Perhaps whoever this hiker is or was should not be the issue, for this could either be recent or some past event, occurring before the onset of respectability and community standing.
However, it was a spring day with a light, warm rain, but otherwise a lovely day. Restless, the hiker imagined a lovely walk in the woods. Once out among the trees, the hiker was alone, most people unable to make a connection between rain and hiking.
Pulling on a cap and a nylon shell over shorts and shirt, the hiker started down the trail, enjoying the musty smell of rich soil and emerging mushrooms, watching the steady drip from the overhanging leaves and from the bill of the cap. In the calm silence, the time simply slipped away, until there was a bright spot ahead.
The hiker quickened the pace, soon arriving in a small clearing, finding that the sky was just slightly clearing also. Through the breaks in the clouds, shafts of sunlight lit patches of the damp leaves strewn on the ground. The rain drops, like pearls, sparkled in the shifting sunbeams.
After a look around, the hiker, sure of the perfect solitude, sat on a fallen log, quickly disrobed, and then started dancing naked between the beams of light, feeling the gentle rain, just another animal in the woods, thinking only in images, feeling only joy.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
What's with the Tiger Woods media hype
The other day I turned on the evening news, actually hoping for some news. Instead, I was subjected to something close to ten minutes of Tiger Woods. He plays golf; he had affairs, so what. Then the next day there's an almost full page editorial in the Sentinel about this guy. Needless to say, I didn't read it.
Don't most of us have too much going on in our personal lives, too many local, regional, national and international issues to think about, too many interesting things to arouse our curiosity to bother about some golfer and his promiscuity.
I'm sure there are people who are addicted to the tabloids who will read every word, listen to every commentary about any celebrity who does anything, at any time, for any reason. However, I don't think there are a majority of those people in the Monterey Bay area. The people I know are interesting and have interests in their own right.
Watching golf, which until recently was dominated by portly, middle aged men, is one step above watching paint dry, so what's the big deal about a guy who can tap a ball into a little hole on a patch of lawn. I guess other golfers can admire his skill, but how does that translate to his personal life, and how does that personal life affect the lives of countless Americans? Are we collectively so far adrift?
A neighborhood middle school girl is the best hop scotch player in town, and I hear she was kissing some boy behind the gym last week. I think the national media should get down here and cover it.
Don't most of us have too much going on in our personal lives, too many local, regional, national and international issues to think about, too many interesting things to arouse our curiosity to bother about some golfer and his promiscuity.
I'm sure there are people who are addicted to the tabloids who will read every word, listen to every commentary about any celebrity who does anything, at any time, for any reason. However, I don't think there are a majority of those people in the Monterey Bay area. The people I know are interesting and have interests in their own right.
Watching golf, which until recently was dominated by portly, middle aged men, is one step above watching paint dry, so what's the big deal about a guy who can tap a ball into a little hole on a patch of lawn. I guess other golfers can admire his skill, but how does that translate to his personal life, and how does that personal life affect the lives of countless Americans? Are we collectively so far adrift?
A neighborhood middle school girl is the best hop scotch player in town, and I hear she was kissing some boy behind the gym last week. I think the national media should get down here and cover it.
The other day I turned on the evening news, actually hoping for some news. Instead, I was subjected to something close to ten minutes of Tiger Woods. He plays golf; he had affairs, so what. Then the next day there's an almost full page editorial in the Sentinel about this guy. Needless to say, I didn't read it.
Don't most of us have too much going on in our personal lives, too many local, regional, national and international issues to think about, too many interesting things to arouse our curiosity to bother about some golfer and his promiscuity.
I'm sure there are people who are addicted to the tabloids who will read every word, listen to every commentary about any celebrity who does anything, at any time, for any reason. However, I don't think there are a majority of those people in the Monterey Bay area. The people I know are interesting and have interests in their own right.
Watching golf, which until recently was dominated by portly, middle aged men, is one step above watching paint dry, so what's the big deal about a guy who can tap a ball into a little hole on a patch of lawn. I guess other golfers can admire his skill, but how does that translate to his personal life, and how does that personal life affect the lives of countless Americans? Are we collectively so far adrift?
A neighborhood middle school girl is the best hop scotch player in town, and I hear she was kissing some boy behind the gym last week. I think the national media should get down here and cover it.
Don't most of us have too much going on in our personal lives, too many local, regional, national and international issues to think about, too many interesting things to arouse our curiosity to bother about some golfer and his promiscuity.
