tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22171291920823542932024-02-20T22:07:05.032-08:00Six Month GypsiesHomeless golfer and cross stitcher run away from it all on a shoestring. Can this be done?Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15775668384849078973noreply@blogger.comBlogger79125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2217129192082354293.post-16933621893177521942012-08-11T09:07:00.000-07:002012-08-11T09:07:23.535-07:00The Simple Things<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We've got a blackbird family that has adopted us. Very social birds. Last year they were friendly, especially the male, and got so they would take raisins from our hands. He perches on the sliding glass door handle in the morning peeping at us until we open up and give him breakfast. This year they raised a family in a juniper tree just outside the door in the garden. We felt quite privileged, actually, and followed their progress, trying to guess what was going on up in that tree. I got to recognize his distress call when a cat was in the yard and would go out and save the day, shooing the cat away The kids are gone, and both of the adults are molting. Tatty looking things with bare patches, old feathers gone, new ones sticking up at odd angles, and they've both lost their tail feathers so look almost silly.<br />
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Today I was sitting out in the sun (yes, the sun has finally come out) reading when I heard his familiar peep-peep. He came right up in front of me, a foot or so away, and peep-peeped at me to get him some raisins. This was out of his comfort zone, me on the ground in a chair, so I scattered the raisins on the concrete in front of me. He came close, backed off, came close, backed off, all the while peeping at me with what could only be a questioning tone to his peeping. Could he trust me? I must have looked very different sitting at ground level with him than I do sticking my hand out to the rail with raisins in it. Could I possibly be the same person he was used to? Peep-peep? Peep-peep? He rushed in and took one, then two, then three, finally taking five raisins in his mad dashes close to my feet. He then waddled (these birds waddle, I don't know what else to call it) off to peep-peep at me from six feet away, then flew off. I like to think that was a thank you. <br />
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Will he be here next year? Who knows. The oldest one recorded was 20 years old, the average is 3.4 years. Will we be here next year? Who knows. Sometimes it takes one of the simple things in life to teach you that today is what we've got and tomorrow is a big who knows. So dash in and get the raisins while you can. <br />
<br />Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15775668384849078973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2217129192082354293.post-44288540486136754912012-06-24T03:42:00.001-07:002012-06-24T03:42:58.482-07:00Almost July!!!<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Time flies when you are having fun, so they say. If that's the case, then we are having a lot of fun! It's two months today since we arrived and it hardly seems possible. The gorse has moved on for the broom to bloom, the foxgloves are in their full glory, and we've had at least one hatching of blackbirds, who for a time the parents were feeding raisins right in front of the sliding glass door after taking them from our hand. We've had a few teasers of warm weather followed by Scotland doing its thing. All in all back home in our home away from home.</div>
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We had the most amazing walk about town around 10 p.m. a day or two before the Summer Solstice. The light and the clouds and the angle of the summer sun combined for a show that was almost magic. The picture above was taken facing east and the one below facing west towards the setting sun just moments apart. The third is taken facing south just a few minutes after the other two. </div>
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There has been much hoopla about the Royals. The Queen's Jubilee celebration was quite something. We've nothing like it in the states, so there's really nothing to make a comparison to. I overhear conversations quite often kind of criticizing the monarchy and its ongoing existence, but there was not much complaining about an extra day off for the Queen's Jubilee. And poor thing, I felt so bad for her out on a barge on the Thames in the rain waving at folks for hours on end - I was hoping that wasn't going to be the beginning of the end of her reign. But on she goes, looking lovely and laughing at Ascot yesterday. I find it all a bit fascinating and keep asking seemingly silly questions about them of our friends. </div>
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All that said, I do miss the new life we had started to carve out in Hawaii. We'd hardly been there long enough to get settled in before it was time to switch gears and get ready to come over here. I miss the warmth and the water, but it will be there when I get back. To have the opportunities we've worked so hard to create for ourselves playing out in real time, I'm not complaining. I'm just ever so grateful to still be here living them. </div>
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<br /></div>Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15775668384849078973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2217129192082354293.post-76545416695325755692012-05-12T01:14:00.001-07:002012-05-15T13:58:07.549-07:0050 hours and two weeks later . . .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Ahhhh, home sweet home. Seems silly, but since we've spent more time in Dornoch in the last three years than anywhere else, it makes a bit of sense. As much sense as anything in the last few years has. We've been welcomed back with open arms by friends, our comfie flat was waiting for us with all our things we'd left behind, Little Man, our begging blackbird, spotted us right off, and the gorse is in full bloom.<br />
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The flights over were uneventful, the best kind. We woke up in Hilo at 7 a.m. on a Sunday morning and knew the next time we'd see a bed was Tuesday night. Everything arrived at the same time in Glasgow, though I always feels I've left part of my brain somewhere over the Atlantic. The train from Glasgow was on time and not crowded, and two friendly faces meeting us at the train station in Tain were the high point of the journey. All told from waking up to lying down was 50 hours. Cat naps on the planes and the train, but no real sleep. A few days of jet lag and here we are two weeks later, firmly entrenched in Dornoch. Reunited with friends. The garden is getting cleaned up. The golf game is getting fine tuned. The lawn bowling is in full swing. Catching up with the evening soaps. Cheese and oatcakes, scones and jam, soup and a crustie, and dinner at Margaret's. Life is good and we are so lucky.Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15775668384849078973noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2217129192082354293.post-1594074625200594392012-04-11T11:28:00.007-07:002012-04-13T10:08:25.932-07:00Weather musings<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQSGHbM2mxR2mC0WEpRPHheRv9Vlz1e61_aye20OkMMd3brVsNKKFm1Oz5wXjxSvsZ4ouwBjM9vx_a0J6fk3Cmu3hoVzvvKqPCVw0qg_N8ZIHLBLoLv3JNd9iv5-Os-vGbZf9x_UcJjvI/s1600/car.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 140px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQSGHbM2mxR2mC0WEpRPHheRv9Vlz1e61_aye20OkMMd3brVsNKKFm1Oz5wXjxSvsZ4ouwBjM9vx_a0J6fk3Cmu3hoVzvvKqPCVw0qg_N8ZIHLBLoLv3JNd9iv5-Os-vGbZf9x_UcJjvI/s200/car.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5730784272672947474" /></a><br />People frequently ask us if it doesn't rain a lot in Scotland, though I must admit that question has been asked far less often, if at all, since our arrival in Hilo. We were fully prepared, so we thought, to live in Hilo with lots of rain. But there is rain, and then there is RAIN. The average yearly rainfall for our little town of Mountain View is 136 inches a year. The average rainfall for our beloved Dornoch is 40 inches a year. Our last stop in San Clemente had average rainfall of 13.5 inches a year, and prior to that in Pacific Grove it was a little over 20 inches.<br /><br />So possibly thinking we were prepared for this amount of rain and damp was a bit . . . naive. <br /><br />Things grow in this climate - the plants, the trees, the flowers. On any given day it is an amazing spectacle to behold. It does make for gorgeous scenery, and the views out the windows and driving to and from town are spectacular. The views indoors, though, rival anything we experienced in what we considered the damp of Pacific Grove. The door to the downstairs spare room quite often has a bit of odd fuzz growing on it. I opened a kitchen drawer one day to find a lovely set of cloth napkins with bits of what might have been penicillin growing on them. We've been advised to strip our bed and leave the mattress open to the air while we are gone to avoid who knows what happening between the sheets. Stan's Merrill's showed up one day with white polka dots on them. <br /><br />There is always a learning curve when we move someplace new. I have a feeling, though, most of the curve is going to be happening while we are in Scotland. I just hope two tubs of DampRid in the car are going to be enough . . .Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15775668384849078973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2217129192082354293.post-41568335378227014232012-04-02T22:48:00.004-07:002012-04-02T23:26:25.462-07:00Time Flies When it's Raining<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQhjb1oecS9dzWR4qBUc3fTWOnms5jvPU1kKRUFYxmcXGzHt3faEOl-9Ow3_fPcxBC-0M_lyxcxqBAC4lLmkQ1IS5ToCUUY6CVGj57XoW-PycMLVtRAYBnBV_hHkaeVCMTALCvl9AgzKg/s1600/New+place+001.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQhjb1oecS9dzWR4qBUc3fTWOnms5jvPU1kKRUFYxmcXGzHt3faEOl-9Ow3_fPcxBC-0M_lyxcxqBAC4lLmkQ1IS5ToCUUY6CVGj57XoW-PycMLVtRAYBnBV_hHkaeVCMTALCvl9AgzKg/s200/New+place+001.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5727054165348618690" /></a><br />Well, here we are, three weeks from going back to our beloved Scotland, our Hideaway in the Highlands, our Home Away From Home, our . . . .<br /><br />But wait. We are in Hawaii. Our new home base. Car transported and registered, drivers licenses with rainbows on them, all our things (such as they were) out of storage, and voila, Home Sweet Home. And we are leaving? Yep. The gypsy life is alive and well. <br /><br />So far, for the three months we will have been here by the time we leave, it has been a good move. Me getting laid off and losing our health insurance just prior to moving was a bit unnerving, and has proven to be a bit expensive (the care was superb, insurance or no), but living here has been a wee slice of heaven. The pace of life when one of you is retired and the other unemployed can't help but slow down considerably. Long days on the beach, snorkeling with the most amazing variety of creatures, stopping for fresh vegies at the farmer's market once a week, and watching out the window as the sun lights up the giant whatever tree that is outside the bedroom window. The idea of going back to work full time is not an attractive one (I have found part-time work, so I'm halfway back to reality). There *is* the issue of gas being $4.73 a gallon. But I digress. <br /><br />To really top off our first few months here our kids had visits planned. We so wanted them to see what it was that drew us here, how pretty the place is, and how different from any place we've lived in just about every way possible. Sadly, moreso for one than the other, they were met with biblical amounts of rain. And clouds. And mud. And more rain. One of them dealt with me being in the hospital, the other with the Crab Episode referred to in the previous, much funnier post. We aren't at all sure we convinced them we aren't crazy. <br /><br />Today, the day after the second child left for home, it was 86 degrees, blue sky, puffy white clouds, long day on the beach, snorkeling with the most amazing variety of creatures, stopping for fresh vegies at the farmers market, and my tree lit up as if by magic by the rising sun. Nature's version of some kind of a joke, I'm sure. I'm not sure the kids are laughing.Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15775668384849078973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2217129192082354293.post-4331930074539255942012-04-02T10:39:00.003-07:002012-04-02T10:45:46.714-07:00Read at Your Own Risk<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX-ygWmux_yIFdT3SDss1Kmzi9blx_9jQmtYzNxBehKB3Qy53ral0jc4BYjAgvgfpXrhM0X2NMtgPLU0GhReoCzfrSThVJjxswRWryzNrQyXVBnEoAKWEiXrFul1F4LMJcwBJtouyTkjM/s1600/BiteMe_FishMarket2_2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 118px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX-ygWmux_yIFdT3SDss1Kmzi9blx_9jQmtYzNxBehKB3Qy53ral0jc4BYjAgvgfpXrhM0X2NMtgPLU0GhReoCzfrSThVJjxswRWryzNrQyXVBnEoAKWEiXrFul1F4LMJcwBJtouyTkjM/s200/BiteMe_FishMarket2_2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5726860510292859554" /></a><br />Dear Bite Me Fish Market and Restaurant,<br /><br />I would just like to take this opportunity to thank you for the meal my wife and son and I had in your establishment the other day. It was truly a memorable meal. My son had a fish sandwich that I am sure he did not enjoy as much as I enjoyed my Crab Benedict. The Crab Benedict was a meal that I continued to enjoy for many days after.<br /><br />The continued enjoyment began that night in our hotel room at Uncle Billy’s Kona Beach Hotel. I woke up in the middle of the night to a violent bowel movement that really made me feel special. From 12 midnight until 3:00 a.m. I painted the toilet bowl every 20 minutes. And then to really put a crowning finish on the night, I began to projectile vomit with a taste like licking the bottom of a crab pot. Nice!<br /><br />It was a really memorable moment for my son, who had never had the pleasure of seeing his father naked. Boy, did he get a show as he saw a naked, 58-year-old man spewing from both ends, wonderfully backlit by the bathroom light. Hawaiian memories to last a lifetime.<br /><br />By 8:00 in the morning the tide was stemmed enough to make the 2 hour drive back across the island to the comfort of my own toilet. Regretfully I had to forgo a 36-hole day of golf paid for by my son because the golf carts were not equipped with their own toilets. But because the golf had to be delayed, don’t think the excitement ended. The drive over the Saddle Road, a winding thrill ride, was fantastic. After a stop at a sandwich shop to cleanse my colon one more time, and to very smartly pilfer copious amounts of toilet paper, we headed over the mountain. As we passed through the military training area I felt an all too familiar rumbling in my loins and had to have my dear bride pull over the vehicle so that I could give a convoy of our nations finest a full view of me peeing out my butt. What a special family time as my wife and son got to watch me in all my glory defecate in the full presence of our military. I call it the Bite Me Salute.<br /><br />We did eventually make it home where I had the grand finale with peeing out my butt and projectile vomiting AT THE SAME TIME. What fun! And all the while tasting stale crab...like fine dining off the bottom of a bait tank.<br /><br />To show you my appreciation I was going to send you a turd in a box, but since I haven’t been able to make a turd for 4 days I can’t do that. Since I may be the only person around to be able to crap through a screen door, I will have to wait until my next visit to express my gratitude.<br /><br />Just a helpful suggestion... have the cook pay attention to the miserable shite he puts on the plate instead of trying to hit on the waitress.<br /><br />Until my next visit... Bon Apetit!.Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15775668384849078973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2217129192082354293.post-78174813203656536952011-11-15T09:49:00.000-08:002011-11-15T10:18:04.524-08:00Yo Ho, Yo Ho, a Gypsy's Life For Me<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAhBDdBemkm4UCcZ5dKcC0Fa0cTJLzqxwt7XfmHqwsJ2zg6lnzS7SZSbmK3VEMCliXXZZ4KBtdbPasdnXSiihQ56a_HMN7qK-l4YJgcSbUr_GZBEA6GX-ponmmj5_7f8927On2aj0rSts/s1600/tevita5.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAhBDdBemkm4UCcZ5dKcC0Fa0cTJLzqxwt7XfmHqwsJ2zg6lnzS7SZSbmK3VEMCliXXZZ4KBtdbPasdnXSiihQ56a_HMN7qK-l4YJgcSbUr_GZBEA6GX-ponmmj5_7f8927On2aj0rSts/s200/tevita5.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675285904869371826" /></a><br />Or maybe that's pirate's. Whatever it is, it's coming to a conclusion. Of sorts. Today our meager belongings in our 5 x 10 x 10 storage unit are being reboxed, rewrapped, insured, and prepared for their ocean voyage to the port of Hilo, Hawaii. The game plan at this point (and bits of my life have been all about the best laid plans going astray), is for our things to arrive within the same time frame as we do, which is January 15th. We have booked our 1-way tickets, and that was a bit strange, and we have booked our car a spot on the Jean Anne leaving San Diego January 11th, scheduled to arrive in Hilo on January 18th. <br /><br />Our final pit stop in this gypsy journey has been Nevada City. It's really a nice little town. The folks are friendly, the trees in their fall plumage are beautiful, and the place we are in is lovely. Too bad we bought the line in the flyer about being walking distance to town. That has stuck in our craws, but que sera, sera. It's only for 6 more weeks. And it is a bit cold (my feet are not happy). Then off we go to Mountain View, just south of Hilo, a place I can leave cans in the cupboards, bandaids in the bathroom, shoes in the closet, and where my feet can finally get warm. We are hoping that Mountain View will be a place we can settle in and call home. As settled as we can get before heading back to chilly Dornoch in April. I am keeping that bit of news from my feet at the moment.Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15775668384849078973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2217129192082354293.post-74978247456043778612011-10-22T20:54:00.000-07:002011-10-22T21:00:24.776-07:00Tales from the Golden State and Rants From the Land of the Perpetually Annoyed Driver<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRpJ30yuV2uZD2LPAsSd7pGnL3Cg1sWfZR3PIVkg7vciwiujVeMKCek_-l7jlSS3A3XjN3TwFNpytPREYpaRXauUpd2uhT2Cb_eqF-sFCh9SbbzybxV2M-9fYzLg2qWIQxayTTGDj-uqs/s1600/4896a3.