New Year’s Day Excursion

03 Tuesday Jan 2012

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To start the year off on a positive note, Rich decided we needed to skip our usual Sunday activities of doing laundry, cleaning the house, picking up leaves, tackling home improvement projects, and a wealth of unsavory chores.

Instead, we got up early and headed to IHOP in Issaquah for artery-clogging, but very delectable omelets (mine was spinach and mushroom, and Rich chose chicken fajita) with toast (whole wheat for me, rye for Rich), and coffee. Large breakfasts can be very satisfying.

Our tummies, full, we headed to Snoqualmie Falls to snap a couple of photos and bundle up against the wind and cold. Rich also made a resolution that at least once a month we should go on a hike. Last year, he proposed once a week, we turn off the television and read. Well, for the first few months of 2011, I read and Rich… 

That’s another story.

After visiting the falls, we headed to the town where I snapped multiple pictures from the train museum. With overcast skies, the pictures turned out more monotone than desired so I color enhanced them using Photoscape.

Our next stop was The Summit at Snoqualmie Ski Resort. By the time we arrived, the sun had pushed through the clouds and the views were spectacular. It was fun to wander among the skiers and snowboarders, knowing I wasn’t in danger of crashing down a slope. I used to cross-country ski, but never truly enjoyed it. I’m clumsy and nervous on skis and was glad when I finally concurred winter sports aren’t my forte.

Rich, on the other hand, was a snowboard instructor for six years on Mount Hood. He became a confident, graceful snowboarder, who pines (even though he denies it) for the thrill of swishing down a slope.

After getting our fill of the snow, we head back to Issaquah, and had a mediocre, overpriced lunch at Cucina Cucina. Okay, Rich liked his pasta. I wasn’t impressed with my salad. And for the price, it would have been nice to have been given a slice of bread.

After a bit more driving around, we returned home, relaxed and invigorated to the start of a great new year.

Invocation #5: January 18, 1984

26 Monday Dec 2011

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Since our last meeting, O Lord, we members have driven across a portion of Your land.

We have seen the objects of Your creation; and green valleys and jagged-topped hills; the shapely trees and lush grasses. The vast blue ocean.

And we found them to be good.

We saw too, the creative ingenuity of Man. The outcropping of communities against Your hills; the roads and highways; the fields, and orchards and vineyards.

And we found them to be good.

We are assembled, O Lord, have also labored and built and given. We have, each in our own way, left our marks of creativity upon this earth and our fellowman.

Let it be, O Lord, that you find them to be good.

I don’t know if my grandmother wrote and delivered these invocations on Friday nights before the entire congregation or only when the synagogue’s senior group met. Knowing my grandmother was an introvert, I question whether she actually read them out loud. Most likely, my grandfather, an extreme extrovert, was recruiter to recite the invocations.

In their later years, my grandparents purchased a small camper, which fit on a small truck. It had a dinette that turned into a bed, a small kitchen, and a cupboard that opened to reveal a port-a-potty. The small bed over the cab comfortably fit my barely five-foot grandmother, and my grandfather who was just five inches taller.

Their camper was probably about the size of this Six-Pac, and the truck was probably a little smaller.

They drove across the country in their cozy camper, stopping along the way to snap pictures and send postcards from their travels. My grandfather, along with being able to play piano by ear, also drew cartoons. He’d bring a handful of colored pencils and blank postcards on which he’d draw their adventures… their small camper fighting gale-force winds and vising national landmarks. I still have many of these humorous postcards.

It makes sense for my grandmother to have written in this invocation about driving across the land, seeing its beauty, and hoping the ingenuity of man is seen in the same light.

Invocation #4: December 21, 1983

21 Wednesday Dec 2011

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We thank you, O Lord, for this day and the tomorrow that is to come. The start of a new year with its unrevealed destiny for the world, is fast approaching.

In earnest longing, and from the depths of our being, we offer up this prayer for the year 1984:

May it be a year of peace between nations;
A year of goodwill between all peoples;
A year of building; no more destroying;
A year of sharing, between all peoples, the riches and fruitful abundance of Your earth;
A year when the human spirit of decency, honor and justice will prevail above all.
Hear our prayer, O Lord, and let it so be.

While driving home from work this evening, it occurred to me I haven’t commented on and posted my grandmother’s invocations in many months. I found it ironic, when I looked at the next invocation in her series, it was dated December 21, 1983… exactly twenty-seven years ago!

Sadly, this past year hasn’t been one of peace between nations, goodwill between people, and decency, honor, and justice for all. It’s been the opposite. Even worse, equality, tolerance, and benevolence are now more of an utopian fantasy than it was in the early 1980’s.

The rise of the super wealthy in concert with increases in poverty levels, uprising on every continent, famine and droughts, economic instability, and hatred prorogated by fringe factions paints a grim picture, which is shaping the world’s destiny in 2012.

Our hope for a better future hinges not only on prayer, but recognizing we aren’t powerless to change the status quo. While 2011 has been a year of tremendous upheaval, it might have set the stage for constructive, and beneficial change.

Holiday Happenings

29 Tuesday Nov 2011

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Two Weeks of Frantic Cookie-Baking

This year, I was in denial the holidays were fast approaching. Instead of starting my holiday planning and work-back schedule the first week of October, I ended up frantically scrambling in early November to get everything done. Thankfully, within a week, I determined what cookies we were going to make, shopped for the ingredients, and then on Saturday, November 12th, spent six hours making the doughs.

During the week, I made several confections, including two kinds of fudge, peanut brittle, mint bark, and rum balls. On Friday evening, November 18th, we drove up to Mount Vernon and started baking, completing fifteen batches of cookies by Saturday night.

This year’s sugar-extravaganza, much of which will be sent to friends and family, included:

Cookies

  • Chocolate chip
  • Chocolate cookies with white chips
  • Oatmeal with butterscotch chips (and white raisins)
  • Candy cane crisps
  • Exotic spice (pepper, cardamom, nutmeg, rose water, etc.)
  • Cinnamon pretzels
  • Snickerdoodle
  • Spritz, white and green with mint flavoring
  • Cappuccino thins
  • Ginger coins
  • Biscotti with dried mangoes
  • Sugar
  • Shortbread windows with jam

Confections

  • Seven layer bars
  • Fudge with peanuts
  • Rum balls
  • Macaroons
  • Peanut brittle
  • Mint bark
  • Dark chocolate fudge with dried cherries
  • Coffee caramel

Two Thankful Cats, One Undecided

On Wednesday afternoon — our motor home loaded with boxes of cookies, holiday gifts and cards, Thanksgiving appetizers, food for a few days, stack of magazines to read, and three cats — we headed south to Oregon. We’d originally planned to take four cats, but as Rich was getting in the motor home, Lunetta leapt out, scampered up the fence, and scurried under the back deck. A few minutes later, she appeared at the French doors, and we let her back in the house, realizing she’s a certified fruit loop, and taking her “camping” wasn’t a dumb idea.