I'm sure there are people who are addicted to the tabloids who will read every word, listen to every commentary about any celebrity who does anything, at any time, for any reason. However, I don't think there are a majority of those people in the Monterey Bay area. The people I know are interesting and have interests in their own right.
Watching golf, which until recently was dominated by portly, middle aged men, is one step above watching paint dry, so what's the big deal about a guy who can tap a ball into a little hole on a patch of lawn. I guess other golfers can admire his skill, but how does that translate to his personal life, and how does that personal life affect the lives of countless Americans? Are we collectively so far adrift?
A neighborhood middle school girl is the best hop scotch player in town, and I hear she was kissing some boy behind the gym last week. I think the national media should get down here and cover it.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
The Decision
Perhaps you've been faced with this decision, and although you had no way of knowing the outcome of your choice, you had a gut feeling of how it might play out, and you knew it would be life changing.
It's never expected, but suddenly you find yourself staring deeply into another's eyes; your world shudders, and you know you have only moments to make the decision of your life.
You so much want to abandon all caution, throw your fate to the unpredictable winds, turn your back on all your plans, your comforts, your security and follow blindly. And deep inside you sense how it will unwind, the period, far too short and tumultuous, of ecstasy and unimaginable highs, followed by the shattering of your life, leaving you to sort the emotional, mental, spiritual and likely physical and financial wreckage, sensing that it will take a least a decade to gather up the scattered pieces, and that the scars will last a life time.
The other choice is to break the spell, turn and walk away. But then, each day as you wake to a familiar alarm and go through the routine of starting a familiar day, as you emotionally sleepwalk through comfortable and secure days that become years, you always pause in that surreal moment of first awakening to think of how it might have been, of all you could have had.
Or you might be the lucky one in a million who both said yes and then had it all, a life-long intoxicating roller coaster ride.
You may even have faced this decision more than once and survived to tell about it.
Or you may have been spared the decision, and, if so, it's hard to say whether you should be envied or pitied.
It's never expected, but suddenly you find yourself staring deeply into another's eyes; your world shudders, and you know you have only moments to make the decision of your life.
You so much want to abandon all caution, throw your fate to the unpredictable winds, turn your back on all your plans, your comforts, your security and follow blindly. And deep inside you sense how it will unwind, the period, far too short and tumultuous, of ecstasy and unimaginable highs, followed by the shattering of your life, leaving you to sort the emotional, mental, spiritual and likely physical and financial wreckage, sensing that it will take a least a decade to gather up the scattered pieces, and that the scars will last a life time.
The other choice is to break the spell, turn and walk away. But then, each day as you wake to a familiar alarm and go through the routine of starting a familiar day, as you emotionally sleepwalk through comfortable and secure days that become years, you always pause in that surreal moment of first awakening to think of how it might have been, of all you could have had.
Or you might be the lucky one in a million who both said yes and then had it all, a life-long intoxicating roller coaster ride.
You may even have faced this decision more than once and survived to tell about it.
Or you may have been spared the decision, and, if so, it's hard to say whether you should be envied or pitied.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
On a day like today
It's one of those days, during a series of storms, between rains, undulating cloud formations, shafts of clear sunlight like searchlights, probing the ground, droplets of water on every leaf, refracting light, making tiny prisms, and you, being out there, no plans, no hurry, just enjoying, just doing life. I hope you've been there.
And you look around, not thinking of anything other than the hills, gray, dissolving in the low clouds, with those clouds, every shade of gray, orange, pink, metallic blue. A gentle breeze stirring the leaves, the world seemingly in repose.
And it comes up from deep within, this memory, not tangible, but of a feeling, a sudden experience. It was another day like today, perhaps sitting on a river bank in a deep forest, walking in the rain on some deserted beach, stopping to watch a vivid sunset, thinking of a moment with someone you care deeply about. And then, not looking for it, not trying for anything other than following the currents of the moment, it happens, that elusive something always hovering on the periphery of your awareness, that indefinable flicker that always slips away as soon as you turn to look, that something that never quite comes into focus, never stands still long enough to be defined, to get a name. Suddenly, it's right there, in the center of your awareness, like a flash, like the culmination of a fire work show ignited in your mind. And then total stillness, a moment in which time seems to stand still, a moment in which you feel you can wrap your mind, your heart around everything that is, every atom, every photon, every pulse. It is that moment of pure ecstasy, when everything is just so painfully pure and real, so absolute and so absolutely there.
