Bus Ride to Remember, Mural, and Painting with the Sun

21 Sunday Oct 2012

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For the past few years, I’ve been asked by other boaters, “Have you visited Montague and taken the bus to the Hummingbird Pub?”

This year, we were able to answer, “Yes.”

Nestled in Galiano Island, Montague Harbor offers pleasant anchorage that abuts a campground, and is a short walk from several small shops and establishments to rent scooters, kayaks and canoes. There are also hiking trails in the area, meandering through forests and overlooking the beaches below.

We arrived in the early afternoon, and tied up to a mooring ball. After taking our dinghy ashore, we surveyed the area, bought ice cream in the small grocery store, ate blackberries along the side of the roads, and determined when the Hummingbird Pub bus runs, picking up campers and boaters, and bringing them into town.

We returned to Tug Time, to catch up on reading and change clothes. As scheduled, the bus arrived to much fanfare, with the driver, Tom Tompkins (a.k.a. Tommy Transit) in a black beret, his tousled, long white hair escaping out the sides, and a smile stretched from ear-to-ear welcoming us into the bus.

If you’d glanced away, you could have heard the bus coming from quarter mile away. Rock ‘n roll blasting out of the speakers, punctuated by Tommy beating on a small drum in the center of the steering wheel, tambourine mounted above the windshield, and other percussion paraphernalia (I wouldn’t go so far as to call them instruments) within arm’s reach.

Adding to the cacophony was the maracas, castanets, and other music instruments Tommy handed out to passengers, enabling them to join the fun, singing, dancing, and joking during the ride to-and-from the Hummingbird Inn. Here’s a clip from a fan.

What makes Tommy Transit so special is that he’s made a huge difference in the lives of over 150,000 people per year who stepped onto the transit buses he drove for 21 years in Vancouver, British Columbia. Tommy became a “bus driver on a mission,” acknowledging people for who they are, and the unique contributions they make.

Following his retirement, he wrote the book, “Bus Tales: How to Change the World from 9 to 5,” which offers insights on how to connect with people and find joy and fulfillment in their work. Watch a news report on how passengers helped him celebrate his 60th birthday.

Along with his musical antics, Tommy pointed out places-of-interest, including the Galiano Island Soapworks, which makes a variety of artisan soaps, candles, skin care products, and even a pet shampoo bar. There was a large farm with many beautiful horses frolicking in grassy pastures. The owner evidentially rescues race horses, which are destined for slaughterhouses.

Within walking distance of the Hummingbird Pub were several quirky stores. One was a clothing resale shop, housed in a brightly painted travel trailer. Another sold artwork and collectibles; the outside of the stop lavishly decorated with knick-knacks. Check out the pictures in the gallery to the right.

The pub is located in what was once a large rustic house. A covered patio was added on one side, and a screened sunroom in the front. Inside was a jumble of rooms, eclectically decorated with a hodge-podge of tables and chairs. We chose a small table near the bar where we could observe people coming-and-going, many of whom seemed like locals rather than tourists.

Not overly hungry, we ordered a small veggie pizza, which turned out to be one of the most TASTY pizzas I’ve ever eaten! It was a combination of what I suspect was locally grown produce, including tomatoes, sweet onions, peppers, spinach, mushrooms, zesty sauce, and mozzarella cheese on a very thin, crispy crust. We savored every bite in-between sipping strong coffee (me) and a local beer (Rich) that had a slight apricot taste.

The bus ride back to the marina was equally entertaining with people picking up an instrument as they boarded the bus, supplementing the frivolity lead by Tommy, now wearing a different hat, and more exuberant with many people waiting to be picked up, and brought to the Hummingbird Pub for good food and camaraderie.

The Gulf Islands: Blooming with Art

The next morning, we visited one of my favorite placed on Vancouver Island, Chemanius. The town works hard to attract and please tourist. The hospitality started the moment we approached the public docks with the affable harbor master grabbing our lines and helping me tie off Tug Time. The pleasure boat-friendly marina is a fairly new addition because much of the town’s waterfront is dedicated to logging and inter-island ferries.

