Deepthoughtsfuzzymemories

On Vacation....be back in August!

2009-07-10T18:54:00.001-07:00

I need a vacation....

2009-04-30T09:58:00.000-07:00

I get jet lag, sun poisoning, have absolutely no aptitude for foreign languages, cannot navigate my way from the bed to the bathroom in the dark and have a "delicate constitution" that flares up at the most inconvenient times.

My traveling companions relish in a vast collection of photos demonstrating the many creative ways I've come up with for carrying my own emergency toilet paper. (The one I'm most proud of is threading the entire roll onto my belt leaving my hands free to swat away flies and gnats while I squat in the jungle.) On the rare occasion I find a restroom (not counting over the side of a sailboat or on the jungle floor) I have managed to cause a minor disaster.

In Copan, Honduras I accidentally locked myself in a toilet in the rear of what looked to be an abandoned building. I had to be rescued by strangers through a trap window over the door. This rescue may sound straight forward to you, but trust me, when you're locked in a toilet in a foreign country, and you don't speak the language and your friends are two blocks away downing beers with the local resistance movement, it can be timorous.

While looking through a travel guidebook on Belize I discovered an out of the way destination referred to as "quaint and romantic." The "Bacchanal Lodge", owned by Francis Ford Coppola . Located deep in the jungle it sounded like the perfect place to relax on our way to explore the ancient Mayan ruins.

We determined that the lodge was approximately 160 miles from Belize City west on the main road towards Belmopan. We planned to arrive at the Lodge in time for an early dinner having read in the brochure "every meal is an adventure and should not be missed!"

Starting out at 8am we flipped a coin to decide who would ride where in the unairconditioned Land Rover. I captured the very back which was the most comfortable, but had no windows. We drove for hours. It was after 3pm and for an hour I'd been silently fantasizing about the fish taco I refused at a roadside stand where we stopped for gas about 2 hours ago. But 2 hours ago, only mildly hungry and still slightly satisfied from the conch fritters I'd eaten for breakfast, a fish taco didn't seem necessary. I certainly didn't want to spoil my appetite and ruin my long anticipated "not to be missed" meal.

I had already managed to deplete my emergency food supply by prying up an old cherry lifesaver that had fossilized and affixed itself to the bottom of my purse. But now, I've crossed the threshold, my blood sugar has dropped below whatever is below low and I was rapidly slipping into a deadly hunger rage.

I breathed a sigh of relief as the Land Rover slowed to make the left turn my ex-husband Dennis had told us was 20 minutes away, 90 minutes ago. It was getting dark. My stomach let out a loud groan.

The road, and I use the word road generously, was mostly mud with potholes large enough to swallow a Volkswagen. The jungle was dense. Heavy vines with thick leaves seemed to wrap tightly around anything that stopped moving for more than a minute. Even if the sun were still shining it would be as dark as midnight under the foliage canapé. There was no doubt in my mind that the jungle leopards and boa constrictors indigenous to Belize were alive and thriving right here along this 20-mile stretch of jungle. If you've never been in the jungle you might be surprised at the deafening noise. Animals you will never see shriek, grunt, warble, chirp and bark all through the night.

It was getting late and we were told before we left to stay off the roads after dark or risk being attacked and robbed by rebel road pirates. Returning to Belize City tonight would be impossible and looking around us it didn't seem likely that we'd pass a Holiday Inn anytime soon.

Finally, after surviving the last 20 miles (taking almost 3 hours!), we arrive at the lodge. Montague (Monty) Bedwell, our host, was kind enough to start up the generator, the only source of power, long enough for us to find our rooms. Unfortunately the kitchen was closed but Monty offered us a warm bottle of Jack Daniels. (Hey they did say that every meal was an adventure!) I'm not much of a drinker but I thought that alcohol, if used as a food substitute, might soothe the hunger pangs in my stomach.

Blind as bats we stumble through the jungle and climb a ladder to our room, and I use the term "room" good-naturedly. What was described in the brochure as a "Gauguin type cottage with thatched roof and woven grass walls"; was in reality an open air sleeping pad with mosquito netting built on stilts over the river, supposedly to keep bugs to a minimum. (Ha!) I think Monty thought that if he called our attention to the beauty of river below us we wouldn't notice our luggage was being carried to our room by six inch cockroaches that appear at first glance to be wearing name tags. I hesitate to ask if we tip or not.

I climb into bed and stare up at the thatched roof wondering if the lizards (some carrying small rodents in their mouths) scurrying across the fronds above my head ever lose their grip and land on unsuspecting victims below. (I later found out they do after one landed bulls-eye in the center of my breakfast plate!) My sore swollen body, covered with coral cuts and jellyfish stings inflicted the previous week while "swimming" (or truth be told, fighting for my life - but that's another story) was now stinging and burning from my own sweat.

When I read the travel brochure months ago, I had envisioned myself as Meryl Streep in "Out of Africa" staring into the eyes of wild jaguars and stepping over man-sized boa constrictors while dressed in a cute safari outfit. Instead, a thick coating of insect repellent and a sweaty baggy tee shirt had replaced my fantasized cute outfit. Believe me, I was feeling more like Martin Sheen in Apocalypse Now than Meryl Streep in Out of Africa. (Oh the romance of it all.) After a restless night I woke the next morning to find my entire body covered with insect parts.

Wings, legs and antennae. Did you know that insect repellent will dissolve finger nail polish, thus allowing the pest parts to permanently cement themselves to your fingertips? (Just a little travel tip you may want to remember)

After a unique breakfast of "river chicken", (aka,river frog!) we were off in search of a missionary (a whole other story) to treat my numerous infections and a newly acquired bladder infection most likely caused by bouncing in the Land Rover for hours the previous day.

Monty provided us with sandwiches, fresh water and sound advice for our return drive. "Watch out for old Guatemalan mines," he cautioned. "Where?!?" I replied trying to control the panic in my voice."Who knows?" He shrugged and waved us a jolly good-bye.

While life doesn't necessarily get any easier, it can, thank God, get funnier

2009-04-27T14:27:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I woke up to a startling revelation. While looking down at my comfortable Easy Spirit shoes (a sure sign of middle-age is when suddenly "comfortable" becomes the first and most important word when describing your favorite new shoes!) I realized that I'm too old for a minivan, too young for a Cadillac, and too fat for a sports car. So what's left? For most it's time for the practical Toyota Camry or Honda Accord but for those of us not ready to face "practical" there's only one other alternative. The Sport-Utility Vehicle, or SUV. Now, I don't know about the rest of the country but SUVs have taken the west coast by storm and recent studies show that an increasing number of drivers are women. Auto manufacturers are keenly aware of this fact. Many have begun marketing to middle-aged women in crisis with models with names like Pathfinder, Quest, Explorer, and Land Rover.

The assumption is that if I drive an SUV just the name of the vehicle itself will transform me into the outdoorsy type of woman who fly fishes, hikes, reads Outdoor magazine, and has unlimited credit at Eddie Bauer. Just the name alone of my $40k vehicle will provide me with an identity that 25 years of therapy and 1,000 self-help books couldn't. Behind the wheel of a SUV (as long as I keep my Easy Spirit shoes hidden) I can become this woman, wind blowing in my hair, conquering rough off-road terrain (even if the only rough terrain I ever have to deal with are speed bumps and potholes of the mall parking lot).