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 148px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRpJ30yuV2uZD2LPAsSd7pGnL3Cg1sWfZR3PIVkg7vciwiujVeMKCek_-l7jlSS3A3XjN3TwFNpytPREYpaRXauUpd2uhT2Cb_eqF-sFCh9SbbzybxV2M-9fYzLg2qWIQxayTTGDj-uqs/s200/4896a3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666532369806892658" /></a><br />We are now cloistered in our abode for the next 3 months. It is quite pleasant, a one bedroom flat on 2 acres surrounded by Ponderosa Pines and Valley Live Oaks. We have a nice covered patio that now is serving as our primary living space, but I am sure that will change with the weather. Speaking of weather, the forecast since we arrived was for sun and more sun. The 7-day outlook has not shown a cloud in the sky. Daytime temperatures are in the mid to high 70’s with the lows dropping into the 50’s. In a word, it is perfect.<br /> <br />Nevada City, California, is located in the Sierra foothills about an hour northeast of Sacramento. Nevada City is a small town straight out of the 1850’s with a major detour through 1969. The town, nestled into a steep hillside, is made up of wooden clapboard buildings with broad sidewalks and streets better suited to walking than driving. It does not take much imagination to see gold miners, gun slingers and dance hall girls walking the streets. But then you are jolted back to another time with the aromas of patchouli oil, sandalwood incense and marijuana filling the air. The shops, which once housed dry goods merchants, general stores and assay offices, are now filled with holistic healing salons, aromatherapy, coffee bars and wine tasting salons. The miners’ dusty Levis have been replaced by hippies in dusty Levis and tie dye shirts which advertise the latest cause like “Angry Lesbians for Unisex Urinals” or “I Don’t Eat Anything with a Face.” Restaurants which advertised “Good Grub Cheap” now hang their hats on “Heirloom Tomatoes with Arugula, Goat Cheese and a Splash of Balsamic” or “Vegan Burritos”. Not that there is anything wrong with that. There are plenty of saloons, bars and dance halls remaining, which on a Saturday night, soon, I hope to do some recon work. The Mine Shaft looked promising with its old swinging saloon doors, but I was jolted back to the here and now with the advertising for cheap beer during football games. Signs of the times. Oh well. I had always wanted to be a good hippie, I guess just an old hippie will have to do.<br /> <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJrA5V1mvaSrVv2z4n7IXRH9Pg4rk1P6-E8v3JK9bTHj62oqHRK8DdvdJ4smpvvifB4OFsuSbgCeg8sU0q8vZdJj3Q7ulpaA0g75PhWhg_Z5UjOjQXGYWcwQOT0s6n-ZHovjwkYOn0_Lc/s1600/annoying-drivers.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 120px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJrA5V1mvaSrVv2z4n7IXRH9Pg4rk1P6-E8v3JK9bTHj62oqHRK8DdvdJ4smpvvifB4OFsuSbgCeg8sU0q8vZdJj3Q7ulpaA0g75PhWhg_Z5UjOjQXGYWcwQOT0s6n-ZHovjwkYOn0_Lc/s200/annoying-drivers.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666531583019823970" /></a><br />I was driving one morning in the OC. Sorry, that is my ADHD kicking in. I am finished with the previous topic for now and on to something else. I may or may not return to the previous topic when I am finished ranting on the next thought that passes through my skull. Well, I was driving early one morning in the OC. I was actually leaving my father’s house in the retirement village of Laguna Woods. It was early, with very few cars on the road. I had just backed out of the covered parking stall when a car rolls up behind me and proceeds to tailgate me to the next stop sign and then was right on my tail for the 500 yards to the next traffic signal, which was the exit from Del Boca Vista Retirement Estate Phase 5. The driver behind me then throws up his arms and makes a Jackie Stewart type move into the next lane to be one car in front at the signal. The light turned green and he jumps on it only to be stopped by another traffic signal a mile down the road, still one car in front of me. I am so sorry that I happened to want to use the road at the same time as this poor old chap. If I knew he was going to wake up in such a state of annoyance I would have stayed at home and not dared to have crossed his path. I certainly meant no harm by being on the same road as him at the same time, but I was and had to suffer the waving arms and nasty glares of the Perpetually Annoyed. You know what....Honey Badger don’t give a shit. Funny thing, Mr. Annoyed got stuck behind some trucks on the Interstate and I gave him the peace sign as I cruised past. That made Honey Badger smile.<br /> <br />I have been golfing twice since returning from the Highlands. I finally got my new clubs and was anxious to try them. I found a special deal at a local course and went down to try some American golf. As I drove up, the bag boy loaded my clubs onto the buggy, no walking here, sir. He directed me to the golf shop where I received my leather bag of range balls, not complimentary, and met Bob and Dave, my playing companions. Now, Bob and Dave were nice guys, but the golf was so different than what I have come to know and love. The round was just shy of 5 hours, including a stop at 9 so Bob and Dave could get a hot dog, and probably some more balls. This riding business, and that is what it is, business, is for the birds. It should not be called golf, maybe cart ball is a better term. At least the cart gives you a place to store your hot dog. The second round was up in the mountains at a course where a friend of mine is the Director of Golf, so the price was right. Again, buggy golf. Are there no walking courses? Again, just short of 5 hours. At Dornoch we would have played 18 and been on our third round in the bar.Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15775668384849078973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2217129192082354293.post-57181361500357550552011-09-25T14:25:00.001-07:002011-09-25T14:49:30.264-07:00Brig O'Doon<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvztfY-Qw-PIWZzQdfdCBwJK7GNnD76bEYqrQylQZjYEpSuj0p7O0RZeyxG5z9X1cp25YFCaikccWmlPCyf4bHgXTG7QDgT6-pLbsdhCre0ShqZL0CXn8gCiGVJZtDYU-COI-VNQwoz-Y/s1600/brigodoon.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvztfY-Qw-PIWZzQdfdCBwJK7GNnD76bEYqrQylQZjYEpSuj0p7O0RZeyxG5z9X1cp25YFCaikccWmlPCyf4bHgXTG7QDgT6-pLbsdhCre0ShqZL0CXn8gCiGVJZtDYU-COI-VNQwoz-Y/s200/brigodoon.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656412426661155778" /></a><br />We are leaving soon. My breath catches every time I think of it. Partly because I really don't like flying, but more because I don't want to leave. Dornoch for me is more than a place, it's a state of mind. The folks here are like folks anywhere, they've got lives and problems and worries, joy and sadness, love and heartbreak. But for me, it's like that sappy movie from the 50s, a place that magically appears and gathers me in, feeds my soul, warms my heart (though not my feet, the poor wee ice blocks). Heaven knows I don't like the cold, and I'd not last a winter here in the dark and the cold and the snow. But it's my own Brig O'Doon, an enchanted place that I return to, a constant in a world of change. With luck I will take a bit of the magic of Dornoch with me and keep the serenity that comes with it until we come back. <br /><br />Cue the sappy movie music.Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15775668384849078973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2217129192082354293.post-12215267112842725032011-09-02T05:00:00.001-07:002011-09-02T05:41:22.214-07:00Adventures in Cultery<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjherQb7MzzT0jDVOKC1GxuRFzMbSDKXx1kyD6nkZIeCZR1hDpdxi2UwBGw3ZmkvQp8Z9I41md_p5inMgu8JQsHyi-jGyybtqd9xCzybCOV2wkSybco-A689uViPd92ULO1WwPe6NLwuIo/s1600/cutlery-sets.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjherQb7MzzT0jDVOKC1GxuRFzMbSDKXx1kyD6nkZIeCZR1hDpdxi2UwBGw3ZmkvQp8Z9I41md_p5inMgu8JQsHyi-jGyybtqd9xCzybCOV2wkSybco-A689uViPd92ULO1WwPe6NLwuIo/s200/cutlery-sets.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647735567443638626" /></a>
<br />While we make many efforts to blend in here in Dornoch, there are a plethora of things that mark us as not being local folks. Partly just our appearance, we are tall, wear tennies a lot, our clothes are a bit different, and once we open our mouths there's no question. But even if we dressed the part and never spoke, our use of cutlery would give us away at the first bite.
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<br />When you sit down in a restaurant, there are various utensils at your spot. Sometimes wrapped in paper napkins, sometimes laid out in a manner that would have my Grandmother Fisk clucking in approval. Once you order, there is a very efficient whisking away of utensils that will likely not be used with what you ordered, soon to be replaced with what you likely will use with your meal. Given that I don't know what to use with what, and my little mouth makes me not use soup spoons at all if I've a choice, this can be somewhat disconcerting. The only thing I remember learning about cutlery is knife and spoon on the right, fork on the left. The rest was a mystery (said Grandmother can be noted rolling in her grave, she tried so hard to teach me manners). There are wee spoons for tea, spoons that I call teaspoons for whatever, soup spoons, dessert spoons, several varieties of forks, and knives of many different shapes and sizes, all coming and going with great efficiency during the course of a meal. And who knew that the cutting edge of the knife is to face inward?