For much of the town’s history the key industries were mining, fishing, and forestry, the latter providing work to Chinese who labored in “bull gangs,” moving huge lumber planks to ships in the late 1800’s. When the land’s natural resources dwindled, the isolated town — snuggled between a mountain range and the ocean — came up with a plan to attract visitor, and eventually, worldwide fame.

It started with a couple of mural in 1982, which today comprise over three dozen, turning the town of Chemanius into an outdoor art gallery. Click through the murals, some of which span several buildings, and are two stories in height.

Adding to the murals are outdoors sculptures, blocks of charming shops, a dramatic art center, numerous art galleries, and a large park with a view of the water and sizable amphitheater. There are also numerous bed & breakfasts, and other amenities, such as bakeries, that beacon visitors as they stroll through the town. It can take several hours to find and see all of the murals, some of which are down narrow streets and painted in unexpected places. One of my favorites is a steam train painted on the side of house.

Of course, Rich and I were drawn into a bakery, purchasing two bags of day-old pastries. Minutes later, Rich spotted what looking like a vagrant in the city park, lying down with a long-straggly, gray beard, and baggy clothes. Rich offered him his bag of pastries, which he initially declined, and then accepted.

I scolded Rich for giving away his pastries, saying I wasn’t going to share mine. Naturally, five minutes later, I gave him half a tasty coconut, chocolate yummy.

After spending a few hours in Chemanius, including visiting the charming Hansel & Gretel’s Candy Company where Rich bought a bag of tangy licorice, we headed back to Tug Time, waited for the small inter-island ferry to depart, and then cast-off for a short trip over to Telegraph Harbor on Thetis Island.

Named in 1851 after HMS Thetis, a 36-gun Royal Navy frigate, Thetis Island has a population of 350 people, with the few settlers arriving in 1874. The key industry seems to be tourism with between 1,000 and 2,000 people flocking to the island during the warmer months, for the day or overnight, at one or the many bed & breakfasts or the two pleasure boat marinas. We chose to stay at Telegraph Harbor Marina because it offered free Wi-Fi so we could use Sputnik (our netbook) and my Windows Phone.

All of the community services on the islands, except the school, are provided by volunteers. It being early in the afternoon, we had plenty of time to explore the lightly popular populated island. One of my favorite aspects of boating is the anticipation of the unexpected. Thetis was exceptional: From the cobbled-together buildings, which comprise Thetis Harbor Marina and Pub, to the sites on our walk to-and-from Telegraph Harbor Marina.

Because we prefer showering ashore, rather than using up the water on our boat, our first stop was to check-out the bathrooms and showers. We walked up a short, nicely landscaped pathway to a door, which lead to a covered, wooden, outdoor staircase. As we climbed the stairs, we could see the rooftops of the other marina buildings. The stairs came to another door, inside was a narrow hallway with three showers to the right, and two small bathrooms to the left. It was clean and tidy, and latter provided plenty of hot water!

Next, we ventured to the small marine store and post office, on the opposite side of the marina complex, and also up a set of somewhat rickety wooden stairs. Rich and I are always on a quest for ice cream. We found none in the store, but I was intrigued by the breath of generic canned goods. Shelves of cans and boxes with white labels, stating what’s inside and the ingredients. No brands. Simply rows of cans and boxes of fruits, vegetables, meats, spaghetti sauce, pastas, and other staples.

There was also a liquor store, located inside the marina restaurant. Everything a boater, or local resident, could need was in an odd assemblage of buildings, half extended over the water on pilings, half on the terra firm or up flights of stairs. According to one website, the first building at the marina was an old chicken coop that had been floated up the bay in 1940.

A short walk from the marina was the inter-island ferry landing. It had just pulled up, and was unloading passengers, including the raggedy old man who Rich gave his pastries to in Chemanius. He was carrying several bags of groceries. I have a feeling he wasn’t poor and homeless, simply a recluse who lived on Thetis Island and visited Chemanius to get his groceries… or maybe to enjoy the ambiance of the larger town.

Within walking distance of the ferry was probably the largest enterprise on the island, the Capenwray Harbour Bible School. The evangelical Christian post-secondary institution hosts with up to 140 full-time students during the year, and over 4,000 participants in Christian-oriented course offered during the non-school year. The campus was immaculate with Tudor-style buildings, acres of mowed lawns, outdoor amphitheater, pens of happy animals, and many dormitory and support buildings.