The cats who ended up going were two of the three MusCATeers – Pu’Yi and Zephrya – along with Lila, who spent most of the trip in the bed over the cab, and growling at us and the other cats. Because she’s all white, I believe she’s a secret white supremacist and doesn’t like associating with cats-or-humans-of-other-colors. If Rich and I were albinos with pink eyes and white hair, she’d find us more appealing.

Torrential rain was falling as we left, adding to the pre-Thanksgiving rush. It took nearly five hours to drive to Chris (Rich’s son) and Shawnie’s house in Camas, Washington. It usually takes around three hours.

After eating dinner at Red Robin, one of Rich’s favorite restaurants, we went back to Chris and Shawnie’s house and watched Bad Lip Reading, George Bush bloopers, Frank Caliendo, and Gordie Brown videos on YouTube. Fun!

We spent a restful night sleeping in our motor home (parked near Chris’ house), and then headed to my mother’s house in Sherwood (southwest of Portland). With time a premium, we got my mother up-and-dressed, and all three of us jumped in her car and headed to southwest Portland to see my best friend and pseudo-sister, Wendy. We had a great visit; Wendy is an amazing woman… gregarious, confident, industrious, self-actualized, and beautiful!

A few hours later, we once again piled into the car to head to Shawnie’s parent’s house in Dayton (southwest of Sherwood) for Thanksgiving dinner. We had a wonderful dinner before returning to Sherwood.

Friday morning, we did some errand with my mother. In between, I checked my phone. A temporary agency called to say I’d been offered a three-month contract for a job I’d interviewed for earlier in the week.

I debated taking the position in light of awaiting the outcome of three recently interviews for contract position (through three different agencies), and an upcoming interview loop for a full-time position with an exceptional company in Woodinville. However, after debating the potential experience, the clout of the group, and the likelihood the position would be extended to twelve-months, I decided to accept.

Stay tuned for details about the position after I’ve started working!

With a job offer under wing, we headed north to Skamokawa on the Columbia River. We found a nice spot at the RV park, and then pulled on some warm clothing to walk around the town, visit Redmen Hall, an old school and meeting house (beautiful inside), and bop into the general store for cookies and coffee. Later that evening, we made a second trip to the store for coffee… and a third trip in the morning for additional caffeine. Who needs Starbucks when you can fill our own cup with coffee and flavored creamers for $1.39?

Because we had planned to be back in Kirkland by Sunday afternoon, Rich had made plans to stay at Dash Point, just north of Tacoma, on Saturday. We arrived around 1 o’clock, made lunch, and then walked to the beach. Located on the Puget Sound, Dash Point State Park supposedly has 3,300 feet of shoreline. With high tide, it was more like a ten minute walk of accessible shoreline!

The rest of the day we spent reading, eating, and walking Lila and Pu’Yi… the later had earlier ran up to a large dog who turned out to blind. They merely sniffed each other, and then went their own ways.

With rain pelting down on Sunday morning, we drove straight home, only stopping for groceries. Once home, we unloaded and vacuumed the motor home. Rich then drove it to Mount Vernon, where it’s normally kept, and I stayed home to make doro wat, spinach and matzos kugel (recipe I found in a cookbook my mother just gave me), and potato salad (last of the potatoes from our garden). Yes, it’s a strange combination of foods.

Six Days and Never a Dull Moment

30 Sunday Oct 2011

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No Wonder Why Tourists Love L.A.

Friday, October 21st was the first day of our annual pilgrimage to California and Arizona to see family. It being an annual event, we didn’t stray from our proven recipe of getting up before roosters have a chance to crow, and then driving to the Seattle-Tacoma Airport. Along the way, we stopped at McDonald’s for oatmeal (me), Sausage Egg McMuffin (Rich) and coffees.

We flew Alaska Airlines, which is almost always a satisfying experience. Two hours later, we landed in Ontario, California to overcast skies and tepid temperatures. After a quick stop at a mini mart for drinks, pretzels, and a bag of what turned out to be outrageously hot Ruffles Tapatío Limon chips, we headed to Anaheim.

We visited with Rich’s brother, Ralph and his caregiving Jerry for a few hours, and then headed to Huntington Beach to see Stacey’s (Rich’s daughter) apartment. Ralph, who became a quadriplegic when he was twenty due to an accident, recently underwent surgery to repair a bed sore. He was hospitalized for two months, and during that time, met many ex-gang members who were recovering from spinal cord injuries after being shot.

He said the rehab center was kept locked probably to keep rival gang members from bursting in and “finishing off the job.” He said many of the patients donned numerous tattoos and were struggling with the realization they’d never walk again. Ralph was happy to be safely home, recuperating from his surgery.

Stacey and her boyfriend Mike did an amazing job of decorating their new home in neutral tones with hip, modern furniture. They were disciplined in purchasing pieces that fit together and minimizing what’s on display.

Their apartment is one of three, built behind a small house. At one time, the area had blocks of tidy, little houses with huge yards that backed up to alleys. Today, most of the yards feature two-story, blocky structures, consisting of three or four apartments, built above or behind garages, which are entered via the original alleys.

My grandparent’s house in Burbank was similar. It was a small two-bedroom house with a detached one-car garage in the front, and a huge backyard, which could easily accommodate a small apartment building. My grandparents used the space for a garden, clothes line, patio, large workshop for my grandfather, and a small room, built behind the garage, which remained surprisingly cool, even during the summer, and was filled with old clothes, including sealskin coats, which my great grandfather, a furrier, tanned and sewed.

After seeing Stacey’s apartment, we want to Slater’s 50/50 Burgers by Design in Huntington Beach, which is famous for their hand-crafted hamburgers and 50/50 patty, consisting of 50% ground beef and 50% ground bacon. Rich went with a “generic” all-beef hamburger with “generic” toppings.

Stacey and I were more adventurous, opting for their turkey patty with brie (Stacey), mozzarella and pesto (Julie), and lots of vegetable toppings. We also shared a plate of potato and sweet potato fries with a spicy dip. Yum!

Being in two cars, we followed Stacey to a house being re-modeled. Stacey is overseeing some of the work, and helping with the painting, replacing light plugs, etc. She said in advance it was in a gated community, but hadn’t revealed it was a very exclusive community called Coral Cay in Huntington Beach. As we drove through the neighborhood, we spotted huge yachts parked in back of houses.