That moment slips away like the traces of light on your cornea after lightning. It all happens so quickly, almost no time elapses. These are moments that connect with dreams, with the sigh of a long forgotten lover, with the sudden joy of discovering some ephemeral truth. They slip up on you while listening to a song, watching birds in flight, smelling a field of wild flowers, remembering a smile, touching something beyond the limits of your skin, or of your senses.
And it is both intently ecstatic and intently sad, sad because you can't call it back, sad because it happens so quickly, sad because you know it might be months or years before it happens again, sad because it could be your last time.
And as you stand, looking up at the clouds, looking out over the violent sea, looking into your most cherished memories, remembering the feeling, while not quite reliving it, you know without doubt that the rest of life is bookkeeping, maintenance, and these moments are your reason to be.
I so hope you've been there.
And you look around, not thinking of anything other than the hills, gray, dissolving in the low clouds, with those clouds, every shade of gray, orange, pink, metallic blue. A gentle breeze stirring the leaves, the world seemingly in repose.
And it comes up from deep within, this memory, not tangible, but of a feeling, a sudden experience. It was another day like today, perhaps sitting on a river bank in a deep forest, walking in the rain on some deserted beach, stopping to watch a vivid sunset, thinking of a moment with someone you care deeply about. And then, not looking for it, not trying for anything other than following the currents of the moment, it happens, that elusive something always hovering on the periphery of your awareness, that indefinable flicker that always slips away as soon as you turn to look, that something that never quite comes into focus, never stands still long enough to be defined, to get a name. Suddenly, it's right there, in the center of your awareness, like a flash, like the culmination of a fire work show ignited in your mind. And then total stillness, a moment in which time seems to stand still, a moment in which you feel you can wrap your mind, your heart around everything that is, every atom, every photon, every pulse. It is that moment of pure ecstasy, when everything is just so painfully pure and real, so absolute and so absolutely there.
That moment slips away like the traces of light on your cornea after lightning. It all happens so quickly, almost no time elapses. These are moments that connect with dreams, with the sigh of a long forgotten lover, with the sudden joy of discovering some ephemeral truth. They slip up on you while listening to a song, watching birds in flight, smelling a field of wild flowers, remembering a smile, touching something beyond the limits of your skin, or of your senses.
And it is both intently ecstatic and intently sad, sad because you can't call it back, sad because it happens so quickly, sad because you know it might be months or years before it happens again, sad because it could be your last time.
And as you stand, looking up at the clouds, looking out over the violent sea, looking into your most cherished memories, remembering the feeling, while not quite reliving it, you know without doubt that the rest of life is bookkeeping, maintenance, and these moments are your reason to be.
I so hope you've been there.
Pebble Beach Golf. Why?
That Pebble Beach golf thing is upon us again. I don't play, and when I offered to play a round with a friend, she said no, insisting that I first spend many days on a driving range hitting balls and then take a few lessons. All to spend a couple hours with a friend, working up a thirst.
However, even if I did play, I can't see the thrill of watching other people play. I mean, it isn't the thrill a minute of ice hockey, downhill skiing, motorcycle racing or riding monster waves at Mavericks. Let's face it, this is a game that moves at glacial speed.
Still, Pebble Beach is a nice place to hang out, to see and be seen. But I guess the big draw is the celebrates, but I even question that. These are actors and comics, but they aren't acting or doing stand up. They're playing golf. So, people are watching famous people doing what they are not famous for.
Ok, an analogy. How about watching a group of professional athletes sitting around discussing monetary policy? Really, when you think about it, it's pretty much the same thing.
One of the guys out there is Tommy Smothers. Remember him? Unless you're my age, you probably don't. I had to do an internet search for Kevin James to realize he was the guy in that mall cop film. But I don't think golf fans are the same people who go to mall cop comedies.
Also, they always hold this thing when we're having our worst weather. I guess a golfer can hit a ball rain or shine, but the spectators are just standing there with water dripping off their noses.
Sometimes I forget this event until I drive into the Monterey area and see the signs for parking. I assume you have to pay to park to also pay to attend. Plus, any food you buy in the Pebble Beach area isn't going to be cheap.
Anyway, maybe it's just sour grapes because my friend won't let me play golf with her unless I invest many weeks and probably hundreds of bucks first.