Around a couple of bends, we came to a farm store. In front was an elderly man, stooped over a long piece of wood, thick goggles covering his eyes with a magnifying glass in one hand, held over one spot on the wood. Intrigued, I dashed across the road.

The artist was Bud Hnetka, a self-taught Canadian artist who using a technique called solar pyrography, which focuses the strength of the sun through a lens to burn images onto wood. The process is slow, deliberate, and as Hnetka wrote on his blog, “I generally work in public and the spectators think that I’m either the most patient person in the word or just plain bonkers!!”

To create deep layers, he might pass over a spot on the wood 40 times. The result is extraordinary. The pieces took my breath away, especially the ones with the multiple trees and foliage on pieces of wood with distinct grains. To add depth, he adds a little color to the etchings. See the photo gallery below for a sample of one of these pieces, and read more about the amazing art of Solarbud

As we walked to the Telegraph Marina, we passed by many blackberry bushes, the berries satiated my thirst, and stained my fingers purple. Because the Gulf Islands are so far north, blackberries that start ripening in Oregon in July, don’t turn purple in Washington until August, and are finally sweet in Canada in September.

There’s a night and day difference between Telegraph and Thetis Marina. The former is pristine with swathes of groomed lawns, flower-lined paths, tidy store with a soda fountain, offering milk shakes, sundaes, fresh baked pies, and other goodies, including cups of Thetis Island Pot of Gold Coffee. You can eat in the bistro or have them deliver food to your boat.

Like Rosario Marina on Orcas Island, Telegraph Marina is park-like with covered areas, comfortable chairs, picnic tables, swings, volleyball, horseshoes, shuffleboard, and other amenities. We stayed for a few minutes, warming ourselves in the sun, and looking over the beautiful expanse of the bay.

On our walk back, we stop at Pot of Gold Coffee Roasting Company, located in what may have been a house, decades earlier. The family-owned business has been roasting coffee in Canada for over 30 years, using Gertrude, a Gothot brand coffee roaster from Germany, built in 1953, and Ferdinand, a bigger roaster purchased in 2011.

We got to see both machines, along with the bags of green coffee beans, waiting to be ground and shipped out the following day. We purchased a bag of Mexican Organic Oaxaco Ky-Chee coffee, which had been roasted a few days earlier.

The company offers 25 varieties of coffee, which is only available through mail order… or if you happen to visit Thetis Island. As I write this article, I’m drinking a cup of their coffee!

Having explored a small slice of the island, we returned to Tug Time to read, nibble on cheese, and drink wine. While lounging, we heard a noise in the background, which aroused us from our stupor. We watched as a float plane whizzed over the water within 30-40 feet of our boat, touched down, glided to the dock, dropped off a passenger, and was then back in the air within ten minutes. Cool!

It was the perfect ending to a glorious day.

Invocation #17: Stop Waiting and Live

09 Tuesday Oct 2012

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Sometimes it is as if time itself stands still. Stands still and waits.

It waits as we wait for a late one to come home. It waits as we wait for the telephone to ring with a measure of reassurance. It waits for a door to open; a door to close.

It waits for a decision to be made; a verdict handed down; a granting, a rejection. It waits for a miracle that whatever we fear will not come to pass.

It waits for a dawning of a new day after a long, lonely night. It waits outside operating rooms, and beside hospital beds.

It waits and we wait and we cannot pick-up the threads of our life until we are caught up with the event and come face to face with it.

Until such time, O Lord, give us the patience to endure the waiting; give us the confidence that we can face whatever we encounter. Give us the strength to accept or overcome.

Give us, O Lord, time as a friend.

Over the course of several years, my grandmother wrote over 60 invocations. Originally, I thought they were read during Friday night services, but I suspect they were only heard by a handful of people at the Emanuel Seniors meetings, held at Temple Emanu El in Burbank, California.

Not wanting these invocations to be hidden away, one day to end up in a recycling bid, I started publishing them on my blog. While my intention is to publish one a week, I often get sidetracked, caught up in work and daily demands.

Sometimes, however, I get a sudden urge to share the next invocation in the series. More often than not, what my grandmother wrote is highly pertinent to what’s currently happening in my life. This invocation is no exception.