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<br />Then there is the fish knife. The fish knife looks very much like a large butter knife. Despite the fact that there was a butter knife on the butter plate (don't even get me started on the glasses and dishes), both Stan and I proceeded to butter our bread with this giant butter knife and poke at our fish with our forks to remove the bones. At least this took place in the home of a friend and we weren't in public.
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<br />But it's our actual use of forks and knives that is the giveaway. We tend to cut with our knife, set knife aside, switch hands with the fork, and use the fork to eat. Here they are far more efficient, and it's almost an Edward Scissorhands use of utensils. No changing of hands, the knife becomes something entirely different, almost a spoonfork combo, and the bothersome changing of hands never occurs. It's a blur of effiency, something I've watched 2 year olds perform with ease. I've tried it, but I end up shooting food in odd directions and putting clothing and tablecloths in great danger. None of the smooth, utensils as extensions of hands for me.
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<br />Tonight we've been invited for fondue. Oh dear . . .Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15775668384849078973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2217129192082354293.post-73400482147526272822011-08-31T10:22:00.000-07:002011-09-01T05:45:22.121-07:00OK, I admit it<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy-9QrIjeOfV3KCfUYQ84Jqget5S9fxqY763wb_wGuchgp_Uw4x7G0P6wh89vgtOYIEDzOnDo4NOdnY97zkMAVNkrXEz4sMWKMxAViw_FkPYfO0miWnHkHEd1YKMN3Invpw7NMu7g5USc/s1600/crocus.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy-9QrIjeOfV3KCfUYQ84Jqget5S9fxqY763wb_wGuchgp_Uw4x7G0P6wh89vgtOYIEDzOnDo4NOdnY97zkMAVNkrXEz4sMWKMxAViw_FkPYfO0miWnHkHEd1YKMN3Invpw7NMu7g5USc/s200/crocus.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647072648462994402" /></a>
<br />I'm cold. I'm cold. I'm cold. My feet are always cold. Of course, my feet have always been cold pretty much wherever I have lived, but these are some very cold feet. I've never had that good core-warming summer that my inner time clock expects in July and August. Of course, I had it in December and January, so likely my internal thermostat is wigging out on me, as the rest of my innards tend to do from time to time. I think the crocuses that have just come up in the garden are feeling the same way, though. No sooner do they poke their heads up than they start to droop, never really fully bloom. It's cold. It's cold. It's cold.
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<br />I have the right clothes. And would probably stay warm if I would just wear them. But somehow putting on a silk thermal layer in August just seems so wrong. And silk-lined, 2-layer wool socks don't even bear thinking about in August. It's a mental problem rather than a temperature problem. Though I did not have any urge to put on wool socks in Hawaii in December, so there may be a glitch in my logic. Fancy that.
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<br />That said, the end of our time here is approaching and while I feel my thought processes shifting time zones, the rest of me is loathe to leave this sweet little corner of the world and re-enter reality, despite my cold feet. Our 180 days is almost up, time to start packing up for our next stop, though I'll be leaving the silk long johns here for future use next August. I'll figure it out eventually.Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15775668384849078973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2217129192082354293.post-3290403978684542962011-08-08T01:52:00.000-07:002011-08-08T10:15:03.245-07:00Whoosh<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjeStEOhkAgCUa5cfl1CWBdN8Z9wrjvuv4ZSGymNw6b3XeR4A-Hidx1SBGr8gs0fyztbj4mzfUsX61EXtaKkKmmFuaqJiHqDyzy-yU1tJ_dG7zqb1fxzm2si0xSuqBVJ5oYOr5wXWJFwE/s1600/tree.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjeStEOhkAgCUa5cfl1CWBdN8Z9wrjvuv4ZSGymNw6b3XeR4A-Hidx1SBGr8gs0fyztbj4mzfUsX61EXtaKkKmmFuaqJiHqDyzy-yU1tJ_dG7zqb1fxzm2si0xSuqBVJ5oYOr5wXWJFwE/s200/tree.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638533291516843746" /></a>
<br />That is the sound of summer in the Highlands. It goes that fast. If you blink, you just might miss it. There have been flashes of brilliance, blue sky, puffy clouds, possibly even 70 degrees. A temperature that has the locals out in shorts, flip flops, and short sleeves and children swimming in the North Sea. Though I am usually still in long sleeves and my wool blend socks. And if you are lucky, you might get two days of that in a row. This, of course, will be followed by rain and/or wind. And partially to blame for the rapid return of wet weather will have been me having decided to hang laundry on the line. There is a big golf tournament here this week and I think I should do the whole bunch of them a favor and do no laundry this week at all. Works for me. :-)
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<br />But here it is only the first week in August, and one of the trees in the backyard is starting to turn. We walked home in near dark from a party night before last, and it was only 10:15!! The baby seagulls are almost done screeching outside my window. And our friendly blackbirds have moved on. The ferns are starting to turn orange as well. But the hardest thing to swallow about the summer drawing to an end is that the train tickets for our date of departure came available and arrived in the mail last week. It's a much better deal to buy them in advance, so I did, but I immediately stuck them in a drawer so I can ignore them for a bit longer, though the tree in the backyard is a bit harder to ignore.
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<br />No melancholy this time, though. We're set for next year, all things working out, will spend 3 months close to the kids, then on to Hawaii, and then back here. Home again, home again. Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15775668384849078973noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2217129192082354293.post-13266725929514769202011-06-27T09:16:00.000-07:002011-06-27T09:20:48.018-07:00Serendipity<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw8N9bW-7ewFX4SwCUxOqJa2AFLaLt4BehF0Bm7Rf0qrYTqfxpYguW7zJpXfGwt-9VLbD6ZjZYJwYMVXIh0jqNh4kfJZuxQzSY5wbaCoOfZS4wAF86ILNJ7ES1Pp6Hs3hgDolULvDiX2c/s1600/caddy.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw8N9bW-7ewFX4SwCUxOqJa2AFLaLt4BehF0Bm7Rf0qrYTqfxpYguW7zJpXfGwt-9VLbD6ZjZYJwYMVXIh0jqNh4kfJZuxQzSY5wbaCoOfZS4wAF86ILNJ7ES1Pp6Hs3hgDolULvDiX2c/s200/caddy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622934550831420002" /></a><br />I have been working as a caddy at Royal Dornoch. Not so much for the money, though that is nice, but it is good exercise, and a wonderful office and a way to meet some interesting people. Yesterday was a busy day for the caddies. We were told that there was a big group and we would be needed for a morning and afternoon round. I showed up at my appointed time and was randomly assigned two bags for a group of 20 Americans. Introductions were made and I was working for Jay and Paul. I asked the perfunctory where you are from question. Jay was from Florida and Paul was from Davis, California. The Davis that was the next city over from where we lived in Winters. Paul said he played his golf at El Macero Country Club. I told him I knew a member at El Macero, Kenny Yamauchi, who I played a lot of golf with when we lived there. His jaw dropped and he said that he knew Kenny very well and his son worked with Kenny and played golf with him all the time. Small World #1. When we got to the first green I noticed Paul’s bag had a Poppy Hills logo, which is where my son works. So I commented upon that. Paul asked me my son’s name. I said Darin Dodd and he works in Tournaments and Competitions. His jaw dropped again. He said he had just checked his e-mail that morning and had received an e-mail from Darin Dodd at the NCGA just that morning. Small World #2. We had a great fun round and when we finished I took his golf bag to load on the coach they were traveling in and Small World #3, the coach was run by the Golfing Dodds of Scotland.Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15775668384849078973noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2217129192082354293.post-57184899019572100172011-06-16T10:49:00.001-07:002011-06-16T11:11:52.043-07:00Old Folks at Home<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEjpZuBXVxR7mCj_fjLIQB6ZI1GPAEG97NHRaxQOmin8hZIu6LzIqNCYOh38JucM98tB7iUNXujdQCTbbOK0PCuDKr5Kfnno1tjbUqUyVDI8IVhA3L7bM8ksX3zV6-btdlj9s4QVscQbY/s1600/bir_004.