However, even if I did play, I can't see the thrill of watching other people play. I mean, it isn't the thrill a minute of ice hockey, downhill skiing, motorcycle racing or riding monster waves at Mavericks. Let's face it, this is a game that moves at glacial speed.
Still, Pebble Beach is a nice place to hang out, to see and be seen. But I guess the big draw is the celebrates, but I even question that. These are actors and comics, but they aren't acting or doing stand up. They're playing golf. So, people are watching famous people doing what they are not famous for.
Ok, an analogy. How about watching a group of professional athletes sitting around discussing monetary policy? Really, when you think about it, it's pretty much the same thing.
One of the guys out there is Tommy Smothers. Remember him? Unless you're my age, you probably don't. I had to do an internet search for Kevin James to realize he was the guy in that mall cop film. But I don't think golf fans are the same people who go to mall cop comedies.
Also, they always hold this thing when we're having our worst weather. I guess a golfer can hit a ball rain or shine, but the spectators are just standing there with water dripping off their noses.
Sometimes I forget this event until I drive into the Monterey area and see the signs for parking. I assume you have to pay to park to also pay to attend. Plus, any food you buy in the Pebble Beach area isn't going to be cheap.
Anyway, maybe it's just sour grapes because my friend won't let me play golf with her unless I invest many weeks and probably hundreds of bucks first.
Monday, February 8, 2010
My New Winery
Many of you have been asking me when I was planning to start my own winery. Well, the answer is, now. I've planted some vines in that wetland behind my house, and they are producing.
Naturally, I wanted to put my name on the label, along with something about my love of earth tones, so welcome to Mead e Ochre wines.
I haven't quite got the proper vines for the varietals, so according to the rules, I can't use the exact names, even those these wines are close. So, I've altered the names slightly, but you'll know what they are.
My selection of whites include Pinot Greasyo, Chard O' nay and Sauvignon Blah. My reds are Merloath, Zinfindull, Crapernet Sauvignon and Pinot Bore. What these wines lack in flavor they more than make up for in alcohol content and bargain prices.
And there is no need to buy a five buck wine glass in order to slosh my wines about in order to smell them. There is no bouquet of currents with a slight overtone of blackberries. This is wine, for heaven sake, it smells like fermented grapes.
And, you also don't need that fancy glass in order to drink it. My wines were meant to be consumed the way you did it in college. Simply unscrew the cap, place the bottle to your lips, throw back your head and chug.
Watch for them soon in a dollar store near you.
Naturally, I wanted to put my name on the label, along with something about my love of earth tones, so welcome to Mead e Ochre wines.
I haven't quite got the proper vines for the varietals, so according to the rules, I can't use the exact names, even those these wines are close. So, I've altered the names slightly, but you'll know what they are.
My selection of whites include Pinot Greasyo, Chard O' nay and Sauvignon Blah. My reds are Merloath, Zinfindull, Crapernet Sauvignon and Pinot Bore. What these wines lack in flavor they more than make up for in alcohol content and bargain prices.
And there is no need to buy a five buck wine glass in order to slosh my wines about in order to smell them. There is no bouquet of currents with a slight overtone of blackberries. This is wine, for heaven sake, it smells like fermented grapes.
And, you also don't need that fancy glass in order to drink it. My wines were meant to be consumed the way you did it in college. Simply unscrew the cap, place the bottle to your lips, throw back your head and chug.
Watch for them soon in a dollar store near you.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
The Coffee Party
I've been reading about the Tea Party movement and how it's been growing. They've got their group, now I want mine, the Coffee Party.
Those of us who are avid coffee drinkers know that there's nothing more enjoyable than whiling away a hour or so, carving up the day's events over multiple cups of coffee. In fact, the more we consume, the more the caffeine triggers more animated discourse.
My modest proposal is that we do this as part of our daily political lives. Each elected representative, at any level of government, should have a large room adjoining his or her office, filled with chairs and tables, and with large urns of coffee perking all day long. People could come in any time, sit down and discuss all the current political issues with these representatives.
More importantly, on Capitol Hill, the senate and house chambers should have the coffee on all day, and any interested citizen should be allowed to drop in, listen to the debates, grab a cup of coffee and discuss these important political decisions with senators and representatives.
The benefits of my plan are many. For one, long discussions over coffee tend toward the amicable. After all, we're just chatting. I think this would drastically reduce the hostility generated by proposed legislation.