I’m in a holding pattern. Waiting for the next shoe to drop in the care of my mother. Waiting to find out what twists my career will take. Waiting to see the design from the architect hired to sketch out the house we’re wanting to build on the lot we purchased eight years ago. Waiting to see if we’ll have the resources to build the house. And waiting (and hoping) that Rich’s job lasts until he can retire in a few years.

Waiting.

It’s sad because one of the keys to happiness isn’t waiting. It’s enjoying every moment as if it’s your last. It’s relishing the small things like seeing a sunrise through the morning mist. Laughing at the pink-toed opossum that eats dog food off our deck. It’s snugging with a cat. Warm coffee with plenty of cream. Red pears and orange pumpkins. It’s delighting in the fall colors. And kissing your husband in the morning, and wishing him sweet dreams at night.

And yes, it’s the confidence to face whatever we encounter, and the strength to accept what we cannot change.

Tug Time Again!

25 Tuesday Sep 2012

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It’s been a few days since we returned from our annual boating trip around the Puget Sound and Canadian Gulf Islands on the amazing “Tug Time”, a 29-foot Ranger Tug. Not only did we have extraordinary weather, and Rich expertly plotted the course and itinerary, but we found ourselves in the middle of a super pod of orca whales! It’s taken five years boating in the Northwest to see even one whale. To see dozens within the span of half an hour was unbelievable.

We started our trip very early Saturday morning after spending the night on the boat. We charter from San Juan Sailing in Bellingham, which allows you to attend the safety, orientation, and check-out meetings on Friday afternoon, along with stowing food, clothing, and other stuff on the boat so you’re ready to go in the morning.

Earlier in the day, Rich and I visited our Mount Vernon house to pick produce (piles of zucchini and cucumbers, which we gave to the San Juan Sailing staff), and also collect our boating gear, linen, pillows, and other stuff we’d been accumulating for the trip.

With an hour before the start of the mandatory safety meeting, we visited the Marine Life Center at the Port of Bellingham, where we watched a marine scientist feed a live crab to a hungry Giant Pacific Octopus. The latter quickly wrapped its body and tentacles around the crab, and according to the scientists either drilled a hole in the crab’s shell with its beak and slurped out the meat or crushed the crab, and then picked through the shell for edible morsels.

More pleasant to watch was the delicate shrimp, colorful sea urchins, starfish, and anemone, and humorous crabs. One tiny crab, with long thin legs camouflages itself by “gluing” bits of plant life to his body and legs. It resembled a fragile plant with long stems with puffs of greenery. According to the scientist, once a week, when the tank is refreshed with seawater, the crab re-decorates its body.

It was late at night before we slid into the cozy bed on Tug Time. We had to make an emergency trip to get Haagen Dazs bars… and three boxes of vintage candy. Throughout the trip, we made similar shopping excursions, such as buying giant ice cream cones at the Deer Harbor marine store on Orcas Island.

Because we were able to leave Squalicum Harbor very early in the morning, we were escorted into Bellingham Bay by a herd of seals, who camp out by the fish processing plant at the entrance of the harbor. I barely had time to grab my camera before they dove under the water in search of their breakfast.

Our first stop was the Canadian custom’s dock at Pender Bay, which was over five hours away (32 nautical miles) so there was no dawdling. Thankfully, we only had to wait a few minutes to pull up to the custom’s dock even though several boats were ahead of us. We docked, checked-in, and left within ten minutes. Our records in the Canadian database must say, “Dull, middle-aged, American couple. No need to ask too many questions.”

We had a choice of mooring balls in the Beaumont Marine Park, further into the bay. Using Rich’s new-fangled carabineer/polypropylene contraption, I was able to easily grab the pennant on a ball, tie-off to a cleat, thread in two lines, and then hand the lines to Rich to walk to the bow of the boat. In non-nautical terms, it significantly sped up grabbing and tying off to a mooring ball.

After a quick lunch, we took our dinghy ashore to hike around South Pender Island, and climbed Mount Norman. The highest point on the island at 320 meters (1,050 feet) Mount Norman was worth the effort of putting one foot in front of the other for 4 long, steep miles. The view from the top is spectacular. Check out the pictures!