Many of the houses in the community have waterfront access with docks that can accommodate a 60-foot or large yacht. Rich says they dug canals in the land and then built the houses. This image from Zillow, provides an idea of how the community was constructed to create as much waterfront property as possible.

We went inside the house, which was on a surprisingly small lot but turned out to have five bedrooms/dens and four bathrooms upstairs, and a sizable kitchen, living, dining, and family room downstairs. Unlike a “typical” house, it had lots of marble, ornate woodwork and plaster, and opulent details like a curved staircase with the walls curved to match the curve of the staircase.

After spending a short time at the house, we headed to Long Beach to see Fintastic, a 61-foot yacht on which Stacey’s boyfriend Mike is the captain, and jack-of-all-trades. He was preparing the boat to drive it to Mexico the following week. The owner keeps the boat in Mexico for seven or so months a year. With Mike was Fernando (a.k.a. Taco Boy), a spunky Chihuahua who travels on the boat and in spite of weighing a few pounds, acts like a Doberman Pincher.

With the evening approaching, we checked into our motel and took a short walk before getting ready for the rest of the evening. Our motel was a few blocks from the beach, which was practically empty, except for long stretches of white sand and an occasional bicyclist or group of kids. It’s no wonder people come to Southern California and want to stay once they see the splendid beaches.

That evening, we visited my cousin’s Mervin and Frances who live in Rancho Palos Verde. I haven’t seen them since I moved from Los Angeles, over thirty years ago! I was anxious to reconnect, and knowing they have visiting wild peafowl, I was hoping to catch a glimpse of one.

We arrived in Palos Verde half an hour early so we decided to drive down the hill to the house where Rich’s parents used to live in San Pedro. Rich couldn’t remember the exact street, but as he zigzagged through the streets, we turn in front of three peacocks and five peahens. I scarcely waited until the car stopped moving before jumping out with the camera in hand!

It’s surreal to think peacocks are wandering around the area, their majestic tails dragging behind them, looking for snakes, lizards, insects, seeds, and other tasty treats.

Music Heritage Translated to Singing in the Shower

The brother of my fraternal grandmother, Lillian, was my cousin Frances’ father, Ferenz. A Hungarian cellist, Ferenz became the principal cellist for the Portland [Oregon] Symphony Orchestra. His first daughter, Diana − whose daughters Sallie and Marcia, I regularly saw when I lived in Los Angeles − was a child prodigy who won a scholarship to the Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia.

A few years later, Frances followed, winning a cello scholarship to the institute. At the age of 13, Frances appeared as a soloist with the Philadelphia Orchestra, which set the stage for numerous musical achievements, including becoming the first woman to conduct a professional orchestra from the stage of the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion of the Los Angeles Music Center. I remember attending this concert and being in awe of the significance of the event.

Growing up, I attended quite a few musical performances, featuring Frances and Diana. Even though my father played the violin (Rich also played the violin), and my mother played the piano, my music talent plateaued at ear-piecing singing in the shower!

Happily, Rich and I didn’t have to be musical savvy to visit with Frances and her husband Melvin!

We had a fabulous evening discussing politics, talking about our families, seeing pictures of their daughter Sarah’s wedding, and eating scrumptious food. We enjoyed a just-out-of-the-oven peach pie and applesauce made from fruit off their trees, crispy roasted chicken with fresh herbs from their garden (I need to get a contraption that holds a chicken upright during baking), roasted carrots and potatoes, cooked mushrooms, and other tasty dishes. I thought Rich was going to burst he ate so much!

It was a memorable, long overdue visit.

Amazing Day on Catalina Island

The next day, Saturday, we got up at 5:30 to catch the 6:15 Catalina Express from Long Beach to Catalina Island. Stacey is a captain and deckhand for the company so she got us a special price… and Stacey was able to join us and serve as our tour guide for the day.

Being it was such an early hour, the boat was lightly filled, mostly with scuba divers and their equipment, couples with suitcases to spend the night or couple of days, and day visitors, some with dogs and picnic baskets.

Catalina is 22 miles off the coast of Southern California, which is lightly populated except for the main town, Avalon. The island was purchased in 1919 by William Wrigley Jr., of chewing-gum fame, who invested millions into its development, turning it into a tourist destination with a dance hall, hotel, and other amenities.

The Art Deco dance hall, called Catalina Casino, is a magnificent structure, 12-stories in height with a theater, circular ballroom, and view of the sea on three sides. I took many pictures of the breathtaking mosaics on the front of the casino. Today, the casino is primarily used for showing movies and special events. It’s also a gathering place for scuba divers, who swim around the rocks (see the Catalina photo island).

Even though it’s normally a quick one-hour trip from Long Beach to Catalina, it took over two hours because of thick fog. Along the way, we talked about boating with Rich debating with Stacey – a certified boat captain – about how to dock and tie off lines!

I’d never been to Catalina before and Rich remembers going only once so we were both in awe of the quaint shops, southern California Art Deco architecture of stucco and ornate tile work, and splendid harbor with a wide swath of beach and a hundred or so boats, tied to mooring balls, bobbing in unison in the gentle current.

Our first stop was coffee and homemade granola bars at a cute coffee shop at the far end of the town. Fueled for the day, we walked to the casino, snapped some pictures, and then headed to Descanso Beach, which charges a small fee to use their beach and facilities. According to Stacey, it’s worth the money because it’s a perfect spot for swimming, snorkeling, and daydreaming. And you can use their bathrooms, showers, dressing rooms, beach chairs, and enjoy the music, walking paths, and other amenities.

With it being a very overcast day with low visibility, we opted to take a trip on the Nautilus, a semi-submersible vessel, which resembles the Beatles’ yellow submarine. It was rather expensive, but Stacey was able to get us a discount… she’s very good at negotiating.

It’s a charismatic vessel. I know you can’t describe a “thing” as charismatic, but the Nautilus is charming, inside-and-out. I felt as if I was descending into a giant bathtub toy, and after the trip, was relaxed and energized.

For an additional cost, you can purchase fish food torpedoes, which you fire when you enter the kelp beds. Herds of fish appear, whacking their bodies against the portholes in a mad scramble to get the pellets. Food, which isn’t consumed by the throngs of fish, falls below to bright orange Garibaldi and smaller fish.

Orange Garibaldi Damselfish are the California state marine fish. They are dazzling, underwater marigolds, which are a joy to watch weave between golden streamers of kelp.

As we approached the dock, you can climb the ladder and stand on the top of The Nautilus to take in the sights. Because it was so foggy, visibility was terrible, but we could see a giant pelican standing on a platform on the dock. I was convinced it was going to fly away before we made it back so I implored Rich, who had the camera, to snap its picture.