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEjpZuBXVxR7mCj_fjLIQB6ZI1GPAEG97NHRaxQOmin8hZIu6LzIqNCYOh38JucM98tB7iUNXujdQCTbbOK0PCuDKr5Kfnno1tjbUqUyVDI8IVhA3L7bM8ksX3zV6-btdlj9s4QVscQbY/s200/bir_004.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618880226114232786" /></a><br />Things are very different this time around. Though we had been to Dornoch many times prior to last year's 6-month adventure, it was still new enough that it was like an extended vacation. Lots of new things, lots of pictures to take, lots of new experiences. This time, it was almost like coming home. There are still the cultural and mechanical things that I don't understand and still chuckle about. The dryers, or lack thereof. The washing machines with the tub about the size of a stew pot. No garbage disposals. Drying clothes on the line in a country where it rains all the time is such a mystery, but it's a homey thing to do, hanging laundry, and I've gotten rather fond of it. Especially since no one expects me to iron.<br /><br />Stan is in Golf Heaven, golfing and caddying. He's doing all the cooking, which has been the norm since he retired, bless his heart. I'm working my 40 hours a week, joined an exercise class, enjoy the indoor bowls on Monday afternoon. I have a scone at elevensies every day, warmed with butter and jam, and a cup of tea. We've bird feeders in the yard that bring us great joy, when we aren't cursing the damn jackdaws. I'm buying yet another feeder that is "jackdaw proof." Stay tuned. We've got our blackbird that begs raisins off us at the sliding window, takes them out of our hand now. I've a garden to putter around in. We sit in the evening like we do no matter where we are, him doing his crossword, me doing some kind of needlework, in our companionable evening quiet time, savoring this odd life we have carved out for ourselves. I have so many times been whacked upside the head by the gods for commenting on my good fortune that I am hesitant to do so, so I will stop here before tempting fate any further. Suffice it to say contentment is the word of the day.Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15775668384849078973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2217129192082354293.post-75832003128269886882011-06-15T04:17:00.001-07:002011-06-16T10:49:01.628-07:00Gardening in a Different Land<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGQRFhsdy9DYMz2yPyEX5XnLExy3J8CixMZ-9cjOTC0gNjp8wgAjXXNPeRLj01eRg3vvc39GmL9Wp_pxGfAHTkp21bNvB4iJ6vjs6aOSnydCuBCfwef0YVlTkAPixE75lHL_DS-p-P8-0/s1600/garden+004.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 106px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGQRFhsdy9DYMz2yPyEX5XnLExy3J8CixMZ-9cjOTC0gNjp8wgAjXXNPeRLj01eRg3vvc39GmL9Wp_pxGfAHTkp21bNvB4iJ6vjs6aOSnydCuBCfwef0YVlTkAPixE75lHL_DS-p-P8-0/s200/garden+004.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618425484241034770" /></a><br />I am no gardener. Given good dirt, I can grow things. But I don't fuss, add bone meal, fish oil, adjust the pH or whatever real gardeners do. If it grows with a bit of neglect, that's always worked for me. Benign neglect, I think it's called. So, we clean out the backyard, with many glances at the very well manicured, lovely British garden next door, buy some flowers, put them in the ground, add water (easily done), and sun (not so easily done), and see what happens.<br /><br />Apparently, here benign neglect gets you lots of trouble. Neglect the midgie threat at your own peril. Eight bites on my face that erupted with great gusto. I looked like I had chicken pox. Probably in the 18th century I'd have been thrown overboard for the pox. Crusted, oozing things. In the healing process they resembled acne scars. On a 54-year-old wrinkly face. Not a good look. I think I frightened the mail lady and I know our neighbor next door was wondering how close she should get to me. Avon Skin So Soft and hydrocortisone cream are now staples in my garden kit.<br /><br />There were some interesting plants, some vaguely familiar, some completely new to my brain cells. So, let's let them grow and see what happens!! Last weekend several of my more happy flowers were suddenly lasso'd and dragged to the ground by one of the let's see what happens plants. Goose grass, as near as I can tell. Sticky thing that trails in and around, sticks to stems and drags things to the ground, apparently trying to suffocate them. Then there's the lovely pink-stemmed plant that grows on the mossy wall, quite dainty and lovely, until I discovered it ranging all over the back yard where I hang laundry and venturing into places it had no business growing. When did these things happen? The only saving grace for the last one, which I think is some kind of weedy geranium, is that the bullfinch likes something in it, so a wee bit of it is left on the garden wall. Another plant that benefitted from my daft gardening ideas was a nettle. We've a lovely 3 x 4 foot stinging nettle bush out there just daring us to try to remove it.<br /><br />There are, however, the volunteer foxgloves and all variety of flowers that have popped up. Some of them weeds, no doubt. But one girl's weed is another luntatic's flower.Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15775668384849078973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2217129192082354293.post-78979214679633256492011-06-06T05:30:00.000-07:002011-06-06T05:42:01.668-07:00Ghost of #3 Church Street<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdZRvbH6XBKWX2LgK917m7XBUFW5ToSqKNH8UuQAzPA1bMFbjkwybQhJt4cQ3ZSS1lIPZe5pHmSHQe2JKTDc3sTYWYBVbgy2Wl94EbWK-_BHD0I31AZP-MlbdBD6jRkDcL9sk65bLpVak/s1600/ecco-golf-ecco-classic-gtx-golf-shoe-black.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdZRvbH6XBKWX2LgK917m7XBUFW5ToSqKNH8UuQAzPA1bMFbjkwybQhJt4cQ3ZSS1lIPZe5pHmSHQe2JKTDc3sTYWYBVbgy2Wl94EbWK-_BHD0I31AZP-MlbdBD6jRkDcL9sk65bLpVak/s200/ecco-golf-ecco-classic-gtx-golf-shoe-black.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615085753363482626" /></a><br />I am not a huge believer in the paranormal, but I cannot say I am a nonbeliever after some recent events...<br /><br />Last year I bought a new pair of Ecco Golf shoes and only wore them a few times before we left Scotland. I left them here so that I would have a nice new pair of shoes upon our return. When we arrived this year they were with our other stored items. I played with them for a few weeks and all was well. Then I must have misplaced them as they were gone. I asked everybody I rode to golf courses with if I had left them in their cars. No luck. I asked up at the clubhouse if they were in the lost and found. No luck. I asked if I could look for myself in the lost property room. Not there. Julie and I turned over the house looking under beds, sofas, and chairs. No joy. I asked the golf pro if anybody had phoned about picking up shoes by mistake. Nothing. I then turned over the house again, top to bottom. No shoes. I resigned myself to the fact that I had lost a pair of $150 golf shoes. A week to 10 days passed and no shoes. Then I was locking the front door before bed one evening and there sitting on the arm of the sofa in plain view in a spot I had walked by 5 or 6 times a day for more than a week and not 10 feet from where Julie works for 8 hours a day were my pair of Ecco golf shoes. I woke Julie and asked if she had found my shoes. No luck. She had not seen them. But there they were and the eerie thing is . . they had been polished by the Ghost of #3 Church Street.Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15775668384849078973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2217129192082354293.post-49376834728046083182011-05-01T13:05:00.000-07:002011-05-01T13:09:06.649-07:00The Golf God Is Cruel And Sadistic ...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtpao5FBOpuQLZmwOPYHzxrH7KoYlE_zk-b3ukeONsrG0LJxUaoq7IpguWd6Qys-FdSkmdjaGdP5lg3_h22Sl7Ulu1iig4j52Jgm8t1PNyKI2W237zHzs6XYIG9noTGqJoa_yT4XjW8oA/s1600/bunker.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 83px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtpao5FBOpuQLZmwOPYHzxrH7KoYlE_zk-b3ukeONsrG0LJxUaoq7IpguWd6Qys-FdSkmdjaGdP5lg3_h22Sl7Ulu1iig4j52Jgm8t1PNyKI2W237zHzs6XYIG9noTGqJoa_yT4XjW8oA/s200/bunker.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5601841753701741170" /></a><br />But At Least He Has A Sense Of Humor<br /><br />Yesterday I strolled up to the clubhouse to see how some friends were doing in the first big competition of the year, The Burghfield Cup. I met my friends Ian, Ian, and Martin, and had a pint or 2 or 3 (oh, and a dram as there were 2 aces in the tourney) with them as they recapped their round. They had played well and were in the running for some prizes. The format called for the best two scores of 3-man teams. So it did not matter if one player had a bad round as long as the other two played well. It came to light that Ian had a disaster on the ninth hole, taking 11 shots. With the beer doing part of the talking for me, I gave Ian a hard time. “How can you make 11 on #9? It’s downwind and the easiest hole on the course,” I chided. We all had a good laugh at Ian’s expense.