Also, by the time every interested citizen has had the chance to sit down over coffee with every elected official at every level to discuss every proposed piece of government business, no business, either positive, 10 percent or negative, 90 percent, will get finally decided until 2145, by which time we'll all be long dead, and it won't matter any longer.
Those of us who are avid coffee drinkers know that there's nothing more enjoyable than whiling away a hour or so, carving up the day's events over multiple cups of coffee. In fact, the more we consume, the more the caffeine triggers more animated discourse.
My modest proposal is that we do this as part of our daily political lives. Each elected representative, at any level of government, should have a large room adjoining his or her office, filled with chairs and tables, and with large urns of coffee perking all day long. People could come in any time, sit down and discuss all the current political issues with these representatives.
More importantly, on Capitol Hill, the senate and house chambers should have the coffee on all day, and any interested citizen should be allowed to drop in, listen to the debates, grab a cup of coffee and discuss these important political decisions with senators and representatives.
The benefits of my plan are many. For one, long discussions over coffee tend toward the amicable. After all, we're just chatting. I think this would drastically reduce the hostility generated by proposed legislation.
Also, by the time every interested citizen has had the chance to sit down over coffee with every elected official at every level to discuss every proposed piece of government business, no business, either positive, 10 percent or negative, 90 percent, will get finally decided until 2145, by which time we'll all be long dead, and it won't matter any longer.
More New Age Confessions
I've been getting feedback on my piece about the 2012 new age announcement and also about my twelve step program to overcome my new age addiction. Let me clear things up for my supporters and critics alike.
First, a general definition. I use the term "new age" as a catch all for a wide assortment of ideas, beliefs and movements, from consciousness raising, faith healing, past lives, future lives, getting a life, cosmic transformations, karmic transportations, foretelling the future, preselling the future and the human potential movement, which apparently has something to do with voltage.
Second, as I've pointed out, I've been there. I've chanted, meditated, prognosticated, elevated, palpitated, undulated, related and self medicated. I've also, and I haven't mentioned this in years, taken a course at the Berkeley Psychic Institute in the late 80s, when I lived near San Francisco. Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking. No! Seriously. I do know what you're thinking, and I know where you live, so get that smirk off your face and pay attention.
I've even attempted out of body experiences, but that never seemed to work. I have, however, had a number of out of mind experiences, and I guess those count for something.
Somewhere in the Bill of Rights it says we have the right to be wide-eyed truth-seekers, and I defend that right. After all, there's a seeker born every minute, and I've been one. Just ask the aliens who are monitoring my brain.
Also, I believe in ascension. We ascended from knuckle-dragging troglodytes to, well, less knuckle-dragging troglodytes, and we're on the way to becoming rational creatures, at least that's what my tea leaves tell me.
So, I don't look down at anyone who attends these new age events or who believe the earth will transform in 2012. I do have one question. Why do promoters advertise psychic fairs? I mean, if it's something you should attend, shouldn't you already know where and when it is.
First, a general definition. I use the term "new age" as a catch all for a wide assortment of ideas, beliefs and movements, from consciousness raising, faith healing, past lives, future lives, getting a life, cosmic transformations, karmic transportations, foretelling the future, preselling the future and the human potential movement, which apparently has something to do with voltage.
Second, as I've pointed out, I've been there. I've chanted, meditated, prognosticated, elevated, palpitated, undulated, related and self medicated. I've also, and I haven't mentioned this in years, taken a course at the Berkeley Psychic Institute in the late 80s, when I lived near San Francisco. Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking. No! Seriously. I do know what you're thinking, and I know where you live, so get that smirk off your face and pay attention.
I've even attempted out of body experiences, but that never seemed to work. I have, however, had a number of out of mind experiences, and I guess those count for something.
Somewhere in the Bill of Rights it says we have the right to be wide-eyed truth-seekers, and I defend that right. After all, there's a seeker born every minute, and I've been one. Just ask the aliens who are monitoring my brain.
Also, I believe in ascension. We ascended from knuckle-dragging troglodytes to, well, less knuckle-dragging troglodytes, and we're on the way to becoming rational creatures, at least that's what my tea leaves tell me.
So, I don't look down at anyone who attends these new age events or who believe the earth will transform in 2012. I do have one question. Why do promoters advertise psychic fairs? I mean, if it's something you should attend, shouldn't you already know where and when it is.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Mendocino Blues
Something's lost when something's gained. For example, I finally have some disposable income as opposed to being ill disposed to having income. As a result, I can afford a state park or private camp ground, not that I'm acclimated to actually paying for one.