However, in spite of people swarming around the pelican, it didn’t budge. And it didn’t budge when we got off the Nautilus and I got within touching-distance (no I didn’t touch it, but might have if so many people weren’t watching). We must have taken two dozen pictures of the pelican using my Windows Phone and our camera!

After walking around for another hour or so, we had lunch at the outdoor patio of Antonio’s Pizzeria & Cabaret. The food was filling, and most likely was straight off a Sysco truck.

Our bellies full, we bopped into a couple of shops, wandering around some more before taking Catalina Express back to Long Beach. Along the way, Stacey was able to get us a tour of the bridge of the Catalina Express. The operation of the boat, with four huge jets, which enable it to travel at over 30 knots, was significantly more complex than the instrumentation of the 29-foot Ranger Tug we recently chartered.

Unplanned Experiences and Adventures

Back in Long Beach, we stopped at The Pike at Rainbow Harbor to meander and visit a small boat show. At one time, Long Beach was a grimy port town, known for its Navy shipyard, oil fields, fisheries, and shipping port.

Today, the Port of Long Beach is the United States’ second busiest container port and one of the world’s largest shipping ports. Downtown Long Beach has become a major southern California destination with large hotels, convention center, museums, performing arts center, aquarium, large shopping centers, and every restaurant franchise you can think of from Bubba Gump Shrimp Company to California Pizza Kitchen, Chili’s, Famous Dave’s, Gladstone’s, Hooters, Outback, and P.F. Changs.

We stayed at the boat show long enough to tour a Ranger Tug and two Catalina sailboats. I now convinced the ultimate sailboat is a 36-foot Catalina.

Our next stop was Belmont Shores to see the sidewalk chalk art contest. Every year, artists create masterpieces on pieces of paper taped to the sidewalks. We arrived late, but were able to see the drawings, which were created on one side of the main street. When we crossed to the other side, many artists were picking up their drawings; although, we got temporarily distracted by a shop selling retro candy. Within minutes, Rich and I had picked out $11 worth of Turkish Taffy, Abba-Zabba, Chick-O-Stick, cherry Zotz, and Big Cherry, which probably cost a few dollars when we were kids.

After our candy exploits, I darted to the next block to see the chalk drawings before they were all gone. When I turned around, I saw Rich carrying a drawing of three parrots. He had a smile on his face so wide that he could barely walk without tripping on it.

“What the…” I thought.

Evidentially, Rich overheard a conversation between the artist and another woman. The artist wanted to give away her drawing. The woman wasn’t interested; Rich, however, didn’t hesitate for a moment and the drawing was his!

Highly protective of his prize, Rich wanted to immediately spray it with fixative. While Stacey and I guarded the drawing, laid out in front of a bank, Rich sprinted down the street to purchase clear varnish at True Value. After putting on three light coats, the chalk was set and didn’t smudge.

We carefully loaded the drawing into the car and headed to Stacey’s apartment to wait for Mike to come home. After he took a quick shower, we jumped back into her car to drive downtown to Philippe’s. I’d only been there once. At the time, Rich and I had been dating about a year and we were visiting his parents in California. Rich wanted to eat at Philippe’s. When I saw the place, in deep downtown Los Angeles, a block from Olvera Street, I was aghast.

It’s a skanky area, which as a child, going to my father’s garment factory on Santee Street, we avoided. Nevertheless, I was game and was intrigued by the sawdust on the floor, and the menu consisting primarily of French dip sandwiches, salads, pickles, and desserts, plopped onto paper plates.

I was hooked! And this trip, it was me who demanded we eat at Philippe’s!

Unfortunately, the trip to downtown Los Angeles, on a Saturday night, was bumper-to-bumper traffic. When we finally arrived, around 8 o’clock at night, we were all famished, and a bit cranky. Even at that time, the lines were long, with six or seven waitresses with little brown hats bobby-pinned to their heads, carving, dipping, splotching, grumbling, and bumping into each other behind a 50-foot or longer deli case, which stretches across two-thirds of the restaurant.

I had a pork French dip sandwich ($6) with a glass of lemonade (75 cents), and split with Rich a dill pickle ($1.20), and plates of cole slaw ($1.20), and potato salad ($1.20). Rich had two beef French dip sandwiches, bringing our bill to a little over $23. And I also liberally squeezed Philippe’s special hot mustard on my sandwich, making my face flush and my nose flare! Awesome! It’s no wonder Philippe’s have been going strong since 1908!

One last note, a cup of “joe” at Philippe’s is just 9-cents. At the far end of the deli case, you can order drinks and side dishes. While waiting in line, we watched many people in grungy clothes and filthy hair order cups of coffee or a bowl of soup or stew. It’s a welcoming environment where people from all-walks-of-life can eat from the same tables.

Our tummies filled, we wandered through Olvera Street. In 1781, Los Angeles was founded on a site southeast of Olvera Street near the Los Angeles River by a group of Spanish settlers. The original street was a short lane called Wine Street, which was extended and renamed in honor of Agustin Olvera, a prominent local judge in 1877. Today, along with 27 historical buildings, Olvera Street is a major attraction with street vendors, restaurants, shops, entertainment, and celebrations like Cinco de Mayo, Dia de los Muertos, Blessing of the Animals, and Mardi Gras.

Because it was after 7 o’clock when most of Olvera Streets closes for the evening, we mostly walked by shuttered carts and shops. Hearing music, we crossed the street to the Lady Queen of Angeles Catholic Community, where a festival was taking place. The food smelled wonderful and the music was infectious. By their grotto, covered in flowers, we spied of couple of feral kitten who were too distrustful to come out.

We next headed to City Hall, past streets that had radically changed since I was a child, going to my father’s garment factory, and Rich was a fingerprint classifier and crime scene investigator with the Los Angeles Police Department. Many of the older buildings have been razed and shiny new ones built. Old warehouse and factory buildings are now fancy apartments or gentrified lofts.

As we got closer to City Hall, we could hear someone giving a speech. It was Occupy Wall Street protesters. There were hundred or so tents around City Hall. A stage had been set up for speakers. It was very peaceful, but exciting to experience the protests and the united voices against the “blatant injustices perpetrated by the economic and politic elites.” Covering the lawns were signs, expressing anger towards Wall Street, Republican politicians, unemployment, and other inequities.

Our next stop was Little Tokyo for mochi ice cream at Mikawaya. Mochi is pounded, sticky rice, which can be formed into little balls or squares or wrapped around bean paste, or for an amazing dessert, ice cream.