I'm not old! I'm not middle-aged! If I can pay enough for a vehicle with the right name, I can be adventurous. Questing the territory! Roving the Land! Outdoorsy. Tough. I like to refer to this transformation as the Thelma and Louise Syndrome.

Thelma and Louise Syndrome occurs when otherwise sane, stable, and well-behaved women feel an uncontrollable compulsion to leave their homes and behave like teenagers, occasionally like tramps or, in extreme cases, like men. In addition to occasional excessive liquor consumption the following behaviors are associated with Thelma and Louise Syndrome;

-Nonsmoker smoking. These are "non-smoking" women who, when exposed to liquor-oriented environments, will light up and puff like the chimneys of London. Girls Night Out smokers cite the following rationalizations; "I only smoke when I drink," "The other girls made me do it," or "I didn't inhale." Afraid of being discovered and admonished by their vigilante children these women hide their tobacco usage with gum, perfume, and curiously strong breath mints.

-Girl-girl dancing. When the amount of liquor consumed exceeds a woman's maximum-intake limit the victim will lose her inhibitions and succumb to the temptations of girl-girl dancing. For many women, same-sex dancing is no big deal. They've been doing it, by default, since junior high. But even the most conservative woman who believes dancing should always be a male-female activity will bolt to the dance floor when certain songs are played and enough alcohol has been consumed. An experiment conducted by the Radcliffe Institute for the Advanced Study of Girl-Girl Dancing, researchers found that 90 percent of all women, after consuming an average of 2.8 cocktails, will knowingly dance without male partners to the following songs:

Disco Inferno
Devil with the Blue Dress On
Stop In the Name of Love
I Will Survive
Maggie May
And
Hey Mickey, You're so Fine, You're so Fine You Blow My Mind, Hey Mickey!

-Karaoke compulsion. Like girl-girl dancing, a turn at the karaoke microphone can prove irresistible to a woman under the influence of Thelma and Louise Syndrome. Again, peer pressure and liquor consumption come into play as a woman will, against her better judgment, humiliate herself on stage in a roomful of strangers with an off-key rendition of "The Way We Were" or "Crazy." Statistics have proven that 98 percent of all karaoke experiences end badly, with flashbacks often continuing for years after the performance. Recently, a national karaoke awareness organization launched a bumper-sticker campaign targeting women on Girls Night Out. Their Slogan? FRIENDS DON'T LET FRIENDS SING KARAOKE!

My friends and I have been fantasizing about "The Diva Weekend." I mean Girls Night Out was okay in our thirties but it's just not enough anymore. We are no longer satisfied by the occasional night out. The Diva Weekend would involve wilder nights, hotel shenanigans and unconstrained shopping in big, cosmopolitan cities. In New York's Rockefeller Plaza you can always spot diva weekenders vying for face time on the Today Show or Good Morning America. Perfectly coifed, but slightly dazed from the night before, these are the women wearing foam Statue of Liberty crowns and holding signs that say, "Hi, Kids! Send Money! Spent Traveler's Checks on Bail!"

Personally, I've been having some extreme hormone changes that're leading me into some kind of puberty déjà vu. Uncontrollable weeping, a new wardrobe from Abercrombie & Fitch, the desire to wear body glitter and hair paint to work and use phrases like, "like," "dude, that rocks" and "he's all that, girlfriend, uh-huh."

If you can relate to this, the best advice I can give you is to keep these urges in check, no matter what the cost. My friend wanted to do something wild on her fortieth birthday so after two pitchers of margaritas, we made our way to the local tattoo parlor. She chose a cute little Cupid and had it applied to her right buttock. I could tell she suddenly felt like a new woman with a sexy secret! Her husband loved it too! Unfortunately now seven years and thirty-five pounds later, Cupid looks a lot like the Pillsbury Dough Boy after a carbohydrate binge and she's forced to get undressed in a dark closet for the rest of her days.

I'm currently considering writing a book, "Midlife, Schmidlife, Just Thank God You're Not Dead!" I mean let's face it, just reaching middle age is a victory. Consider the odds we have beaten in our reckless youth: riding bikes without helmets, driving cars without seatbelts, second-hand smoke in restaurants and airplanes, listening to rock and roll at deafening levels, jogging without sports bras....It's a wonder we're still alive.

In addition to now being "over" 50, I've also been thinking about my 34 year class reunion coming up next year in Chicago. First, didn't I just graduate from high school only about 10 years ago? I'm a really old enough to be thinking about a 35 year reunion of anything!? I'm guess I'm having what you could call, "Reunion Nervosa." I'm dealing with denial, bargaining (Trying to make deals with God like; "If you help me lose forty pounds by next Tuesday I promise to return all those Mel Gibson DVD's to Blockbuster."), wrinkles, depression, acceptance and reality. Yep, reality. The reality of how I got to be so old, so fast, and now, what am I going to do about it? The upside is I guess I will no longer have to consider answering questions like, "What will I say if tomorrow someone asks me to pose for Playboy?"

And, I will remember that fortunately, while life doesn't necessarily get any easier as you get older, it can, thank God, get funnier.

Wrestling with Jello

2006-09-03T14:17:00.000-07:00

I wrote this probably ten years ago as I waded in the dull, thick gray matter that was my life. I take this out and read it every few months to remember. Or, more specifically, to see if I can still feel it. Do I just remember feeling it or do I actually still feel it? (Like a depression meter) A friend recently wrote in her blog about suffering from bipolar depression. I don't know if I was bipolar, (or North Polar or Barber Polar), I was never officially diagnosed as "bipolar" but now having several friends who are bipolar, seeing the symptoms, I guess it's safe to say there were times I had bipolar "episodes."

I thought of sharing this because it's a part of me many don't know yet. The long way around, depression is probably what puts the "fun" in "funny" people. I wanted to put this here so maybe someone else who has felt or is feeling depression, could say, "huh, yeah, I get that. I know what feeling, thinking or seeing things that way feels like." Sometimes that's all that can help. At least there were times when that's all that helped me. Just knowing or being with someone who understands what it feels like. Finding someone who has been there. The disconnection. The isolation. The pain. It's weird getting relief from finding someone as messed up as you are but it's true.

My best friend committed suicide after murdering her six year old daughter, Terri Lynn, who, as you might have guessed, was named after me. I had two boys. Kendra had a girl. It was perfect. We were a blended but still a two parent family. We lived in Encinitas, at that time a quiet, sleepy, two block long little beachy surf town. I worked full time managing an engineering office, she worked part-time waitressing. She was so funny. People think I'm funny but Kendra was much funnier than I am. She was Homecoming Queen in high school and very popular.