The next morning, we dilly-dallied before heading to our next destination. As we headed out of Pender Bay, Rich saw a collection of boats in the distance, and on channel 16 (Coast Guard) on the VHF radio, a boater mumbled about seeing an orca whale. I quickly turned to channel 79, which is used by the whale boat operators. Rich meanwhile, gunned Tug Time!

Minutes later, Rich stopped the boat, and I clambered onto the bow with camera in hand. The whales were coming from three different directions, most likely we saw three different pods of whales, converging in what’s known as a super pod. By law you can’t get too close to the whales, and because the whales were coming from several directions, the best plan was to stop, wait, watch, and hope they swim close to your boat.

Ten minutes later, we were rewarded with four or five orcas surfacing within a few hundred feet of Tug Time! You can see how close they got in several of the pictures. Unfortunately, they swim crazy fast, and are above water for only a few seconds.

My Grandfather’s Humor

29 Wednesday Aug 2012

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While my grandmother was introverted, my grandfather was extremely extroverted with a keen sense of humor and childlike delight. The only boy in a family of seven older sisters, he had bright red hair, which further called attention to his unique wit. Until his last breath, he’d regularly walk up to strangers, start a conversation, and inevitably share a humorous observation.

Throughout the years, my grandmother typed up tributes to his humor. And then lost, rewritten, and lost the tributes again. She wrote, “I don’t know how many copies there might be around. I hope each includes another incident of his humor and wit.”

The one below was written on December 12, 1994. 

w w w

Anyone can make another cry, but who can make another laugh is blessed. Morris is thrice blessed. He can make the dourest of men cackle with glee. The laughter rises, bubbles out of him. And the words have a special child-like innocence. They are funny, outrageous, unexpected – never demeaning or lewd.Rose_cropped

Julie, as a young child, wrote on a greeting card, “Grandpa always says the right thing to break the tension.”

His wit is spontaneous. I’d shake my head in wonder as to how he could switch the serious to reveal the humor.

For last Mother’s Day, Allan [son] and Elaine [daughter-in-law] gave us a lovely kitchen wall clock. When we next met at Douglas’ [grandson] house, Morris out of the blue reminded Elaine of the clock. Then putting on a face of mock dismay he lamented “Oh that clock is giving us so much trouble.”

Elaine alarmed, asked, “Why, what’s wrong?”

His hands flipping in exasperation Morris answered, “All day, all night the clock taunts, ‘What time is it? What time is it? What time is it?’ It’s enough to drive you crazy!”

Some weeks later, when Allan stopped over, Grandpa said to him with a straight face, “That’s a terrible clock you gave us.”

Allan inquired, and the response was,” Because every time I look it has a different time; never the same!”

Now who else would think of anything so ridiculous; it evokes genuine laughter.

Some people have inferred our house must peal with laughter all day. However, Grandpa could roll out a barrel of lightning and thunder when displeased. He could also find cause for turning off the scowl and putting on the grin.

w w w

When we’re at Ralph’s [grocery store], and Grandpa is wandering down the aisles, I’m not surprised when I hear bursts of laughter from some corner.

I shake my head in wonderment as to where his humor derives. Surely not out of these pens, whose ink keep running dry.

Rose Ridnor

Ordinary Tasks without Conscious Thought

22 Wednesday Aug 2012

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My grandparents lived in Burbank, California, which enabled them to save on electricity by using a clothes line instead of a dryer. As a child, I remember handing my grandmother, Rose, clothes pins as she hung out the week’s wash.

They lived in a small bungalow with a tiny utility room off the kitchen for their hot water heater, wash tub, several narrow cupboards for storing food and cleaning supplies, and a small washer with hoses and cords awkwardly stretched to reach the plug, faucets, and drain.

No doubt, the washer was considered a luxury, justifying it’s coveted place in the utility room, and need to cater to its peculiarities. One afternoon, it showcased how we tend to mindlessly perform routine tasks.

w w w

September 1963

One morning, just as Grandpa was coming in the back door, I heard the washer complete its cycle. Busy in the next room, I called out, “Honey, will you please shut of the faucets.”