For a dollar, you can purchase a mochi ice cream ball, which is about the size of a small apricot. The ice cream is super rich and is magical when combined with the mochi. We each had two mochi ice cream balls. I had green tea and kona coffee. Rich stuck to mango. Mike tried the chocolate and Stacey had green tea. Heavenly!

Little Tokyo has radically changed since I was a little girl and would occasionally go there for Japanese pastries. The handful of shops and restaurants now comprises 67-acres.

As we started back to the car, we passed by an upscale coffee shop, called Demitasse. We were mesmerized by a cold brewing contraption which consisted of several large glass vessels and filters (Kyoto-style). The man behind the counter waved us into the store. By now, it was after 10 o’clock at night when party animals are at bars and not pulling up stools at coffeehouses.

We were all given a sample of the cold brewed coffee, which was very strong, but had no bitterness or unpleasant tastes. Stacey was intrigued by their peculiar coffee drippers (scroll down to the article about Demitasse) and decided to order a coffee. The process starts by adding water to a round glass vessel, which is suspended over a halogen light. Once the water boils, another glass vessel, this one rectangular, is placed on top, creating a seal with a small amount of air trapped in-between.

As this air heats, the water is forced up into the top vessel through a filter. Powdered coffee is added and stirred and allowed to boil for a few minutes. Once the vessels are removed from the heat, the coffee is sucked through the filter and back into the original container.

The barista then poured the coffee into four little acrylic glasses and told us not to drink until the coffee cooled. It tasted splendid. It was very pleasant sipping our coffee and talking to one of the baristas, a young man who four years ago moved from Texas to marry a woman he met online! He was very charming and anxious for us to taste everything Demitasse offered.

Unexpectedly, he pulled out a bag of homemade marshmallows, which they serve with hot chocolate. He skewered a chubby one on a bamboo stick and roasted it with a small torch. Between giggle, we took bites, enjoying the caramelized outside and gooey inside.

As we were getting ready to leave, the barista mentioned they toss out their pastries at the end of the night. They offered to give us a couple! While Rich was choosing two lemon and two chocolate macaroons, the barista who used to live in Texas, brought me a macaroon, which resembled a mini hamburger with a golden bun filled with scrumptious icing. The macaroons looked like these from Lette in Beverly Hills.

Just when I thought the evening was coming to an end, Rich felt we should walk by Union Station. Opened in 1939, and designed by John and Donald B. Parkinson, who also designed the Los Angeles City Hall and other landmark Los Angeles Buildings, the station is breathtaking. The floors are terra cotta mosaics, the walls travertine marble, ceilings open beam, and the giant chairs in the waiting room are upholstered in deep brown leather.

We slid into a couple of chairs and sat for a few minutes admiring the grandeur. At one time, before affordable airplane travel, the station was probably a constant hubbub of people, trains and buses. Today, several upscale restaurants are located within the station, no doubt, helping offset the expensive of keeping this magnificent landmark open.

Even though it was after 11 o’clock at night, one side of the 101 freeway was still packed with cars; although, they seemed to be going at a modest 30 to 40 miles per hour. Rich, having driven the freeways when he was in his late teens and twenties, knew the fastest route back to Long Beach, where Stacey and Mike dropped us off at our motel.

More Sun, Less Fog, and More People to See

The next morning, after sleeping deeply, we had a satisfying breakfast at iHOP and then headed to Hollywood to visit with Jerry Simon, who was my father’s best friend, and is now 94 years old. I’ve been corresponding with him for decades, and most recently started to wonder about his ability to recollect dates and events. When describing him to Rich, I mentioned, “I think he might have a photographic memory.”

Sure enough, he could name exact dates when my parents got married, when he visited various places… and then list what he did during the visit as if it was a week ago and not forty years earlier. We spent two and a half hours talking about the economy, politics, families, trips, changes in the area (Sunset Boulevard, Hollywood, etc.), vocabulary, and grammar.

At one point, he wanted his caregiver, Gloria, to find a book on the table about homonyms. I helped her look since there were eight stacks of books on the table. While looking, I found the book “Eats, Shoots, & Leaves.” I brought it back to Jerry, and he told me to look on page 9, which contained a simple sentence, punctuated two ways:

Woman, without her man, is nothing.
Woman: Without her, man is nothing.

I’m still astonished that he could remember the exact page on which the sentence was written! I’d be lucky to remember the book in which an interesting passage was written.

Needing to get to Bullhead City by dinnertime, we sadly had to say “good-bye” to Jerry; although, I hope to see him again, as does Rich.

Our trip to Bullhead City, on the Arizona side of the Colorado River was uneventful and we encountered little traffic on a Sunday afternoon. We arrived at Ted’s (Rich’s step-father) house around 5:30, and then got ready for dinner at the Riverside Resort Hotel & Casino in Laughlin, the Nevada side of the Colorado River.

It was fun catching up with what Ted has been doing and talking with Sue, who lives across the street and takes care of an elderly man named Charlie. I also enjoy looking at the lights from the Laughlin casinos reflecting off the river. Even though, it was in the low 90’s/high 80’s for most of our visit, the heat isn’t intolerable because it’s so dry. Plus, the rock formations are fantastic. It’s a picturesque place to visit.

We spent another day with Ted, visiting and driving around the area, seeing Davis Dam, and then headed to Las Vegas for 20-hours of walking around the strip (until midnight), snapping pictures, watching belching volcanoes and dueling pirates, wandering into high-end shops, eating dinner at Chipotle Grill, scurrying through dark and smoky casinos, bumping into people on the crowded sidewalks, avoiding having our hands were hustlers could place cards of female “entertainers,” riding the monorail to the architectural marvel City Center, and enjoying our stay at the sizzling pink Flamingo Hotel.

Every year, we stay at a different hotel. In the past, we stayed at Planet Hollywood and the Rio. Our room at the Flamingo, on the 18th floor, was the smallest, but the most lascivious with a white, vinyl padded headboard, mirrored light on the ceiling, white furniture, pink and brown-striped wallpaper, and a bathroom that could only make you smile with two walls painted bright pink, pink halogen lights in the ceiling, and a white marble shower with jets. Plus, there was a remote control on the bathroom counter. When I powered it on, a rectangular section of the bathroom mirror turned into a television!

In addition, we had a view of Caesar’s Palace, the Bellagio, and the non-stop action on the strip. And everywhere you walk in the Flamingo, you see splashes of bright, flamingo pink, which made me very happy. Check out this virtual tour to see the pink, pink Flamingo!