Then reality set in. I'd left husband number two and I moved to Los Angeles to start a career. I wanted to stay in Encinitas where in the early 1980's Kendra and I lived right on Moonlight Beach. We'd play volleyball every afternoon until dusk, had bonfires at night and every morning we'd walk on the beach drinking our first cup of coffee while the kids ran in the surf looking for crabs and chasing birds. I LOVED it there, I hated leaving, but I needed more. For me and my kids. I was not going to receive child support, I knew that. My ex couldn't take care of himself so there was no reason to spend my life chasing him for money. I couldn't stay in this perfect sleepy little beach town, and work the rest of my life as an office manager or a bartender bidding time until I met someone. I needed a career. So, I packed up, and headed for Los Angeles where I found a job as a corporate sales manager for an investment firm that owned multiple hotels. Kendra stayed there. Six months later she was dead.

But, this isn't about her, well, in a way it is, but, it's not really. It is because I think that loss was the first step towards the "great" depression. Before that, no matter what happened in my life, I had her to pull me through and now for the first time I was really alone.

So what follows is a little peek into my depression. This same "essay" has at times been anywhere from 10 to 2 pages long. Lucky for you, it's in its two-page-long-stage. Anyway, this is what I call "Wrestling with Jello."

I spend every second of every minute of every hour of every day analyzing what, if any, is the purpose of my life. Generally I concentrate on the past since the present and future only exist in feelings of agitation and anxiety.

I think constantly of individual events of my life but can only process them as one large tangled, jumbled failed event. My mind, constantly filled with my failures, dominate my thoughts and forbid me to focus on anything else. I am void of passions that make a person human and constantly feel there is some impending doom about to happen.

Obviously I cannot live in the past, but where do you live if you don't have a present? So, I live in a purgatory. A vortex where I can only survive through alienation, ambivalence and indifference. I use every molecule of energy I have to survive for now, hanging on to a thin thread of the hope of a later.

The only thing worse than having depression is the fear of never escaping it. You cannot feel anything except pain and the pain is so unbearable that there's no possible reason, event or explanation monumental enough to justify it. It would be so much simpler to explain if depression was simply about how lifes assets and debits don't balance out. The truth is that you suddenly realize that you are on a collision course with yourself and it feels like a never-ending brain sickness that produces such internal agony that your world no longer has meaning. It becomes the epitome of loneliness.

The unhappiness infiltrates everything, everything is a problem, and everything makes me cry - children, friends, job, husband, home, loss of a future, the uncertainty of future, fear of the future, fear in general.

I look at family photo albums and see pictures of myself. I can only, with great effort, conjure of vague memories of who that person was. In the pictures I recognize my face but the contrast of the feelings I have now and the person I see in the picture only intensify my feelings of depression. How could the life force I see in the eyes in the photos of myself turn so completely into a death wish? It's so ironic.

Therapy can sometimes act as an exfoliate to shed some of this emotional dead skin but only sometimes. Just as often it can act as more grist for the mill.

Therapists will almost always say something like, no wonder you're depressed, you have 1000 reasons to be depressed. But they rarely have any advice on why I feel the way I do. Why that day? What had I done or not done that I deserved this punishment? Depression seared through my very soul and was slowly suffocating me. My self, something I'd spent my entire life protecting from the world has been infiltrated by an ominous and deadly presence.

The doctors say that either my brain lacks, does not effectively use, or is totally out of proportion in regards to two brain chemicals. Nor epinephrine and Serotonin, scientifically known as neurotransmitters. They ask how I'm feeling. "Shitty." I usually tell them, or why would I be here seeing you? Generally they nod knowingly. A silent admission that they don't desire to see me anymore than I want to see them. Then I give them a lot of money (which means the round is over), they give me a handful of prescriptions and some back-up prescriptions to manage the side effects of the first prescriptions and tell me to hang in there, and pat me on the shoulder and walk me to the door.

Sometime after taking my first Xanax I'm in bed, curled up, arms hugging myself, convinced that if I hold on tight enough I cannot slip lower. I have no ability to concentrate and I cry all the time, even while I'm sleeping. I've been completely derailed off the track of life and spend hours at a time crumpled in my bed and weeping uncontrollably.

Unfinished.

I'm an Emotional Idiot

2006-09-03T14:13:00.000-07:00

Emotional Idiot

I'm an Emotional Idiot
so get away from me.
I mean,
COME HERE.

Wait, no,
that's too close,
give me some space
it's a big country,
there's plenty of room,
don't sit so close to me.

Hey, where are you?
I haven't seen you in days.
Whadya, having an affair?
Who is she?
Come on,
aren't I enough for you?

God,
You're so cold.
I never know what you're thinking.
You're not very affectionate.

I mean,
you're clinging to me,
DON'T TOUCH ME,
what am I, your freakin' cat?
Don't rub me like that.

Don't you have anything better to do
than sit there fawning over me?

Don't you have any interests?
Hobbies?
Sailing, Fly fishing
Archeology?

There's an archeology expedition leaving tomorrow
why don't you go?
I'll loan you the money,
my money is your money.
my life is your life
my soul is yours
without you I'm nothing.

Move in with me
we'll get a studio apartment together, save on rent,
well, wait, I mean, a one bedroom,
so we don't get in each other's hair or anything
or, well,
maybe a two bedroom
I'll have my own bedroom,
it's nothing personal
I just need to be alone sometimes,
you do understand,
don't you?

Hey, why are you acting distant?

Where you goin',
was it something I said?
What?
What did I do?

I'm an emotional idiot
so get away from me
I mean,
MARRY ME.

by Maggie Essop (sp?)

And, more cancer....

2006-01-19T15:57:00.000-08:00

Here is a picture of my mom taken this past November, 2005.

My mother has had three surgeries in the past week. After each surgery the biopsy has come back positive and they schedule yet another surgery. The wound on her cheek keeps getting larger and larger and she gets (understandably) more and more depressed.

Today she had a third surgery and once again we wait for results.

Waiting for the biopsies to come back is of course almost unbearable. In the meantime any good thoughts, positive vibes and/or prayers you could send our way would be very much appreciated.

Cancer

2006-01-13T01:51:00.000-08:00

My dad died less than a year ago from cancer. My mother now has melanoma on her cheek. They went in this past Tuesday, removed tissue but it wasn't enough so now they will go back into surgery tomorrow and hopefully get the rest. She has a hole the size of a silver dollar on her face which the Dr. left open just in case they had to go back in and now he has to go deeper. While obviously cosmetic results are not our primary focus it's hard to not think about it at all and it's depressing. My mother is very attractive and has always taken great care in her looks and health.

My aunt's breast cancer has returned. She had chemo last year following a lumpectomy. But, this tumor is growing rapidly. She's been through chemo which didn't help so they will try radiation this time.

My uncle had both prostate cancer and melanoma earlier this year.

My grandmother is out of the hospital but has now been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. I'm devastated at the results.

I can't believe this has all happened in less than 12 months. A perfectly happy family, well, at least seemingly perfectly happy, well, at least a family talented enough to act like we were perfectly happy, is now following apart. We've rarely had health issues in the past and now we're getting slammed.

Tonight, for a split second, I forgot.

2005-02-26T20:43:00.000-08:00

And in that split moment thought to write my dad an email. Ouch, my heart.