<br /><br />Flash forward to today’s round. I was off in the 2nd group. I was playing so-so into a stiff breeze and was looking forward to the turn at the 9th for some downwind holes. After 2 fair shots I had left 90 yards to the green. An easy wedge...which I promptly dumped into the front right bunker. After 3 whacks trying to get out towards the hole, I pitched out backwards only to have it roll right back into my own footprint. At this time my playing partner uttered my least favorite Scottish golf term, “Unlucky.” Debating on whether to wrap my sand wedge around his neck or continue to play, I gave it a mighty rip and watched it scuttle 40 yards back down the fairway. After raking every square inch of the bunker, I took the walk of shame back down the fairway to my ball. I then chipped on and 2-putted for a, let me count...yes, a freaking 11. I cracked up. The Golf God bitch-slapped me. I played on with a wry smile on my face and as I was playing 14, who was coming down the 3rd...Ian, Ian, and Martin. I shouted across the fairway “Ian, I am sorry for my comments yesterday...I just took 11 on the 9th.” As I played on I could hear them chuckling.<br /><br />Instant Karma.Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15775668384849078973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2217129192082354293.post-58061213348490192692011-04-25T01:35:00.000-07:002011-04-25T01:40:46.669-07:00The OC, Final Thoughts<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWCLTm4UWpb0sROTJ7YDfNA6amIYsJNvRbxKcc8QiUqbwQtzlU4SE775GomQoUBF7m42XiKlX-BjviGuf8X59TGPdObIuN7hQKUWzL4gl3U4hAxMVpinuv8FpiDgmSqOBtiMVUcrWHHqU/s1600/exphead.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 152px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWCLTm4UWpb0sROTJ7YDfNA6amIYsJNvRbxKcc8QiUqbwQtzlU4SE775GomQoUBF7m42XiKlX-BjviGuf8X59TGPdObIuN7hQKUWzL4gl3U4hAxMVpinuv8FpiDgmSqOBtiMVUcrWHHqU/s200/exphead.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599437329147229426" /></a><br />We are cozily nestled in our cottage in the Highlands, but I did want to wrap up some final thoughts on life in the OC. Southern Orange County was a great place to grow up …in the 1960s, but as with everything it has changed significantly both physically and in attitude. The physical changes are quite disturbing. Eight lanes of freeway in each direction, mini malls and mega malls seemingly on every other corner, and people, people everywhere. Did you know that there is not one producing orange grove in Orange County? The namesake of the county was sold out for a plethora of big box stores, fast food restaurants, and houses made of ticky tacky. Progress? Though the wall-to-wall people and bulldozed hillsides that now grow condos are alarming, what is far more disturbing is the attitude. A couple of cases in point.<br /><br />The total lack of environmental consciousness. Preserving open space is a code word for land that is not economically viable to build upon. We will preserve this swath of land between our housing developments until we can find a way to build another BestBuyCostcoOldNavyChilisJackintheBox.<br /><br />The sense of entitlement is distasteful. I am entitled to drive an earth-hating, 4-wheel drive SUV because I can. And if you have a Range Rover, then I am entitled to an Escalade that is just a bit bigger. And if I get an Escalade, then you must have a Hummer. I am also entitled to obey the laws I choose and to ignore others if they don’t suit me. The City of San Clement has built a wonderful walking path that runs along the beach for the entire length of the city. It is quite well used and is generally quite pleasant, but I am entitled to walk my dogs and have them urinate and defecate everywhere and I am entitled to not clean up after my animal if I so choose, even though the city provides cleanup materials, free of charge. I am also entitled to take as many of these crap bags as I want because they are free. To heck with the common good, this is about me. While driving I am entitled to use my turn signals only if I choose to, but if my car is larger or more expensive than yours it is not required. I am entitled to drive like an ass if I want and even more so if I have a Rick Warren Onward Christian Soldiers poor, poor, persecuted me bumper sticker on my Escalade. While waiting to make a left turn with 5 other vehicles, an Escalade with a Rick Warren Onward Christian Soldier, I am better than you bumper sticker passes all of us on the right, moves to the head of the line, cuts in front and makes a left turn. It is alright because I am going to Rick Warren’s Easter at the Bren and I will be forgiven for being an asshole.<br /><br />But the winner in the I am entitled and better than you sweepstakes occurred on the residential streets of San Clemente. While pulled to the side of the road to make a phone call, I witnessed a woman in a wheelchair on her way shopping. She was using the street, as there were no sidewalks on that street. She had the audacity to be in the road when the driver of yet another earth-hating vehicle was using the same road. So, instead of letting the woman in the wheelchair pass by, he honked his horn and waved his arms (he was not saying hello) because this wheelchair-bound woman had the gall to use a street at the same time as him. Evidently people in wheelchairs are less entitled.<br /><br />I think we would all be better off if I don’t return to the OC.Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15775668384849078973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2217129192082354293.post-26503376590208563142011-04-23T07:25:00.000-07:002011-04-23T10:55:53.511-07:00Dornoch in April<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_xHrEnAAZDYMh9iLL4n5F251TOifzDM9BiZetGKg9T2_JxkMJMrBOtR3x9rvjzcLci3srvtqOCzG6Op2lG1PqmnxdC6L3k2V2kBSYLhpV_1ZymCA2MvEQpGxH3bcjQb7LF9zQsFez66I/s1600/wintertulip.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_xHrEnAAZDYMh9iLL4n5F251TOifzDM9BiZetGKg9T2_JxkMJMrBOtR3x9rvjzcLci3srvtqOCzG6Op2lG1PqmnxdC6L3k2V2kBSYLhpV_1ZymCA2MvEQpGxH3bcjQb7LF9zQsFez66I/s200/wintertulip.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598838976346567266" /></a><br />Is darn cold! I had forgotten about that. Or maybe the time in Hawaii thinned my blood. I know I lost a layer of blubber while we were there. It's not snow, and it's really only rained once. It's just cold enough, low 50s, that I don't layer enough to be comfie when I go out. The learning curve begins again.<br /><br />But we are here. The hillsides are green, the trees are blooming or budding. The daffodils and tulips are everywhere. There are lots baby sheep, but still lots of sheep moms so fat and furry they look like hay bales from a distance. Or without my glasses. The gorse is starting to bloom and the yellow fields of canola oil flowers are getting going. They will be almost electric yellow in a few weeks.<br /><br />Stan took the car back to today, so we are carless in the highlands again. We made a couple of market runs, he took his bike in for a tune up in Inverness, and we picked up my bike from some nice folks in town that lent it to me last year, though I was so thoroughly jet lagged we put it in the back of the car and drove it home rather than me ride the mile in the wind. I was so tired I thought I might get blown over.<br /><br />The drive to get the bike took us on the road where I actually do ride the bike, a single track road of about 3 miles or so, dotted with a few houses but mostly fields of sheep or grass. We had to pull out (or the other car did) in the passing area for 3 cars and I commented on the traffic. Snort. After the 8-lane freeway madness of Orange County, I thought 3 cars meeting on the single track road at 5:30 in the evening was traffic.Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15775668384849078973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2217129192082354293.post-48558755407177783352011-04-14T11:14:00.000-07:002011-04-14T11:23:18.955-07:00All I can say is ...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQpgZo6cHDsITn3dby3ZsrJ_TYL7usFvNeumGJ4YrOrbulmxd3Uw_OBSoUNP8hHca118dL4pkRgOt1mOhUAR7v5ZoM7SvXn67063Uukltj9N4jgekS7w5OAqnvFsQ02cmmdO0ukZgYav0/s1600/tree+of+life.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQpgZo6cHDsITn3dby3ZsrJ_TYL7usFvNeumGJ4YrOrbulmxd3Uw_OBSoUNP8hHca118dL4pkRgOt1mOhUAR7v5ZoM7SvXn67063Uukltj9N4jgekS7w5OAqnvFsQ02cmmdO0ukZgYav0/s200/tree+of+life.