The only negative to our Las Vegas visit was towards the end of the evening when we went to McDonald’s for coffees (hey, they have good coffee and it’s cheap). Two women walked in, one with long blonde hair, a tight dress that barely covered her tush, and five-inch clear acrylic platform shoes. The other woman was in tight jeans and a t-shirt. The woman in the suggestive clothing ran up to a worker at McDonald’s, a chunky, androgynous man or woman, and gave him/her a tight hug, exclaiming “I haven’t seen you in so long.” The greeting was genuine and warm.

After the two women got their food, they sat at a table across from us. Within minutes, two men at another table started flirting with them, asking questions and trying to figure out how to “get into their pants.” The women were courteous, but were obviously not interested and simply wanted to enjoy their meal in peace.

One man, however, was relentless, leaning over to touch the woman closest to him and wanting to know how they “could get together.” He explained he came from a town of 5,400 people in Georgia where everyone knew each other. He also had a son who was the same age as the blonde. Finally, the blonde gave him a card and explained he could take a free limo to see her. She probably worked at a gentlemen’s club. I could hear the man lamenting the hassle of having to take a limo and the cost to see her take off her clothes. Groan.

Even though the woman was dressed like a slut – as are a large percentage of the women who are out partying at the plethora of Vegas bars and night clubs – she didn’t deserve to be tormented while she was trying to eat a hamburger!

Weekend of Fabulous Foreign Flicks

10 Monday Oct 2011

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Normally, we go to our Mount Vernon house on Friday evenings, watch a couple of flicks, do gardening, housework or errands the next morning, and then return to Kirkland in the afternoon. This past weekend was no exception; although, I’d originally intended to spend Friday and Saturday in Yom Kippur services.

Because I felt like I’d been atoning for weeks and spent most of Friday in a funk… and with Rich anxious to get away after a hectic week of catching up, I was happy to toss Lila and Zephyra in the car, and escape to Mount Vernon.

Our first movie-of-the-evening was Ju Dou, a 1990 Chinese film which was the first Mainland Chinese film to be nominated for an Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film. I should have known the film was going to be an emotional rollercoaster with magnificent cinematography, turning the mundane into art. It’s a splendid movie with just four characters, oppressed by customs and honor, and galvanized by anger and passion.

After taking a breather, we popped in Budrus, a documentary about a Palestinian community organizer, Ayed Morrar. Against great odds, he unites local Fatah and Hamas members along with Israeli supporters in an unarmed movement to save his village of Budrus from destructions by Israel’s Separation Barrier. It makes no sense where the Israelis placed the barrier, which resulted in the loss of 300 acres and 3,000 olive trees, essential to the village’s livelihood. The Palestine/Israel conflict is very complex and there are no easy answers after generations (more accurately centuries) of animosity and violence.

With no rain on Saturday, we spent most of the day doing thankless chores from ripping out junipers and ivy to weeding, winterizing the riding lawn mower, turning off the drip irrigation, and pulling non-producing plants out of the vegetable garden (left bushes of green tomatoes, arugula, purple string beans, gasping squash, Brussels spouts, and happy herbs). The “main event” on the list of chores was scrapping silicon off from around the windows in the motor home, cleaning them with mineral spirits, and then re-caulking with fresh silicon.

Our motor home had a rough four years in Texas heat. The tires exploded (no exaggeration), the Formica peeled off the counters, the trim cracked, mice chewed on our linens (and we didn’t discover the holey linens until we woke the next morning), the windows sealant dried up and started to leak, etc. Nearly everything has been fixed and replaced, thanks in part to last Saturday’s efforts.

Tired after working outside for most of the day, we settled in for another night of flicks, starting with Winter in Wartime, a Dutch film, which begins with ominous overtone and then escalates to an agonizing crescendo that is soothed by a single shot, proving good eventually prevails over evil.

The film was wildly popular in the Netherlands. No doubt, for the reasons why I felt it were extraordinary — beautiful scenario, rich characters, historical significance, and edge-of-your-seat storyline.

Our final film of the weekend was much lighter, Coco before Chanel. Nominated for numerous awards, including an Academy Award for Best Costume Design, this French film tells the early life of fashion designer, Coco Chanel. It was enjoyable to watch, focusing on Coco’s affairs with Baron Etienne Balsan and his extravagant and superfluous lifestyle and friends, and later affair with English polo player Arthur “Boy” Capel.

Tug Time! Amazing Time!

03 Monday Oct 2011

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Rich and I just returned from our most relaxing, fulfilling, and truly amazing vacation we’ve ever taken. It was a major undertaking considering we were boating in the unpredictable Puget Sound and Gulf Islands, in late September (i.e. a recipe for bad weather), and on a powerboat versus a more familiar sailboat.

Last September, after the mainsail ripped from the self-furling mast on the usually fabulous sailboat, Wave Dancer – for the second year in a row – Rich decided our next charter would be on a small tugboat. We paid a small deposit to reserve a week on a 25-foot Ranger Tug. However, six month later, we were told the boat was pulled out of the charter fleet. Would we be willing to upgrade to Tug Time!, a 2010, 29-foot, Ranger Tug?

Yes! YES!

Months before our charter, Rich and I took a motorboat class to learn how to drive and dock a “single screw” boat so we were familiar with what to expect. Plus, while biking in Anacortes in June, we saw a group of Nordic Tugs, some of which were for sale. We decided to explore and while walking down the dock, I noticed Tug Time was sandwiched between several larger boats. I commented to Rich, “Isn’t that the boat we’re chartering?

The couple on the boat was spending the night at Anacortes, and was happy to give Rich a tour so he could get an advanced look at the electronics. This meeting proved fortuitous; Rich noticed the chart plotter on the boat was the same brand as his GPS. In the weeks leading to our charter, he put the wave points for our trip into his GPS, and then inserted its “chip” into the Tug Time’s chart plotter.

Voila! Our routes were instantly available on the chart plotter.

When we made changes to our trip, Rich would use the charting software on our netbook – Sputnik – to update his GPS, and then place the chip back into the boat’s chart plotter. Technology!

Doom and Gloom Lead to Zoom

This year, we decided to attend the Friday evening captain’s meeting, sleep on the boat, and then leave early Saturday morning. In the past, we’ve arrived early Saturday morning, loaded our stuff onto the boat, attending the captain’s meeting, and if everything went well, were able to leave Bellingham by noon.

On Friday evening, however, when we arrived, we learned the weather had been horrific for the past few days, and another large front was arriving with heavy winds and rain. I was convinced we weren’t going to be affected. Rich was more cautious.

Recognizing Rich is the captain and I’m the first mate, I tend to acquiesce to his decisions. However, since we were able to leave early in the morning, and had a powerboat, I talked him into going “as far as” possible on Saturday. The decision was to skip our first planned anchorage on Patos Island, and head straight for Stuart Island, a picturesque island with around 800 full- and part-time residents, squeezed into less than three square miles. The island can only be reached by boat or private plane, and has no stores or amenities… aside from a few outhouses by the campgrounds.