Tomorrow, 10:00am PST Funeral

2005-02-22T20:16:00.000-08:00

Here is what I'm reading. I'm not happy with it but I've reworked it so many times I could pull my hair out so enough, is, enough. (It's written out in bullets with comma's for spacing, etc. so it's easier for me to read.)

Here goes, see you in a couple of days:

My father was unique, complex and his memory will never be erased from my mind. I love, adore and admire him.

In many ways, he was my role model.

It’s only become apparent to me in the past two weeks, after talking to many who knew my dad, that he didn’t talk much of his rather remarkable life.

Many did not know my dad had a 40-year career in radio and television and was a talented and gifted photographer, actor, vocalist, producer, and director.

In his career my dad worked with and interviewed people such as John F. Kennedy, Richard Nixon, Gore Vidal, Timothy Leary, Frank Zappa, Alfred Hitchcock and rock and roll groups like the Monkee's and even the Beatles.

Dad even pioneered the satellite architecture that was responsible for the Live Aid Concert in 1985...

And later was also instrumental in Farm Aid I and II, and the live broadcast of Comic Relief.

While lots of kids have the opportunity to occasionally go to work with their dad, not many dads worked at a television studio filled with celebrities.

My dad never missed an opportunity to take me out of school and take me to work with him when someone particularly famous was going to be in the studio.

When I was in 6th grade the Beatles had come to Boston on a world tour and dad took me along when he went to their hotel room to get an interview.

Now remember, this is at a time when just a photograph of “A Beatle” would make young girls scream and grown women faint.

Just to touch or meet someone who met a Beatle, was almost more than a young fans heart could take.

I remember everything about that day from exactly what I wore to what I ate for breakfast and from the moment my dad pinned a Press Pass on me, people began to scream and grab at us.

Dad was pulling me through this huge, overwhelming crowd, never letting go of my hand for a second, least I be swallowed up in a vast sea of screaming fans.

Every once in a while he would look back at me, smile this big grin and wink.

I could tell from the look on his face…..

…what was exciting to my Dad was not meeting the Beatles…

…what was exciting to him was taking ME to meet the Beatles.

Another thing I’ll bet many of you don’t know is my dad LOVED Science Fiction. One of my favorite memories as a young child is my dad letting me stay up very late on Friday nights to watch Creature Features with him. I will never watch a movie with Martians, aliens or haunted houses in it without thinking of Friday nights up late with my dad and a big bowl of popcorn.

When we lived in Boston my dad built a sailboat in the garage and on a little lake in Holliston, Massachusetts, taught me to sail. Well, actually he first taught me how to swim as our initial adventure ended up in a capsized boat and a rescue, but later in life I shared that love of sailing and the love of water with my kids as we sailed to just about every island in the Caribbean.

My dad was not only a gifted performer, earning the lead role in just about every community theater play and musical he ever tried out for, he was also the greatest audience a performer could ever want. He wasn’t an “easy audience” but if you were “good” he let you know it.

The very first time I performed stand-up comedy was at Igby’s, in West Los Angeles.

I was so nervous before I went on that night but it wasn’t the performance or the standing room only crowd I was so nervous about.

What I was really nervous about was, “Will I be able to make my dad laugh?”

Although I knew beforehand he would be in the audience I had no idea of where he was sitting until I told my first joke.

Not only did I instantly know where my Dad was sitting from his distinctive laugh, I knew I was a success. I couldn’t fail.

His laugh was leading the crowd and when he laughed, everyone laughed.

He was the greatest audience a comedian could ever want.

I’ve thought a lot these past two weeks about what I’ll miss the most about him and the list is far too long to recite..

The thought that I’ll never again hear my dad say “Honey, I’m proud of you” is almost unbearable.

But for now, the memories must endure.

Most of us, perhaps all of us, have our own heroes, champions, our own personal hall of fame. I do, and at the top of my list is my dad.

My hero wasn’t perfect.

He was not a saint.

He wasn’t there to pick me up every time I fell

He didn’t soothe me every time I hurt and he was sometimes missing when my life was falling apart.

But, the time came when we realized we were not the past and I knew in my heart how much he really cared.

Good-bye for now. I miss you more than I can put into words.

You will be remembered and loved, always and forever.

Take care Dad,

God Bless you

We’ll be in touch soon.

My Dad

2005-02-10T21:14:00.000-08:00

My Dad died this week. Only 67 years young. My dad started his 38+ year career in communications at WKAZ Radio in Charleston, W.VA, as a disc jockey and program director.

His international experience in television programming, production and broadcasting included; Executive Producer for WBZ Radio and Television (Westinghouse Broadcasting Co.) in Boston, Program Director of WLS (ABC) Television in Chicago and eventually as Executive Producer and Program Director of KGO Television in San Francisco. He also, in the late 60's and early 70's, worked as Assistant to the President for W. Clement Stone who created a motivational educational system based on, "P.M.A. - Positive Mental Attitude." W. Clement Stone had been a guest on a morning talk show my Dad produced and liked my Dad so much he offered him a job!

Jim knew and worked with an eclectic list of notables that included Phil Donahue, Gore Vidal, W. Clement Stone, John F. Kennedy, Alfred Hitchcock, Phyllis Diller, Frank Zappa, Gregory Peck, Richard Nixon, and even the Beatles.

One of his finest achievements and something he was most proud of was his work as satellite architect of the international Live Aid Concert in 1985. He also did Farm Aid I and II, Comic Relief and other specials. In the last few years of his life he worked creating and designing internet web sites.

I found this on the internet, written by a college friend of my father's talking about their early radio days on campus at Ohio University. On page one, near the bottom, there is a picture of my Dad but more importantly (At least to me! LOL) at the top of page two (see the link below) there is my favorite publicity photo of my Dad. My Dad was movie star handsome - really, please take a look at the top of page two to see how "dreamy" he was - no wonder my mother fell in love with him!! The paragraph below (My Dad's middle name is Dockray - yes, seriously) so he was known as "Doc" in college. You can read a little more about him on page two at the following link:

http://www.donswaim.com/WOUB2.html

"Theta Chi's kitchen steward was James "Doc" T**erson, of Dayton, who hosted a music show on WOUB called "Prescription: Music." Often, when I awoke in the morning, I'd find breakfast on my dresser, coffee and juice and Danish. Doc would cross the backyard from his kitchen and leave the food in my room, a casual act of magnanimity that still touches me. Doc, tall and movie star handsome, possessed a degree of maturity that I lacked, and in many ways he helped me to temper some of my post-adolescent abrasiveness that so frequently alienated my peers. I was best man at Doc's wedding in Charleston, West Virginia, where he was working at WKAZ, sister station to WSAZ in Huntington, where I was working. He was later hired as the producer of a well-known television talk show, Bob Kennedy's "Contact," which was aired by Westinghouse out of WBZ in Boston, and, years later toward the end of his broadcast career, was program director of KGO in San Francisco." (con't)

In addition to his communications career my father could sing - beautifully - and was an actor. Regardless of what he was doing for a living or what job he held at the time, the reality was, he was a born performer. As you can imagine from the photo on the link he was always cast as the suave, debonair leading man. No doubt about it, he was the Cary Grant of community theater!