Preoccupied with some gadget in his hand, he nevertheless stopped and shut them off. Rose_cropped

Later, I noticed he had not disconnected the electric cord, and he happened to be outside within earshot, I called to him, “Honey, next time you shut-off the faucets, will you first…”

I got no further.

He called back, “I didn’t shut off the faucets.”

“You did. I asked you to.”

“I didn’t.”

And you know me, always trying to prove my point, I insisted he come in and let me show him. “I never leave it like this I always disconnect the electric cord first, like this,” I explained as I pulled out the plug.

Re-opened the faucets, I showed how I stretch the cord across both faucets, letting the end dangle. I then continued, elaborating on how when I close down the handles so it can’t fall behind the washer or get entangled in jumble of other cords and hoses behind the washer.

Grandpa listened, and watched me in silence. When I finished, he asked quite coldly, “Are you insinuating that I am losing my marbles, that I don’t know what I am doing or what I did?

“Of course not,“ I assured him, “it’s just that we do things so automatically…” Turning away, I could see he was rather disturbed. I had the good sense to shut my mouth along with the faucets.

Later that evening, not wanting to make an issue of it, or discuss it further. I hurriedly threw in a remark during a TV commercial that he was exaggerating the importance of that memory lapse, and he should have no doubts about his mental alertness.

But let’s face it. As we get older, we are inclined to get more forgetful and absentminded. I don’t think, however, it is due to mental deterioration as to our being creatures of habit, and automatic reaction. As we get older, there are more things we learn to do without forethought.

It was not necessary for Grandpa to disengage his mind from the gadget in hand in order to disconnect the faucets. His fingers knew to comply without calling upon his mind for directions.

Many a time, I myself have returned to service the machine to find I’d already done. So what’s so terrible about that? I’ve also come into the kitchen to find I had forgotten to turn down the burners and the pot is boiling like mad. Please refrain from telling me what’s so terrible about a boiling pot!

The other day, I looked high and low for a spool of thread to find I had accidentally put it where it belonged, which is the last place I’d think of looking. I just shrugged my shoulders and called myself an idiot. What would I gain if I sat down and worried about it?

I think it’s a healthier sign to be able to do ordinary tasks without conscious thought, even if we don’t remember having done them, than to be burdened with constantly having to be aware of the actions of our body. If doing routine tasks means wholly concentrating on the step-by-step tasks of directing our fingers, hands, arms, and legs, we’d never get beyond buttoning our shoes.

I do believe in providing gentle nudges to my memory. While I once I might have prided myself on not needing reminders, now I am not ashamed to circle on the calendar when bills are due, important dates, things to buy, tasks to do, and when someone is scheduled to visit or I’m supposed to be somewhere.

My desk and is peppered with notes and reminders.

Of course, I may promptly misplace the lists and reminders, but then I could always write another reminder to remind me to look for a reminder that…

Rose Ridnor

Zucchini to Meatloaf

22 Wednesday Aug 2012

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It’s been an exceptional year for growing produce. Our garden in Mount Vernon has produced piles of radishes, carrots, lettuce, arugula, kale, peas, beans, broccoli, cauliflower, yellow tomatoes, cucumbers, and in the past few weeks, a dozen or more huge zucchinis.

On Saturday, Rich and were at a picnic. We brought three large zucchini, which we hoped to pawn-off onto other. One woman, Bernie, was delighted to take one of our mammoth squash.  She said she was going to make meatloaf out of it. imageShe shared her recipe, which I made on Sunday…

  • Remove the seeds from a large zucchini, and finely grate
  • Mix with 3-4 pounds of ground meat (I used 2.5 pounds of 7% ground turkey and 1 pound of spicy ground pork sausage)
  • Add oatmeal (cup or two)
  • Add salt, pepper, garlic, and other seasonings (I used some Mrs. Dash Extra Spicy)
  • Put in loaf pans lined with foil
  • Bake at 350-degrees until done
  • Pick up foil with meatloaf inside, and drain off water
  • Enjoy! Your meatloaf will be moist, flavorful, and healthy!
  • Freeze the meatloaves you won’t be eating immediately

Invocation #16: Rosh Hashanah

15 Wednesday Aug 2012

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By the Hebrew calendar, we are approaching the dawn of a new year.