Case in point is my almost annual trip to the Mendocino coast. I can afford, assuming they are not full, to stay at one of the three state parks in the area. In prior years, that would have upset my travel budget for the summer. So, state parks are nice, clean, have restrooms and showers and noisy neighbors. They also cost plenty. Bottom line is convenient but kind of mundane.
I've been camping in the Mendocino Coast area for quite a few years, and I know all the free places. In fact, I am to free camping what Warren Buffet is to investing.
One of my favorite spots, a place I may not camp at again, is Blue's. There is no sign, no gate, no delineated spaces, no restrooms, no amenities. This is one of the few access places to the coast along the rugged and almost empty stretch of coast from Fort Bragg to Leggitt. It is about fifteen miles north of Fort Bragg, and a short drive from the wonderful Pacific Crest Winery.
You got to know this place, a dirt road leading off of Highway One for a short ways to a small dirt parking area at the edge of the beach. This is a great surfing area, if you don't mind the great white sharks, and the surf is the reason I first checked it out.
Since it isn't a regular camp ground, there are no fees, and the restroom is the dunes. There is room for six to eight vehicles to park and/or spend the night. It's used by hippies who have a bias against establishment camping, people with pets that are not allowed in some camp grounds, and people like me, coast bums who search for cheap adventures rather than getting a real job.
The first time I camped there, I ran into a hippy couple who were delightful, and we shared stories. The next time, there was a wonderful octogenarian who traveled all over in a camper with his dog, and thus couldn't use some of the developed camp grounds. We sat in his camper, looking out the window and the crashing waves and drinking wine until the wee hours.
My last trip there, a group of local blue collar workers were getting drunk of Miller beer and making no end of noise. Another camper, in an actual camper (I was in the back of my van), got out and shouted at them to quiet down, it being after 10. They responded by getting louder, so I pulled further up near the highway, out of range.
A few minutes later, these guys, in three cars, drove past me as if the devil were after them, so I drove back to my original spot, speculating on what the camper did to get them to flee so rapidly. Perhaps he pulled a gun. It doesn't matter. I had a peaceful sleep, lulled by the breaking waves and the ocean breeze.
Things like that don't happen in the state park camp ground
Case in point is my almost annual trip to the Mendocino coast. I can afford, assuming they are not full, to stay at one of the three state parks in the area. In prior years, that would have upset my travel budget for the summer. So, state parks are nice, clean, have restrooms and showers and noisy neighbors. They also cost plenty. Bottom line is convenient but kind of mundane.
I've been camping in the Mendocino Coast area for quite a few years, and I know all the free places. In fact, I am to free camping what Warren Buffet is to investing.
One of my favorite spots, a place I may not camp at again, is Blue's. There is no sign, no gate, no delineated spaces, no restrooms, no amenities. This is one of the few access places to the coast along the rugged and almost empty stretch of coast from Fort Bragg to Leggitt. It is about fifteen miles north of Fort Bragg, and a short drive from the wonderful Pacific Crest Winery.
You got to know this place, a dirt road leading off of Highway One for a short ways to a small dirt parking area at the edge of the beach. This is a great surfing area, if you don't mind the great white sharks, and the surf is the reason I first checked it out.
Since it isn't a regular camp ground, there are no fees, and the restroom is the dunes. There is room for six to eight vehicles to park and/or spend the night. It's used by hippies who have a bias against establishment camping, people with pets that are not allowed in some camp grounds, and people like me, coast bums who search for cheap adventures rather than getting a real job.
The first time I camped there, I ran into a hippy couple who were delightful, and we shared stories. The next time, there was a wonderful octogenarian who traveled all over in a camper with his dog, and thus couldn't use some of the developed camp grounds. We sat in his camper, looking out the window and the crashing waves and drinking wine until the wee hours.
My last trip there, a group of local blue collar workers were getting drunk of Miller beer and making no end of noise. Another camper, in an actual camper (I was in the back of my van), got out and shouted at them to quiet down, it being after 10. They responded by getting louder, so I pulled further up near the highway, out of range.
A few minutes later, these guys, in three cars, drove past me as if the devil were after them, so I drove back to my original spot, speculating on what the camper did to get them to flee so rapidly. Perhaps he pulled a gun. It doesn't matter. I had a peaceful sleep, lulled by the breaking waves and the ocean breeze.