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595505809406604370" /></a><br />Yay!!!!! The 18th of April is almost here! We are off, heading for home. Or at least it feels that way. After our first trip in 1998, all subsequent trips to Scotland have been accompanied by a feeling of coming home, for whatever odd reason. Genetic memory, ancestral memory, or I'm just crazy. Whatever it is, I've got it. And I'm going home. I had fully expected this sensation to decrease somewhat over time with the number of visits we've made, but it has only increased. It's in my bones, Scotland is, and I'm going home. <br /><br />Cheers!Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15775668384849078973noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2217129192082354293.post-67381245114254426552011-03-16T11:13:00.000-07:002011-03-17T13:07:12.100-07:00Inquiring minds . . .<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxDl5ox7weKS9XlIDEhWrBdC8zw-M-9uw-C9dfUl4e7WHAsPoHLrpMTN_DOdyErPSXjoH1l19Gy8BBfmnpJxmJcsSRzZ9uQuYbnCLNs45Bwb6SE_Gl9DaqWPDqsReffk4ZJ_MCNXQZgE/s1600/cheshire_cat.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584744936842078050" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxDl5ox7weKS9XlIDEhWrBdC8zw-M-9uw-C9dfUl4e7WHAsPoHLrpMTN_DOdyErPSXjoH1l19Gy8BBfmnpJxmJcsSRzZ9uQuYbnCLNs45Bwb6SE_Gl9DaqWPDqsReffk4ZJ_MCNXQZgE/s200/cheshire_cat.jpg" /></a> <div>People keep asking us why we don't just stay in Orange County. After all, we have family here, we have our doctors and dentist here, and we do keep coming back. It's pretty simple, to us anyway. We can't, and we don't have to, so we aren't going to.<br /><br />We can't. We have found that we don't like it here anymore. Stan moreso than I knew the charms of this area before it became home to more people than I can count, eight lane freeways, and too much of everything. For us, there's no going back to how it used to be. San Clemente itself still has a bit of the old charm left, but when you leave San Clemente, you get into the OC and we just can't go there.<br /><br />We don't have to. We have worked hard, and lost a lot, to get to the point where we can decide where we want to live, someplace that nurtures the soul rather than saps it. We have never lived in large populations. The desert, Winters, Pacific Grove, all had small town life going for them, some more than others, some with charm, some definitely not. So why would we, at our ripe old ages, suddenly live in a town of 61,000 people surrounded by freeways and malls?<br /><br />So, we aren't going to. If it wasn't Hawaii, it would have been someplace in Oregon, maybe Arizona, but not in Southern California. So when golf buddies, book group ladies, friends and family can't understand why we don't just stay here, I listen quietly, smile my inner Cheshire cat smile, and hope that they can eventually understand why we aren't going to.</div>Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15775668384849078973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2217129192082354293.post-89022958838720443552011-03-12T09:14:00.001-08:002011-03-12T09:59:34.359-08:00The Learning Curve<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj98SoFEwe-ploIJgI7cC3vAjB0nlRcljUdu0vjCBveXq1JBWbtzJ6MsZ4xUZflYAgdUothKM4QKVmC_AIn7Uo33Zvdj528zgxtEfagFi5tkbb_0c8l-OAK8y7zu_FPGpJEDR2_7c-VD2A/s1600/woman-screaming.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 198px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583248822998681106" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj98SoFEwe-ploIJgI7cC3vAjB0nlRcljUdu0vjCBveXq1JBWbtzJ6MsZ4xUZflYAgdUothKM4QKVmC_AIn7Uo33Zvdj528zgxtEfagFi5tkbb_0c8l-OAK8y7zu_FPGpJEDR2_7c-VD2A/s200/woman-screaming.jpg" /></a><br /><div>Lest anyone think there is no peril in the lifestyle we are leading, let me tell you about our latest adventure. We made a relatively late change in plans and decided to spend the interim between Hawaii and Scotland in San Clemente, near family and friends. We scoured our favorite vacation rental site, finding very few places available due to our late timing, but did find a place, saw photos of the inside and out, and thought it would be fine, but possibly a little big for our needs. The property manager said she had a sublet in the same building that was a one bedroom that was just as nice as the rental in the pictures. Seemed a good idea, so we gave a deposit and booked it for 2 months.<br /><br />Sight unseen, we arrived at our new "home" in the late hours of a Monday night, after climbing the 52 steps to the front door. We let ourselves in and . . . . Oh dear.</div><br /><div></div><div>First we noticed the booze bottles, bag of potatoes, unopened cheese and cream cheese in the fridge, sodas and fruit, snack foods, and a fully stocked spice cupboard. There was even an individually wrapped corndog in the freezer. And a hamburger patty. =:-O We started wondering if someone was going to come home and find us in their apartment. Turns out with a sublet you are the beneficiary of what the previous person decided to leave behind. The trash can (singular) was empty, thank goodness. </div><br /><div></div><div>We soon started feeling less and less like someone was going to come waltzing in on us and more and more like what the hell have we done? The bed, thank goodness, is comfortable, but is so low to the ground it's like doing deep knee bends to get out of the thing. Ditto for the couch. And there is no fitted sheet. There is no table in the kitchen to eat at. There are two towels. Two. There is no vacuum, no broom. There was (key word here is was) mold in the bathroom. The shower curtain was worse than useless. The TV stopped working after our third week here. We had a hail storm one night and, I kid you not, hail bounced into the living room under the gap in the front door, followed by windblown rain soon thereafter. Many of these things have been remedied by the property manager or ourselves, but the basic nuts and bolts of the place cannot be changed. It's tiny. It's uncomfortable. And there are 52 stairs to get up here from the street. We are in a friggin' crow's nest.</div><br /><div></div><div>The bright points are the view. There is an awesome ocean view from the living room and kitchen. And the view. There is an awesome ocean view from the living room. Did I mention the view? </div><br /><div></div><div>The true bright points are I am spending time with my mom and family and Stan is spending time with his family. The kids have both been down for a visit. That is priceless and was the reason for making the change in the first place. <br /><br />Needless to say, we are looking forward to leaving for Dornoch in 37 days. But who's counting?</div><div> </div>Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15775668384849078973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2217129192082354293.post-13252500003108100272011-03-08T07:00:00.000-08:002011-03-08T08:06:00.124-08:00Six weeks out<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQjdfblMdgr5bIjJOw_W8k_Mtsub0zTLeJFLJuLbe9LhVdVIZRQuo9rwiXTTW53Pdz2E6iLfnBQJNwpX8c4KKkserBbeBovexqT8sXFBLIuv-6KISMs4Ev2F2m8HfkDRzc7U8zjsNYiSM/s1600/wall.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581728564207463906" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQjdfblMdgr5bIjJOw_W8k_Mtsub0zTLeJFLJuLbe9LhVdVIZRQuo9rwiXTTW53Pdz2E6iLfnBQJNwpX8c4KKkserBbeBovexqT8sXFBLIuv-6KISMs4Ev2F2m8HfkDRzc7U8zjsNYiSM/s200/wall.jpg" /></a><br />Six weeks out from our return to Dornoch. It's so exciting to know we are going back. We've been in San Clemente for 3 weeks and while I am savoring my time with my family, Orange County still falls flat for me (both of us, thank goodness) as a permanent place to stay. We are in the process of getting tune ups, doctors, dentists, glasses, and then off we go. We left some things behind in Dornoch, but did not make a list of what they were and, seriously, who at this age can remember what you left in a laundry basket in someone's attic? We learned from both Dornoch and Hawaii that we don't need to pack as much as we do, so that's our goal this time, to each take one suitcase and have it not be over the weight limit, and hope that what we think we left in Dornoch we actually did.<br /><br />After Scotland, Hawaii looms large in our future. We've found a car shipping firm, need to find some not hugely expensive way to ship our remaining stuff over. A 5x10x10 storage unit is all there is, so hopefully that won't break the bank. While I rarely gave thought to my "stuff," and when I did it was only passing thoughts of wondering what box something might be in, the lure of unpacking it all in a little cottage in Hawaii has become an oddly comforting thought. And living where it's 80 degrees every day is even more comforting. Though I will gladly suffer the eternal chilly spring that is summer in Dornoch. That's where my heart is.<br /><br /><div></div><div>Cheers!</div>Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15775668384849078973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2217129192082354293.post-30403899308050741322011-02-10T21:43:00.000-08:002011-02-10T23:11:53.574-08:00Goodbye, Docent<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3SMKEEZCR2Zu3lELAGKRrLIc98eMkCkTXyiCnHK713jLIbAOX9IekZkE759MMG3ZFELnIH7nlTsJHnvC3AslnOGyKBQjX9txZlwG1_XHILoWFJtx9GCKX0mmpkY8xrMB8OJgL2e9Z6R0/s1600/docent%255B2%255D.