leave I make sure I’m wearing something green ..and hope for the best.

Saint Teresa

Alpine sea

Laura and Jenny on the Bodensee
Lindau, Germany

Room with a view

Lindau, Germany