The islands claim to fame is the Turn Point Light Station on the very tip, which is the farthest northwest point of the United States. The view is magnificent on a clear day… and not too bad when it’s overcast. Rich and I sat on the point for few minutes, waving to passing whale-watching vessels, until the sun started to set. We then scurried back to Tug Time, anchored in Prevost Harbor.

Along the way, we chatted with a woman who was inventorying the contents of one of the island’s “treasure chests.” The chests are stocked with t-shirts, cards, hats, and other souvenirs. Each item comes with an envelope. If you want to purchase something, you take the item and the envelope, and when convenient, enclose a check in the envelope and drop it in the mail.

The woman said most people are honest and pay for the items they take. Nevertheless, they’ve had some thefts.

Even though it was a stormy night, we had no issues or concerns about being washed onto the rocks because we were securely tied to a mooring ball. The next morning, while overcast, we had no rain as we drove to Bedwell Harbor on Pender Island to check in with Canadian customs.

When you go through customs, only the captain is allowed to leave the boat (or even stand on the dock). We had a perfect docking, after which, I got back onto the boat and Rich walked up to the customs offer. He returned minutes later. Evidentially, our personal information is already in the Canadian database, and they asked only a few questions.

The Only Rain in a Week of Rainbows

With the sun breaking through the clouds, we zipped to Ganges on Saltsprings Island. The wind had picked up so we were thrilled when three men appeared to help as we pulled into a slip at the Saltsprings Marina. After tying up the boat, they asked us about the conditions outside the marina. Hearing the weather had improved several boaters cast-off and headed to other destinations.

We trotted inside Tug Time, gobbled our lunch, grabbed our rain parkas, and headed to the town. Just as reached the street, a rain squall started; happily, we were able to wait it out in the harbormaster office. It drizzled on-and-off for the rest of the afternoon, but for the most part, we avoided getting wet, by ducking in art galleries, shopping at the local supermarket, and seeking shelter under covered porches.

Saltspring Island is home to many artists, their work displayed in the galleries in Ganges. You can find everything from bronze sculptures costing tens of thousands of dollars to Aboriginal art (wooden masks and carvings), beaded jewelry, fine oil and watercolor paintings, ceramics, handmade furniture, and outdoor art pieces. One gallery had carvings from woolly mammoth tusks, unearthed in the Yukon Territory.

We wandering off the main “drag” to a co-op gallery where we had an interesting conversation about living on Saltspring Island, and US versus Canadian politics. Evidentially, during the school year, there are three water taxis called The Scholarship, The Graduate and The Ganges Hawk, which pick up children living on Galiano, Mayne, Saturna, and Pender Islands, and take them to schools on Saltspring.

Older children, who are involved in sports, music, and other activities, which take place after school hours, can stay with families on Saltspring and return home on weekends.

Ganges is the main town on Saltspring so the grocery store is stocked with a wide variety of goods, including high-end products, wines, meats, cheeses, produce, and pastries. Last year, we indulged in almond tarts from the store, which I quickly sought out this time!

The tiny tarts are amazing with a flaky crust, and layers of raspberry jam, almond yumminess, white glaze, and drizzles of chocolate!

After we got back to the boat, Rich checked out the weather forecast, and learned a front was hours away. He immediately jogged up to the harbormaster and paid for another night at the marina. Sure enough, by early morning, the wind was blowing and the rain pelleting down. It rained, hard, for over nine hours!

Meanwhile, we were cozy warm in Tug Time, watching some crazy kite boarders in wetsuits fly around Ganges Harbor… for hours! I got cold just watching them catch air and then land in icy cold water!

By late afternoon, the rain slowed. Unexpectedly, we were offed a ride into town, which provided a much needed opportunity to stretch our legs and get some fresh air. We also chatted with a couple who were on a boat near ours. They too rushed off their boat when the weather broke.

Visits to Our Favorite Towns

The next morning, Monday, we were greeted with blue skies. We headed to the Sydney, at the tip of Vancouver Island. We’d briefly toured this town a few months ago when we spent a long weekend in Victoria. It’s a darling town, and like Ganges, full of art galleries, bookstores, and small shops. It also has many bakeries and chocolate shops, thick with people sipping coffee and snacking on ornate desserts like tarts, small frosted cakes, chocolates, and flaky pastries. Rich, who has more willpower than I, successful negotiated us away from sugary temptations.

Instead, we bought a box of crackers and carton of milk at a supermarket. Boring!

Note: We had on board York Peppermint Pattie brownies, which I made for our trip so we wouldn’t be deprived of chocolate. In addition, I brought powdered hot chocolate with ground-up candy canes for warming up on chilly nights. Yes, I’m the scavenger who buys boxes of slightly stale candy canes after Christmas.

After leaving Sydney, we zipped across the water to Sydney Spit, a favorite picnic area. During the warm months, a water taxi takes people from Sydney to Sydney Spit. Plus, boaters come from Vancouver and other surrounding islands. Being it was late September, we were one of only three boats anchored near the spit.

Even though the sky was darkening, we lowered the dinghy and went ashore. Happily, the wind pushed the darkened sky another direction, and after half an hour, we saw clear, blue skies. Hooray because Sydney Spit has some of the finest beaches in the area, making it a great place to take off your shoes and walk in the sand, beach comb, watch flocks of seagulls, tour the site of the old brick factory, and wonder if you’re going to get wet wading across rivulets because you misjudged when the tides was coming in!

No, we didn’t get wet, but we did gather rocks and shells, a rusty hand-wrought nail, and half a brick. We also took lots of pictures.

Rum, Pears and Potatoes

The next day, Wednesday, was even better weather than the day before. We left Sydney Spit and headed to the Haro Straits where it’s been reported orca whales swim. I have my doubts because we never see them. I’m convinced Disney created orca automatons, which are programmed to surface whenever a whale-watching vessel passes by. The automations never appear when other boaters are in the area.

We spent about an hour in the Haro Straits, toying around, waiting to see if an orca appeared. No luck. Next year, we’ll spend the night in Victoria, which will necessitate traversing the full length of the strait and thereby increasing the probability of an orca siting.

By law, you need to check into US customs when you cross into US waters from Canada. This requirement makes it necessary to either visit Roche Harbor or Friday Harbor. We chose the former, which is a charming, picturesque, resort-like town. Check out the pictures I took of the town and the sculpture garden.

The only thing disagreeable about Roche Harbor was the customs officer who not only asked Rich lots of strange questions, but wanted to come aboard Tug Time and question me!