For us, crossing the threshold into a new year is not a time for boisterous celebration or frivolity. It is a time for serious introspection, looking within and taking stock of ourselves and our actions.

It is a time for facing our failings and resolving to improve the conduct of our lives in the coming year. It is also an opportunity to confession to ourselves.

We shall do that, O Lord, but we cannot promise to become saintly beings, to be ever thoughtful, giving and caring. We cannot promise to do no wrong, and cause no hurt, unintentional as it may be.

We can promise only to do the best we can, and the most we can — to strive to live in peace with ourselves and those around us and never bear malice towards another.

May our promise be acceptable to You, O Lord, and serve as a guiding light to ourselves.

I’m munching on Cheetos while I contemplate whether there’s a hidden message in what my grandmother wrote. The phrase, which keeps sticking in my mind, is “never bear malice toward another.” Yet, in the previous sentence, she wrote “… promise to do no wrong, and cause no hurt…”

Malice is the intent to do harm. It can be emotional, physical or an unlawful activity that hurts another. Promising not to hurt people through unlawful or physical activities isn’t difficult. Anticipating how an action could cause emotional hurt isn’t as easy.

A word said in jest, a smirk, casual comment or ignoring or overlooking someone’s immediate needs can hurt another’s feeling. And depending on what took place, the pain could be worse than physical harm.

Is a child more hurt than a spanking or being called stupid? Does the stink of being called a fatty worse than being pushed or defamed?

While it’s challenging to avoid emotionally hurting another — with a careless word or failing to respond to their needs — as my grandmother wrote, you can aim not to bear malice towards another. You can do your best to treat others with respect, responding to their calls and letters, providing support when needed, and sometimes putting their needs before your own.

Crime isn’t Anonymous

23 Monday Jul 2012

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Monday morning, we start the work week by going around the table and sharing a highlight from our weekend. I’m always quick to share what I harvested from our garden. Others relate enjoyable get-togethers with family and friends.

This morning, however, our zeal for sharing quickly fizzled. A designer in New York lamented she’d had a difficult weekend. She blurted out she knew the man who was celebrating his birthday when he was shot at the premier of the new Batman movie in an Aurora, Colorado theater.

Having read numerous articles about the horrific tragedy, I knew she was referring to 27-year old Alex Sullivan.

Crime isn’t anonymous.

When I heard about the shooting on Friday evening, I drew a mental picture of Colorado, many states away. Just a few days later, the distance drew closer, hearing the angst from a woman, across the nation in New York.

And this evening, I learned my stepson’s sister who lives in Colorado had a friend who was planning to go to the premier. She changed her mind at the last-minute.

No crime is anonymous.

Invocation #15: September 11, 1984

27 Wednesday Jun 2012

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In today’s world, O Lord, our ears are constantly assailed with reports of corruption, greed, self-serving, and our eyes with the sight of violence, moral degradation, self-destruction, and we despair for the fate of humankind.

Yet, in this room, is a group of women who after years of homemaking, child rearing, and labors in the marketplace, are now devoting their selves, their time, and their effort to working for the common good.

And here too, is a roomful of faithful supporters.

Give us, O Lord, groups of dedicated workers, and rooms full of willing helpers to place all over your land, and you will not despair for your humankind.

It will survive. With honor.

My grandmother wrote this invocation 17 years before September 11, 2001. Humankind has survived, and continues to thrive, but not without the violence, moral degradation, self-destruction, and despair.

Planes were high jacked. Buildings toppled. Lives lost, and wars begun in retaliation.

Groups of dedicated workers and rooms full of willing helpers, from around the world, rushed to help. But not because of honor, but because humans, for the most part, are altruistic. They recognize their obligation to each other.

The problem is humans inherently split into groups, becoming more loyal to its members than the entirety of mankind. Terrorists are loyal to their factions’ dogmas, and resolve to preserve their ways-of-life, and safety and sanctity of their communities and families.

In this vein, they are no different than other groups of people who align themselves based on their ethnicity, religion, socio-economic standing, neighborhood, country, political bend, job role, and myriad of other defining characteristics and demographics.

Unless people look beyond themselves and the groups in which they’re aligned, there will continue to be despair for humankind.

