The OC, Final Thoughts

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.

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.

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.

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.

I think we would all be better off if I don’t return to the OC.

Dornoch in April

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.

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.

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.

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.

All I can say is ...

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.

Cheers!

Inquiring minds . . .

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.

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.

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?

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.

The Learning Curve

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

Needless to say, we are looking forward to leaving for Dornoch in 37 days. But who's counting?

Six weeks out

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.

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.

Cheers!

Goodbye, Docent

December 11, 2010 (I think)
Chelonia Mydas basking: Can’t see yet.

Interesting Turtle Fact #4: When threatened by humans coming too close Green Sea Turtles will flee into deep water, only to return when the threat has subsided.

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.

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.

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 -
Turtle Tours Donation
$1 Per Person
Preferred Parking $5

“Hello, brother. Do you know who put this illegal sign here?” the gentleman asked me.
Noting the menacing tone of voice I thought it best to fake ignorance. “No, sir. Is there a problem?”
“We had a report of someone shaking down tourists, and we would like to find him,” he replied.
“I’ll keep my eye out for him,” I said as I slowly made my way back towards Docent Headquarters.

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.
“Have you seen the guy who put this sign here?” he queried.
“I’m looking for him as well,” the gentleman responded.
“Me too, is there a problem?” I replied.
“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.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for him,” I assured the deputy.

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.

“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.
“I tink you right, bruddah,” I said as I began to walk briskly up the dirt road.
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?”
“But what about the Honu?” The glare I received told me to get in the car and shut up.
“Aloha Honu. Aloha Punaluu. Mahalo.”