Things like that don't happen in the state park camp ground
New age Ascension
Got this in the mail just now from someone who knows my attitude and just signed "D," which narrows it down to a handful of friends. Headline: On 2012 & the ascension process. Allow me to quote.
"We are in a time of profound and fundamental shift/change in consciousness. We all need to educate ourselves regarding the truth and gain a deeper understanding regarding this profound consciousness/energetic transformation that is happening NOW! This Definitive Web Site/Guide provides invaluable insights and practical materials regarding 2012 and the Ascension Process."
Then there is a listing of materials you can get from the web site.
Note the bold face words, words that are so ambiguous as to be, at least in this context, virtually meaningless.
And on the reverse side is "2012 Brave New World," and something about David Wilcock, "The Reincarnation of Edgar Cayce." Well, can David prove reincarnation? If so, can he prove he is the reincarnation of Edgar Cayce? And if he can, can he make any valid claims about Cayce?
This is a two page spread from Connection Magazine which publishes some serious and some totally silly stuff.
Does anyone really know what the above means? And what's the big deal about 2012? Yeah, some native American calendar as seen through the eyes of doomsday types.
Look, I've got some all expense paid vacations in Atlantis, and I can give you a deal. Just call. I'm a believer, and I really need the money.
"We are in a time of profound and fundamental shift/change in consciousness. We all need to educate ourselves regarding the truth and gain a deeper understanding regarding this profound consciousness/energetic transformation that is happening NOW! This Definitive Web Site/Guide provides invaluable insights and practical materials regarding 2012 and the Ascension Process."
Then there is a listing of materials you can get from the web site.
Note the bold face words, words that are so ambiguous as to be, at least in this context, virtually meaningless.
And on the reverse side is "2012 Brave New World," and something about David Wilcock, "The Reincarnation of Edgar Cayce." Well, can David prove reincarnation? If so, can he prove he is the reincarnation of Edgar Cayce? And if he can, can he make any valid claims about Cayce?
This is a two page spread from Connection Magazine which publishes some serious and some totally silly stuff.
Does anyone really know what the above means? And what's the big deal about 2012? Yeah, some native American calendar as seen through the eyes of doomsday types.
Look, I've got some all expense paid vacations in Atlantis, and I can give you a deal. Just call. I'm a believer, and I really need the money.
Food and Wine
My local paper, the Sentinel, which is probably not too different from other papers in California, has an entire section called "Food and Wine." Why are these two thing paired?
I can see a section about food, something we all consume two to five times a day. It's nice to see recipes for possible future meals, and I always love to hear of a restaurant, previously unknown to me, that serves wonderful meals at a price I can afford. But why does this necessarily include wine?
I know for a fact that most meals don't include wine. How about wine for breakfast? Well, maybe for some folks, but I don't go into a coffee shop and say, "I'll take the Grand Slam and a glass of Napa Chardonnay." And there's lunch: "A double cheese burger, fries and some of that 2005 Pinot." Don't think so.
In fact, most of my dinners don't include wine, not that I'm some kind of a anti alcohol type or a wine hater. I've consumed more than my share. I just don't see some magical connection between food and wine.
How about food and ale? Those of us who love a hand crafted brew know that subtle differences between them make each perfect for certain types of food. Then, what about non drinkers? How about food and coffee, food and tea, food and juice?
Could it just be snobbery for those who can't afford palatial mansions and private jets.
I can see a section about food, something we all consume two to five times a day. It's nice to see recipes for possible future meals, and I always love to hear of a restaurant, previously unknown to me, that serves wonderful meals at a price I can afford. But why does this necessarily include wine?
I know for a fact that most meals don't include wine. How about wine for breakfast? Well, maybe for some folks, but I don't go into a coffee shop and say, "I'll take the Grand Slam and a glass of Napa Chardonnay." And there's lunch: "A double cheese burger, fries and some of that 2005 Pinot." Don't think so.
In fact, most of my dinners don't include wine, not that I'm some kind of a anti alcohol type or a wine hater. I've consumed more than my share. I just don't see some magical connection between food and wine.
How about food and ale? Those of us who love a hand crafted brew know that subtle differences between them make each perfect for certain types of food. Then, what about non drinkers? How about food and coffee, food and tea, food and juice?
Could it just be snobbery for those who can't afford palatial mansions and private jets.
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