Ten Cupcakes for Ten Years

26 Tuesday Jun 2012

Posted by in Entertainment, Sailing, Seattle

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Last Thursday, Rich and I celebrated our ten year “civil” wedding anniversary. In 2002, we had a “shotgun-like” wedding a week before Rich left for Austin, Texas. Two months later, we had a formal wedding at the Broetje House, in Milwaukie, Oregon.

Prior to leaving for Texas, Rich was getting push-back from IBM about our not yet being married. He feared they won’t my home furnishings unless there was a wedding band on my finger. Hence, three weeks after we’d jointly proposed to each other, in rinky-dink Mexican restaurant in a strip mall, Rich call me at Intel where I managed and wrote the Intel Home Computing website. He was going to pick me up in an hour to get our wedding license, and he’d made arrangements for us to get married the following afternoon at the county courthouse in Hillsboro, Oregon.

To this day, I don’t know how he had the correct paperwork, such as my birth certificate. Needless to say, I giggled all the way to the courthouse, and didn’t stop until the clerk handed us the license.

The next day, June 21st, summer solstice, was sticky and unusually hot. After work, with two hapless co-workers in tow, I changed into a sleeveless, green dress with large rust-colored roses, twisted my hair into a chignon, and firmly clutched my grandmother’s wedding ring and my father’s wedding band, which I’d taken out of storage the night before.

Rich wore a pale green, patterned silk shirt with off-white pants. He’d zipped by grocery store on the way to the courthouse to get a bouquet of flowers, sprayed green, and a matching boutonniere. They were tacky and fabulous at the same time.

Having forgotten his camera, Mike Jastad, his friend from IBM, and best man at both of our weddings, purchased a disposable camera.

We were married by Judge Don Letourneau who was gracious and understanding as we fumbled the rings (my grandmother’s was a bit too tight for my finger). Fifteen minutes later, we were husband and wife. Eck!

We thanked the three people who witnessed the wedding, celebrated by having Thai food, rushed back to Rich’s house, put on grungy clothing, and then stayed up until the wee hours, preparing for a yard sale we had the next day. As a married couple, our first order of business, which we achieved, was to sell stuff we didn’t need, including my beloved 12-year old Red Toyota Corolla. It didn’t have air conditioning so we decided sell it and not bring it to Texas.

Ten years later, we’re no less harried.

On Thursday, I’d planned to leave work earlier, but at the last minute had a call with a company who was making me a job offer (stay tuned for the details). After accepting the offer, and squealing in delight, I drove home.

Pinkabella cupcakesEarlier in the day, I’d stopped at Pinka Bella Cupcakes in Redmond Town Center to purchase ten different cupcakes to celebrate ten years of wedding bliss. Okay, ten years of adventures. Pinka Bella makes the most decadent, delectable, imaginatively decorated cupcakes in the entire Seattle/eastside area.

As I’m approaching our house, my cell phone rang. It was agency I hired to help with my mother. They’d had a home visit that afternoon and wanted to discuss the visit. I pulled into our driveway and started talking. As soon as I hung up, the woman whose been helping with my mother for the past few years called, wanting to report on what took place that afternoon.

Rich, realizing I was in the driveway, jumped into action, pulling my car into the garage and unloading my bags, including the cupcakes, which I had planned to present on the crystal platter that once held our wedding cake. I’d cleverly placed the platter in the back of my car the night before!

Deciphering Rich’s hand signals that we were running late, I said “good-bye” and rushed into the house. Rich then instructed me on what to wear for our celebratory evening. He was pulled clothes off the hanger, as I removed one set and put on another… jeans, two shirts, jacket, Converses…

We then scurried out the door, camera-in-hand, and headed towards downtown Seattle. When we parked near the water, I knew we’d be taking a boat. Sure enough, after scrumptious chowder in a hollowed-out sourdough bowl from Ivar’s, we walked to Pier 54 to take a sunset cruise on the 70-foot Obsession sailboat.

It was a beautiful night so I knew it was going to be a great experience. What I didn’t know is they’d allow Rich to sail the boat… for most of the trip! He had an amazing time, sailing in strong winds, through the Thursday night sailboat races near Shilshole Bay Marina, and then back to Pier 54.

After getting home, we split two cupcakes, raised our forks, and toasted ten years of adventure, accomplishments, and most of all love.