A few years ago my Dad made a couple of CD's recording many of the songs he sung in musical theater. I will always treasure that I can hear his distinctive voice. I believe at one time in college and early in his career my Dad was even known as "The Voice." He had that "Radio Voice," in the truest sense of radio, on-air fashion.

Of course right now the silence of that voice is deafening.

Jim is survived by his wife Kim and son Brent, his children from a previous marriage, Jaime and James T**erson and Terri S**clair, his mother Jane Smith T**erson of Dayton, OH, his sister Leslie Perkins of Boulder, CO., six grandchildren, his sister-in-law Joyce of Mt. Juliet, TN., a son-in-law and a daughter-in-law, aunts, an uncle, nieces, nephews and many cousins. He was predeceased by his father James and his brother.

A memorial service will be held at St. Monica's church in Santa Monica, California on February 23rd at 10:00 AM. In lieu of flowers it was Jim's request that donations be made to the American Cancer Society.

My Dad is Dead.

2005-02-08T23:22:00.000-08:00

He died last night in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. He was having trouble breathing and didn't want to go to the hospital. Finally they called an ambulance and he died enroute. There are no words to describe the depths of my pain right now.

Well, the news is not good. There is no hope.

2005-01-28T13:21:00.000-08:00

This is the response I received from the Dr. today.

"Your father's health is rapidly failing and any gains that he makes will be quickly lost as the cancer aggressively advances. Look to the present and enjoy each day with him. I can expect further problems to occur, including, a worsening of his anemia, problems with the anticoagulation, worsening problems with the sodium and oxygenation and so on. I know you are concerned about his health and I agree that he should be home if that is where he wants to be. Hospitals are fine but being in one's own surroundings with a supportive family is far more important."
Dr.Kassan

So, that's it I guess. We are preparing to bring Dad home today by ambulance. As the doctor suggests I will make the most of this time and enjoy what I can. For the most part "My Dad" is already gone. His personality is changed to the degree that this past week I've even wondered if the cancer has spread to his brain. If you are lucky enough to have your parents, call them today and tell them you love them.

These next few weeks will be nearly unbearable for me. I spend more time crying than not crying. I'm on the verge of tears all the time. Now I have to think of what I should say to my Dad next time I see him. It will be the first time after knowing his condition is terminal. Maybe we won't have to say anything. It's a very sad day for me. My heart is broken.

Thank you all for being here. I wish I had more to offer. Something fun or funny to say. Something to give back to you for hanging in there with me through this. Here I am practically a stranger and depending on you to help me through one of the most difficult times in my life. I wish I had more to give back now but I just don't have it in me. I'm sorry to be so down and depressing. I know it's not easy being a friend to someone with so much negative stuff going on.

My employer yesterday came in my office and told me not to worry at all about losing my job. That they are standing behind me and are there for anything I need. They said for me to take off the time I need, do whatever it is I need to do and there is no chance of me losing my job. While in a way I sort of knew that it was nice to hear it. To have it confirmed. For the words to be spoken out loud. Of course I need to work because no work, no pay, but also right now I need a little space.

Just like when I come here and read your words of support. I know they are there anyway but to read them again and again has great meaning and gives strength to me.

That's all I know to say for now except again, thank you.

2005-01-23T14:03:00.000-08:00

Me and My Dad

Dad did break his femur bone

2005-01-23T13:44:00.000-08:00

He is scheduled for surgery at 9:30 AM tomorrow morning. We're leaving today to stay in a hotel near the hospital. Dad is comfortable (with the help of large amounts of morphine) but of course is hallucinating. Sort of like dreaming, but awake. His mother, my grandmother, came to see him last night and he thought she had come to take him home. It broke my heart. He looked at her, surprised, and said sadly, "But, I thought you came to take me home with you." That's the hard stuff my friends. Cuts me to the soul.

With all your kind words and encouragement I've been able to be strong for and in front of my Dad. I do my weeping and whining here and save the "tough side" for the family.

Of course I'm worried about Dad making it through the surgery. I'm worried they will open his leg up and find the cancer is more aggressive than they previously believed and .... Well, I just don't know. I try not to think ahead and only think in the "now." The doctors aren't very warm and fuzzy. Dad's "regular" Doctors are but this orthopedist is pretty detached. He's supposed to be good though and of course that's all that matters. He said yesterday, "Your Dad should be up walking by Tuesday." Ah. Okay. But, did you know he wasn't even walking before he broke his leg!?!?! Oh well. Doctors. Something about a steel rod. I just hope and pray he gets through the surgery. That his heart holds out. That his lungs hold out.

Johnny Carson died today. My dad loved him and interestingly, my dad knew him and reminded me - his personality - of Johnny Carson. My Dad also, for those who don't know, knew Phil Donahue and created his talk show. They went to college together. You've probably all at one time or another watched something my dad produced.

Okay, time to pack and "cowboy up" as Steven says. Thank you all for being here. It's so nice of you wonderful friends to leave a little piece of yourselves here. To say something when I know it's hard to know what to say. Just to be here means so much to me. I love you guys.

The photo is ten years old. Before my assault and obviously before I gained weight. It's my favorite "adult" picture of me and my Dad. My Dad's hobby was photography so I have many childhood pictures I love but this is one of my favorites of the two of us. Not just because it reminds me of being thin (although that would be nice again!) - but just the way we're looking at each other. And, my Dad looks so great in a tux, doesn't he? God, I love my Dad. So, so very much. (Could someone please remove the dagger embedded in my soul?)

Okay, I know, I know. You can't help me there but just you being here does help. It's nice to know so many care. Please think of us tomorrow and wish us luck and I'll check in hopefully on Monday night if all goes well or Tuesday if I have to stay in Santa Monica for two nights.

FORCE BODY TO MOVE

2005-01-14T06:40:00.000-08:00

I'M SO TIRED. CAN'T MOVE. BABY STEPS. WILLING BODY TO MOVE. ONE MORE DAY.

HIGHWAY IS SUPPOSED TO OPEN TODAY.

I'm afraid my father is not going to make it.

2005-01-10T22:20:00.000-08:00

He's sleeping 90-95% of the time. He says he doesn't want to give up but then he has no energy to get out of bed. His knee has been bothering him and they now think it's a tumor in his knee. He will have his first treatment of radiation on Wednesday. I don't know how he's going to survive. The cancer in his chest or lungs is growing because he can't have chemo. He's far to weak and barely survived one round.

So many have thoughtfully written me asking about my Dad. Thank you so much. I love and feel and need those prayers and good thoughts you're sending. They really help. This was the letter I sent to my Step-mother tonight. If you don't mind it's a lot easier to update everyone here by just copying and pasting than to have to rewrite pretty much the same thing. Part of me wants to write "good bye" letters to my dad but another part of me feels that maybe it's too soon. But, it's easy to wait to long. Also, maybe he doesn't want "goodbye" letters. Maybe he's not "there" yet. And what do I say? How do I say it? What if I forget something? Anyway, this is the best I could do for now. I haven't talked to my Dad on the phone since New Years Day, he's been too weak for the phone so I write my step-mother hoping she relays the message:

Dear Kim,

I asked Jimmy (my brother) to please try to make an effort to call Dad and go over in the next couple of days. He promised he would.