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 158px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572305429838803106" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3SMKEEZCR2Zu3lELAGKRrLIc98eMkCkTXyiCnHK713jLIbAOX9IekZkE759MMG3ZFELnIH7nlTsJHnvC3AslnOGyKBQjX9txZlwG1_XHILoWFJtx9GCKX0mmpkY8xrMB8OJgL2e9Z6R0/s200/docent%255B2%255D.JPG" /></a>December 11, 2010 (I think)<br /><em>Chelonia Mydas </em>basking: Can’t see yet.<br /><br /><strong>Interesting Turtle Fact #4:</strong> When threatened by humans coming too close Green Sea Turtles will flee into deep water, only to return when the threat has subsided.<br /><br />The throbbing of my head is synchronized to the crashing of the waves. As I open my eyes there is an otherworldly peach aura about me. I then realize I have spent the night in Docent Headquarters. My throbbing head and parched mouth tell me that I was over served on Steinlagers, or it could have been the pakalolo.. I vaguely remember wifey making an appearance and telling me she had had enough and was returning to the mainland. She said she could no longer live with a cross between Don Quixote and Maxwell Smart. She said if I did return to normalcy I could come back. I tried to explain that I’m the docent and who would watch out for Chelonia Mydas. She said you are no freaking docent, you are just some crazy ass old retired guy with too much time on his hands and she’d had it. Then off she went and off I went back to dah boys and dah Steinlager. Some times you have to make sacrifices to pursue your purpose.<br /><br />Before starting my shift I needed to look somewhat professional. Perhaps a shower would remove the black sand stuck to my face and I probably should find my clothes that I seemed to have misplaced. I wrapped myself in one of the peach colored sheets that made up an interior wall of Docent Headquarters and headed off to the showers at the main parking lot.<br /><br />I felt much better after running some cold water on myself. The throbbing head was improving and I was just about ready to start greeting visitors when an official looking white sedan drove up and parked. The driver got out and walked up to my newly painted sign -<br /><strong>Turtle Tours Donation<br />$1 Per Person<br />Preferred Parking $5<br /><br /></strong>“Hello, brother. Do you know who put this illegal sign here?” the gentleman asked me.<br />Noting the menacing tone of voice I thought it best to fake ignorance. “No, sir. Is there a problem?”<br />“We had a report of someone shaking down tourists, and we would like to find him,” he replied.<br />“I’ll keep my eye out for him,” I said as I slowly made my way back towards Docent Headquarters.<br /><br />Just then a Hawaiian County Sheriff drives up with blue light flashing.. Most deputies drive their personal vehicles with a blue light thrown on the roof, reminiscent of a K-Mart Blue Light Special. The deputy gets out and also gives the sign the once over, in particular eyeing the STOP on the reverse side.<br />“Have you seen the guy who put this sign here?” he queried.<br />“I’m looking for him as well,” the gentleman responded.<br />“Me too, is there a problem?” I replied.<br />“Well, we had a truck hauling macadamia nuts roll through what was a 4-way stop in Pahala. It swerved to miss a car and dumped 10 tons of nuts in the middle of the street. The nuts are all over the road and are rolling downhill towards the highway. A haole lady driving a gray Ford Focus on her way to the airport said we might be able to find the nut responsible here.”<br />“I’ll keep an eye out for him,” I assured the deputy.<br /><br />I felt it was time for me to make my way back to Docent Headquarters, find my clothes, and maybe take the day off. Still wrapped in my peach-colored sheet, I made tracks across the black sand. I found my clothes hanging from a tree and quickly changed. It was then that a beat-up pickup truck pulled into the parking lot and out of the back jumped 12 partially clad, angry looking Hare Krishnas. They started running towards Docent Headquarters.<br /><br />“Hey Docent, I tink it be mo bettah you find anudda beach to be Da Docent,” shouted one of the bruddahs at the other end of the beach.<br />“I tink you right, bruddah,” I said as I began to walk briskly up the dirt road.<br />I had gone a couple of hundred yards when a gray Ford Focus came to a screeching halt. Wifey rolls down the window and asks, “Can I give you a ride back to reality?”<br />“But what about the Honu?” The glare I received told me to get in the car and shut up.<br />“Aloha Honu. Aloha Punaluu. Mahalo.”Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15775668384849078973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2217129192082354293.post-54804408064910360802011-01-29T21:40:00.000-08:002011-01-29T21:53:57.421-08:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhieo7LISgUrWEMFxD6Ks25Tuxhs2abny5ix98okL-Ct5S88ZxNchW92uEx1iwNn3WS1wvDN_ZcXns-rAkHUfgNx0Hme2CDZwF6ui7dC9kZ3PgYP4NCxIb_8ST3DRxNBJrswtRpPXuvQtA/s1600/rube.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5567852472389171874" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 143px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhieo7LISgUrWEMFxD6Ks25Tuxhs2abny5ix98okL-Ct5S88ZxNchW92uEx1iwNn3WS1wvDN_ZcXns-rAkHUfgNx0Hme2CDZwF6ui7dC9kZ3PgYP4NCxIb_8ST3DRxNBJrswtRpPXuvQtA/s200/rube.bmp" border="0" /></a>Census for December 10, 2010<br /><em>3 Chelonia Mydas</em> basking.<br /><em>9 Chelonia Mydas</em> Actively feeding in the tide pools.<br /><br />Back to Docent Headquarters after a night on the couch. My wife can’t seem to understand my new purpose. She said something about me and going off the deep end, but I told her I always stay in the shallow part of the bay when I am doing my turtle recon work. With that she closed the bedroom door with a bang after throwing out a pillow and my fluorescent yellow docent vest.<br /><br /><strong>Interesting Turtle Fact #3:</strong> Though adult green sea turtles are herbivores, juveniles will eat jellyfish. One of the most serious threats to juvenile sea turtles is human waste, in particular plastic bags which when discarded in the water resemble jellyfish. These bags when eaten by green sea turtles cause them to suffocate.<br /><br />I had a great brainstorm last night, as I usually don’t sleep well on the couch. What if I started a fundraising program to help finance an education and protection program for <em>Chelonia Mydas</em>? I could, for a nominal fee, lead guided tours of the <em>Chelonia Mydas </em>habitat at Punaluu Beach. Another stroke of genius!! So as I rode my bike to work, (wifey has taken the car keys from me saying that I am certifiable, deranged, and unsafe to myself and others) I pulled down another unnecessary stop sign in Pahala. When I got to Punaluu I posted the following:<br /><br /><strong>Turtle Tours Donation<br />$1 Per Person<br />Preferred Parking $5</strong><br /><div align="left"><br />I positioned the sign strategically at the entrance from the main parking lot and took up my position. Decked out in my fluorescent yellow vest, binoculars, whistle, field guide and Respect the Honu hat, I looked quite official (if only my wife and kids could see me now). The first visitors began to arrive. The first couple approached…<br /></div><br /><div align="left">“Howzit. Welcome to Punaluu Da Kine Honu beach on da whole Southside,” I greeted.<br />“Oh yeah, hello," was the response as they walked around my sign. I gave a quick toot on my whistle and pointed to the sign. The visitor dug in his pocket and handed over $2 and started to walk on.<br /><br />“Sir, where are you parked?“ I queried.<br />“Just there in the lot,” the visitor replied.<br />I pointed at the sign. He dug in and handed over another fiver. Easy enough.<br /></div><div align="left">“Remember to keep your distance from the Honu because there is no refund if I have to ask you to leave for violating the Turtle Personal Space Rule,” I reminded as he walked off in a huff. "Mahalo!"<br /></div><div align="left">To make a long story short, after 2 hours I had collected $356, which I deposited in the Docent Petty Cash fund. Following proper procedures, because I would not want to be thought to be dishonest, I then wrote two requisitions, one for Docent Salary ($300) and one for Expenses ($56) . With the $56 I purchased 3 cases of Steinlager, which I gave to Da Boys and we talked story.<br />Dey was happy to see me dis time.<br />Dis job is turning out mo bettah dan I tot. </div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left"></div>Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15775668384849078973noreply@blogger.com0