While still in the customs office, she queried Rich about the amount of alcohol we had aboard. Rich said we had part of a bottle of wine we’d brought from the U.S., an unopened bottle of wine from Canada, and several beers (we took three beers and when our charter ended, Rich had managed to drink two).

The officer then implored, “Any rum?”

Rich was dumbfounded by this question. The only conclusion he could draw was she saw on our passports we’d been to the British Virgin Islands twice, and were perhaps Rum-alcoholics

When the officer came onto Tug Time, and took a look at me, she wondered why I didn’t look like my passport picture (taken ten years ago), and when she asked to see my driver’s license, Rich commented, I wouldn’t resemble that photograph either! In both pictures, my hair was longer and I weighed a “bit” more.

The officer then wanted to know what was in the canisters on the counter.

“Coffee and hot chocolate.”

She opened the former to verify I was telling the truth. She then pointed to a bag of pears and asked if they were my potatoes. I said, “No, they’re pears.”

Her next line of questioning was where we were going. Rich said “Blind Bay off Shaw Island.” She wanted to know “what was there.” Rich in a flat tone-of-voice said “Mooring balls.”

I don’t think she was impressed with his answer because she probed further. It was obvious she knew little about boating and the surrounding area because Shaw Island is a popular, protected anchorage, which is close to Friday Harbor, Roche Harbor, Rosario, and other marinas which fill up quickly during the summer months.

Even though Shaw Island is privately owned, with only 240 year-round residents, and very few commercial or tourist-oriented facilities, it’s a great place to bike and walk around. We went ashore and bought a few things at the store, pet a large black-and-white cat, spoke to some semi-tame deer, walked for an hour or so, and took pictures.

As we were leaving, a Washington State Ferry arrived, which afforded me the opportunity to take pictures of the ferry from water-level at twenty or so feet away. At night, the ferry is awash with lights and looks like a floating palace. Even though few people get on-or-off the ferry at Shaw Island, the ferry is very large because it starts at Anacortes and drops off people and cars at several different islands.

Perfect Vacation Comes to an End

Thursday, our last day on Tug Time, was equally wonderful. Early in the morning, we went to Cypress Island, grabbed a mooring ball, and then rowed a shore. We didn’t put the outboard engine on the dinghy because we needed to carry it onto the shore so it wouldn’t float away when the tide came up. Most of the places we visited during our trip had dinghy docks.

With camera and Windows Phone in hand, we hiked to the top of Eagle Nest, the top of island, which provides 360-degree view of the Puget Sound from Mount Baker across to Canada. Using my phone, I shot a 1-minute video, which I edited when I got home.

Last year, we found an 1899 Indian Head penny wedged in one of the rocks on Eagle Nest. Rich decided to leave a penny this year and see whether it’s still there when we return in the coming years. It’ll help answer the question as to whether a coin from 1899 could have remained hidden for over one hundred years.

Needing to get Tug Time back to San Juan Yachting by noon on Friday, we decided to spend the night at Chuckanut Bay, south of Bellingham Bay. It’s a lovely area that reminds me of a model train diorama with pretty houses nestled among evergreen and fall-colored maple trees on a hill overlooking a calm bay, dotted with sailboats. Every so often, a train weaves through the houses, appearing and disappearing behind the trees.

With the clickity-clack of the train in the distance, and Tug Time gently bobbing in the water, we fell asleep, our vacation nearly over. The next morning, we fueled up, eased it into its permanent slip in Squalicum Harbor, cleaned-up the boat… and then reserved it for another week-long trip next September!

Our First and Last Rodeo

19 Monday Sep 2011

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Since neither Rich nor I had seen a rodeo, when we visited the Puyallup Fair two weeks ago, we decided to get tickets to see the Puyallup Pro Radio Justin Boots Playoffs. Knowing what to expect at a rodeo, I opted to block out the negatives, and focusing on snapping photos.

We’d purchased seats in advance, and luckily snagged two “cheap seats” at the far end of the field, in the front row of the top section so no one was sitting in front of us. I was able to set my camera on “sports” and zoom in to fairly successfully capture the action. My strategy was to anticipate where I thought the animals and rider would appear, and then hold the camera steady, wait until they entered the frame, hold my breath, and snap!

In between taking pictures, I noticed Rich was looking away during certain events. It was hard to overlook the fact young steer were being grabbed by the horns and wrestled to the ground. And during the tie down, very young cattle were pulled to a stop by a rope around the neck, and then lifted up by their legs and smacked onto the ground where they were tied up.

I won’t go into any more details, but every U.S. and many international animal welfare organizations are adamantly opposed to rodeos and events, which use fear, stress or pain to make animals perform or where animals could be injured or killed.

Here are my pictures from my first and last rodeo…. Sorry bucking horses and bulls, little steer and calves.

Invocation #3: December, 1983

16 Friday Sep 2011

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We are here today, O Lord, to celebrate the Festival of Chanukah. The time of a miracle. When one day’s flame of light was kept going for eight.

We too have witnessed a miracle. Our own. We have kept our Lamp of Life burning to a length of years not granted to everyone.

At times it was hard. At times easy. At times the light burnt so brightly it shed a glow upon all who came near.

At times an ill-wind blew and made the flame to flicker, but always a protective hand came up to shield it.

If once we took our Lamp too lightly, we now know how precious a gift it is. Not be abused or neglected.

So we ask, O Lord, that for the rest of our days, you grant us the power and the will to tend our Lamp; to keep on doing and not being done for. To keep the flame bright and unclouded so we may share its light with others.

After reading this invocation, I immediately sent the following spiritual message to my grandmother Rose, holder of the Red-Pen-of-Perpetual-Corrections, “You wrote fragment sentences. Lots and lots of fragment sentences!”

I had many heated discussions with her about my tendency to insert an occasional fragment sentence when a short phrase was more appropriate than a grammatically-correct sentence. And now I see, she was a flagrant fragmenter!

Onto the invocation…

My grandmother passed away a month after her 90th birthday. Her husband, Morris, followed a year later. She lived a healthy life, eating small meals, keeping active with gardening, and housework, and remaining mental astute through reading and writing.

She was 83 years old when she wrote the invocation above where she gave thanks for her “lamp of life burning to a length of years not granted to everyone.” It’s a beautiful turn-of-words, but more lyrical is her desire to “keep the flame bright and unclouded so [she] could share its light with others.”

It’s a selfless statement to want life not just for you, but to help others. The ability and willingness to continuing “doing,” whether one’s life work, hobbies, tending to others, or day-to-day activities is what keeps ones lamp burning bright.