Steven has a cold and I'm concerned but hopefully by the weekend I'll either have it or feel I "escaped." I can always wear a mask too. I'd hate to think I'm bringing any germs there.

The roads and freeways from here to there have been closed and the weather dreadful. Hopefully mid-week it's supposed to begin to clear up. I can take off work if I have to depending on your schedule or a time you think is best. If not in the next couple of days maybe I could come on the weekend. I'll call to see what time is best for you.

Of course at this point Dad might be happier where he is, at home and it might be easier for you to have him home but maybe Hospice is something we should at least look into. I'd be glad to help in anyway I can, just let me know. I can make phone calls or do anything you or Dad needs. Even if we aren't at that point now we may want to know what the options of care are between the hospital and home. You're doing a great job managing things but I'm concerned for your health and mental and emotional well-being. I need to rely on you to tell me when and if it gets to be too much for you.

Also, Steven is working from home and is always available and more than happy to do anything you need. I wished we lived a little closer to help you with day to day care and that it was easy to just stop by for 10 minutes every couple of days. But, I can take some time off work and do whatever is necessary for my dad.

I know that watching someone you love lay in a hospital bed is always hard and must, at times, be almost unbearable. I'm concerned you say he's sleeping 95% of the time and disoriented. The radiation scheduled on what they believe is a tumor his knee is scheduled for Wednesday. They will not continue chemo until he gains 30 pounds and he's a long way from that. I think he weighs just 127 and is currently eating nothing by mouth just being fed through the feeding tube. It's not enough nourishment yet he still refuses anything by mouth.

Please remind Dad everyday that I love him and I call to see how he is. Also tell him that in most ways he was the greatest Dad in the world.

Tell him that I understand everything he ever did and why. Let him know that without him my life would have been so much less than it is now. Tell him that I listen to the Nancy Wilson CD he made me a couple of weeks ago, everyday and think of him. I love it!! Tell him I have a love of that genre and era of music, because of him.

Tell him I often think of the little blue and yellow sailboat he built in the garage and on our virgin sail, tipping it over in the lake and I still laugh thinking of Mom, on the shore, sure he was going to drown us both! That I had a love of sailing my entire life because of him on saw much of the world from the water because of that little blue and yellow boat he built.

Remind him of how proud he should be for who he is and what he contributed to family, friends and strangers. Many people don't know it but my Father was the man behind Live-Aid. It put the entire thing together. He worked for ABC, W. Clement Stone as his assistant and owned a satellite company. He was a producer, director, actor, disc jockey, a singer, was an all around entertainer with a "radio voice" I think of these things all the time and I miss that voice I'll never hear again except on recordings. The recordings my Dad made in the past few years as part of his legacy.

Tell my Dad that I love him more than he'll ever know and I miss him. I wish we lived closer that I could come by and check in for 10 minutes, more often. But, because I'm not there doesn't mean I don't think of him all the time. Ask him if he wants me to bring him a milkshake next weekend and if I bring it, will he drink it?!!!!

Tell him that I miss him and I will see him soon, this weekend.

I will call you tomorrow to check in and will want to know what the doctor says on Wednesday.

I'll talk to you soon,

Terri

Well friends, it seems the

2004-12-21T16:02:00.000-08:00

prayers and good thoughts are working. The vet now says there is improvement. Slight, but still improvement. He says Murphy has a 50/50 chance of recovering so please, keep all those positive, loving, good thoughts coming this way. I think they are working!

My Dad is out of the hospital. My grandmother fell and hit her head but she's okay. My sister is sick so her 10 and 7 year old are coming here for Christmas. We took back everything we'd bought for each other and are now toy shopping! (We weren't even putting up a tree but now we're decorating, putting the tree up and the whole business - MUST have a Santa type Christmas for two kids ya know!)

My broken toe is healing and I think by tomorrow I might be able to put a shoe on! Overall things are improving. Slowly, but improving!

2004-12-19T15:16:00.000-08:00

Murphy, you've been such a good pal and buddy. You've been so good to me and brought me more joy than I can say. The doctor today saw a slight improvement but enough that we should give you a few days and see what happens. We have our fingers, toes and hearts crossed..

My Dad

2004-12-09T10:41:00.000-08:00

As some of you know, my dad is very sick right now. My absence from writing is a combination of the holidays and dealing with family issues right now. Even this post isn't the post I want to make - but it's all I can do in the 30 seconds I have right now.

You've all been tremendously supportive and encouraging and the depths of my appreciation can't begin to be told in this 30 second time spot - so, for now, just know I'm here. I'm okay. I'm just a little overwhelmed with this "Dad Stuff." Some days I can't stop crying, other days, well, other days I guess all I can say is, I cry less.

I'm not in a very holiday happy spirit. I'm tired. I haven't bought a single gift. No tree. I can't even decide if I should have a tree. The thing I'm looking the most forward to is the possibility of having my niece and nephew here to visit for a week or so after Christmas. They bring me great joy and honestly that's the only Christmas gift I want right now.

Okay, see, I'm over my 30 seconds and haven't even gotten past if I should put up a tree or not.

I'll be back. And thanks for being here.

When did Halloween Become Such a Big Deal?

2004-10-29T22:56:00.000-07:00

Halloween was once a minor, second-tier kids holiday, but thanks to some ingenious marketers, ever ready to sell us tons of stuff we don't need, it is now mostly a big-deal grown-up holiday. It is also different from other big holidays: for Christmas, the Fourth Of July, Easter, Thanksgiving, and New Year's, you pretty much just need to show up! Not for Halloween. Not anymore. No sir-ee-bob! (What does that mean, anyway, "sir-ee-bob"??)

Sorry, sidetracked, okay, right, where was I? Back to Halloween. Halloween isn't like the other holidays. It doesn't require a casserole, some onion dip or just picking up a six-pack of your favorite beverage. It's not about a cute outfit with matching shoes or roasting a large carcass of meat. No. Halloween requires, CREATIVITY. And, if you live in Southern California, the bar is set high my friends. Some people here take this holiday very seriously. You should see my neighborhood if you have any doubts. The marketing geniuses have made a fortune here. No longer do people rummage through their garages looking for old clothing and scraps of newspaper to create a headless man to sit on the front porch in a lawn chair. No way! Now people spend hundreds of dollars turning their front porch and lawn into a scene out of a Freddy Kruger movie.

When I lived in Illinois I don't remember Halloween being a grown-up event. It was for kids. The kids dressed up and the parents put on sweaters, grabbed flashlights and walked from house to house, reminding the costumed trick-or-treaters to say "thank you," as they shoved candy in their sacks. But, not anymore. Now people have parties under tents, the kind of tent that's rented from a big time party rental store. The kind that requires professional assembly, probably only done by union labor working on double time. There is a live band when you walk in and a haunted house in the garage.

I don't know about the rest of the country but here in Southern California where there are prop houses and thousands of people working as extras who have closets filled with costumes, where every waitress or waiter is really an actor or writer - here, Halloween is serious business. When we were kids we dressed up as bums because it was a costume we could throw together in 10 minutes. The days of throwing on ripped pants and a dirty shirt, are over.

Now you get catering with tuxedoed men and women serving from a full bar that was brought in for the occasion, with hors d'oeuvres and main courses served on fine china. There is even silverware.

It's absurd. Yet, people do it. Grown people.

I had a computer instructor a few years ago who was gay and lived in North Hollywood. If you think Southern California in general is Halloween crazy, you can't imagine what North Hollywood is like. My gay friends who live there take Halloween VERY SERIOUSLY. It's like a religious experience. For the entire month of October, the question of what they will be occupies their minds. And, believe me, this isn't about dusting off an old policeman's uniform that stays in the back of the closet year after year that you hope you can still pour yourself into. This is serious business. They work for days, weeks, sometimes months to create the most elaborate costumes you could imagine. There are sketches. Drawings. Prototypes. There are multiple parties, Huge parades, contests, awards!

This isn't just about witches and spooks and goblins. This isn't about a princess here and a superhero there. This is Halloween big-time folks!

In North Hollywood musical ensembles are produced. It's not unusual to see a full cast with coordinated costumes, sets, musicians, singers and dancers parading down the street together. I don't think it's possible, even at Mardi Gras, to see more men in drag than in North Hollywood on Halloween.

As a child and as an adult, I always hated Halloween. I never knew what to be. I could never think of anything clever and often ended up making up an excuse like "Oh, geez, I'm so sorry, I had an important business dinner meeting I just HAD to attend before coming here and did not have time to go home and change into the Incredible Hulk costume that I sewed completely by hand!"

I even hated having to get my kids costumes! Of course now Halloween has become big enough business you can buy or rent costumes on every corner. Wasn't so 20 years ago when my kids where little. The best we had was a plastic molded mask with a piece of elastic that if you were lucky didn't suffocate your kid or remove their ear or nose when you took it off. The eye holes were never where the eyes were and the mouth hole was never where the mouth was. Now the costumes are so elaborate! These are expensive investments. Some people must dip into their child's college fund to make sure they win the grade school prize for most money spent on a costume.

One year, when the three boys were young, I decided to go all the way with the Halloween decorations for the house. We had fun creating spider webs and strategically placing big hairy spiders that with a flick of your hand could land on some small unassuming child as they smiled and asked for a "Trick or Treat!"

In addition to other creations that filled the yard, I made a "scary man" for the front porch. He had a hideous scary mask face with eyeballs hanging out and was dressed in tattered clothes stuffed with newspaper. I found these soft molded "limbs" that looked so realistic you'd think someone had taken a chainsaw to them less than an hour ago. One "piece" in particular was a VERY realistic. A flesh-torn bloody foot with bones and tissue hanging out - I had the "scary man" holding onto his severed foot with a look of horror on his face and covered him with fake blood so he glistened in the dark. Pretty gruesome. Just perfect.

About six months after Halloween I took my car in for a repair. When I dropped the car off I inadvertently left my wallet under the seat of the car. I called the woman at the service desk and asked her if she'd run out to my car and take a look to see if she could find my wallet. She came back to the phone, out of breath, panting, and steaming mad. "What the "h*ll is wrong with you!!?? What are you trying to do, give me a heart attack!!??"

Completely innocent of what she could be talking about and not understanding what I'd done to make her so upset, I asked concerned, "What? What's the matter - are you okay? Did you find my wallet?"

"NO!" she hissed. "I found a bloody severed foot under the seat!!" It seems "the boys" thought the realistic foot was just too good a prop to only use once a year and had placed it under the car seat just waiting for the first innocent, unsuspecting person, to reach under there for a dropped receipt or, as in this case, a lost wallet! Poor girl had reached under there and when she felt something "spongy" and large thought she might have had hold of my wallet only to pull out a bloody severed foot with bone and tissue hanging out of it. She most definitely did not find the humor in it that the three boys did when I told them what happened.

They were punished but I could clearly tell by the smirks on their faces, it was all worth it. Just the thought of that poor, innocent, unsuspecting woman reaching under there and pulling this bloody foot out was worth just about any punishment I could hand out. The only thing they regretted I'm sure was not being there when it happened.

Remember when I wrote not long ago about tipping?

2004-09-15T22:34:00.000-07:00

Entry on August 18, titled "Let's try this again..." For those inclined you can read it over there, Go down this page and look to the right, in the August Archives titled "Let's try this again...")

Well, this week tipping obviously got under this guys skin but it was handled a little differently:

Charges were dropped yesterday against a Long Island man who was arrested last week for failing to leave a required 18 percent gratuity at Soprano's Italian and American Grill in Lake George, N.Y.

The Warren County district attorney, Kathleen B. Hogan, said that she had determined that the man, Humberto A. Taveras, could not be forced to pay a gratuity.

Ms. Hogan said, "A tip or gratuity is discretionary, and that's what the courts have found."

http://www.ananova.com/news/story/sm_1101329.html?menu=news.quirkies

First, I can understand not leaving a tip for bad service, but for bad food? Uh, I don't think so. That's just wrong, obviously wrong. Stupidly, obviously wrong. The wait person does not cook the food. HELLO!

Okay, next, nine people ate dinner for $77.43?!

And he's surprised the meal wasn't much good....?

As I indicated before, in the my previous tipping rant, tipping doesn't work. I think tipping is a mistake and creates problems. The employer should pay their employees a reasonable wage for doing a difficult job. If they do it well. And if they do it well, they get to keep their job and they should be paid accordingly. Like the rest of us.

If it's not based on the service and it's not based on the food, then what's it based on? The waitress breast size? If it's not a tip and it's mandatory then make it a service charge. There should be a mandatory service charge, or it should be included into the price of the food. It would make people more likely to take their complaints (of anything) to the management instead of taking it out on the wait person's pocket. It would make for easier, more honest, declaration of income for the waiter and restaurant. It would create a different, more normal, relationship between the wait staff and the customer.

The problem with adding a mandatory tip to the bill of larger dining parties is that very often the restaurant does not make it clear to the diners that has been done and the customers end up - in the candlelight and wine fog and involved in conversation - paying the tip twice, not realizing that it has already been added to the bill.

I'm fine with mandatory amounts of tips for larger parties but the establishment should make it perfectly clear before the party starts!!

The fact that the guy was arrested is ridiculous! So, the Prosecutor says:

"A Mandatory Gratuity Is Just a Tip, and Thus Not Mandatory"

By JANE GOTTLIEB

Published: September 15, 2004

As it turns out, a tip is just a tip, even if you put "mandatory" in front of it.

PEOPLE!!!! We need a court to figure this out? The guy was ARRESTED and then a COURT of law had to determine the definition of TIP and if not tipping could mean jail time.! Holy Toledo. Of course personally I wouldn't mess around with a restaurant named "Soprano's".

So I'm thinking.....

2004-09-14T10:28:00.000-07:00

First, what's up with this: We have a televised game show in our country where people can win a million dollars for surviving only two months in a place people already live. ???

And then I was thinking, the Buddhist says "The action of non-doing is the most important thing you will ever do," and if that's true, then maybe, instead of thinking my entire life I was lazy, maybe it turns out, I'm a Buddhist!

Selective helplessness

2004-09-01T20:43:00.000-07:00

Anyone live with one of those guys that can fix stuff? Here's what I find amazing...A man like that can rewire an entire house, rebuild a carburetor and assemble a lawn mower in less than an hour! But, have you ever watched that same man wrap a gift? It's the most pathetic thing I've ever seen. It's as if they are missing a gene.

Running late last week for a birthday party I asked Steven to wrap a pair of earrings I'd bought for a friend. I came back five minutes later and he was nursing stab wounds from the scissors, had used an entire roll of scotch tape and an entire 30 foot roll of wrapping paper!! This is what I call "selective helplessness!"

For instance, some men can go into the woods, stand 20 yards from an innocent deer, kill it and justify the killing because, "it's for food!" BUT, you put that same man at home alone with no one to fix him breakfast, lunch or dinner...This same man could starve to death in his own house.

(Apparently it's "unsportsman-like" to go after meat trapped in a zip lock bag).

Fortunately, except for the gift wrapping problem, my husband rarely uses this "selective helplessness" tactic. He knows better. We've been married almost 7 years, on November 1st, and he's yet to ever look at me and ask "what's for dinner?" He's one very smart (or very scared) guy.

Off the coast of Ventura, California there are a small chain of islands called The Channel Islands. At certain times of the year, well, this time of year, hunters - after purchasing a $5,000.00 permit and waiting their turn on a 5 year waiting list - are allowed to fly out to the island and hunt. But, get this...It's an island. A VERY small island. There are few trees. The deer pretty much just stand around like cows in a corral. Here's how it works: The hunters are driven around on a jeep, the jeep stops, without leaving the jeep...they shoot their deer and that's it. That's "hunting" California style I guess. Personally, I just don't get it. I don't see where there's any "sport" to this activity unless you call "not falling out of the jeep," a sport.

I don't get this either...California is dry this time of year, right? REALLY dry. It's red flag fire season people. Everything is brown. We've had no rain for months and we won't see any until at least the end of October. Everything is BROWN. Crispy, dry and BROWN. But, these "hunters" (and I use the term 'hunter' loosely because I don't see any actual hunting going on) before boarding the airplane, start painting their faces and put on camouflage outfits.

GREEN CAMOUFLAGE OUTFITS! See? Everything is BROWN. The island is brown. The shurbs are brown. The beach is brown. Even the deer are brown. But, the hunters, are GREEN. Geez Louise.

So there they sit, in their GREEN camouflage costumes, with their painted faces, laughing like "good ole boys" straight out of Deliverance (but remember, these are pretend "good ole boys" - these are good ole boy wanna-be's. These guys have waited 5 years and paid $5,000 a piece to hunt down a deer that most likely doesn't know enough to run and even if it did, it would have no where to hide - (Remember? It's a BROWN, TREELESS, ISLAND). I wouldn't be surprised if one day the deer walked up and just took a seat in the jeep.

So, here they sit, attorneys and business owners. Just sitting there, waiting for the weather to clear just enough to land the airplane on a dirt strip out there so they can get on with the "hunt". If you ask me, they might as well go "hunting" in a zoo but, whatever. I guess the thinning of the herds is necessary - or the deer eat everything there - and the money is used for the park service to maintain the island - park rangers go there and live in shifts, a week at a time. But if those deer ever get a hold of some of those guns and decide to thin some herds...oh well, that's my fantasy of the day!

Well Dang it

2004-08-17T07:55:00.000-07:00

I had an entry up last night and blogger ate it! I'm sure of it. Eaten like cheese on a cracker! But I WILL be back Ms Blogger! You are not the boss of me! You will not win. Oh, I've heard stories about what you've done to posts. Long posts. Posts where people have poured their little hearts out for hours going on and on, looking for the right words, spell-checking, sometimes twice, just to be sure it's all in order before posting.

Uh huh, I've heard about you before from friends, I thought maybe it was just nasty rumors but now I know your vengeance, now I see for myself what you can do, but I warn you: Not here Ms Blogger! Not on my watch baby! Vengeance will be MINE. I will in the future write my posts in Word! Yes, I said it. Read my lips, W O R D. As in Microsoft Word.

Have you heard about it? Making copies? Having a BACK-UP!! So you're done here. You might was well move right along because there's nothing for you here. Read this carefully because after this any post I have will be copied, over and over and if you eat them up I'll just throw up another one. I will win. You can move on now and rock someone else's world. Buh Bye.

Petting the Gray Whales

2004-08-10T08:26:00.000-07:00

So, imagine this. You’re a 49 foot, 73,000 pound, very pregnant gray whale. (I’ve never been one but I sure have felt like one!!) You’ve spent nearly two months swimming from the icy waters of the Bering Sea toward your birthing, or calving grounds in San Ignacio Lagoon, halfway down the coast of Baja California on the Pacific side of the peninsula. Your baby moves in your belly and you can tell your time is near. You’ve been pregnant for over 12 months and still have about two weeks before you reach your winter home in Baja. You signal to the others in your pod to pick up the pace and swim off.

Each winter from December through April, a magnificent event takes place along the Eastern Pacific shoreline. This is a birthing and nursing ground for the Gray Whale. A primal calling brings forth the longest known mammal migration. From the cold Arctic waters of the Bering Sea, Pacific Gray Whales make their way south to the remote warm water lagoons of Mexico's Baja Peninsula.

In March, 2004, I was fortunate enough to have an unforgettable experience of a lifetime. I was flown by friends in a beautiful new, private jet to Laguna San Mexico, about half way down the long Baja peninsula’s Pacific Coast. San Ignacio is not an easy location to get to – private plane or a very long drive on a bumpy dirt road is just about it!

San Ignacio does not have fancy hotels, but the casual, somewhat rustic facilities, while relatively clean, and not bad, were not much more than two twin beds, a small bathroom with only a shower and toilet. We were just there to pet the whales so the plan was to arrive on Friday afternoon, have dinner, spend the night, spend time with the whales on Saturday morning and fly out to another town in Mexico for mucho margaritas and a nice dinner.

The next morning we woke early, donned our life-vests, loaded in our skiff and off we went into the Lagoon. The most amazing thing was seeing whales everywhere. I’ve been whale watching but nothing like this.

There were whales ahead the bow and whales on the stern, port, starboard, almost every where you looked you couldn’t help but see a whale! It was incredible. Every once in a while a whale would start to get close to the skiff and the captain would turn the engine off and within a minute or two a whale would come over to the side of the boat. While we anxiously were trying to figure out which side he or she might pop up on they would swim under the boat, almost teasing us. Like we were playing a game!

These friendly Gray Whales actually seek out human interaction. Often, it seemed as if the mothers with calves were approaching the skiffs to present their calves to us, encouraging us to scratch their backs and baleen as they lounge around our skiffs. The mother would get below the calf and gently hold it up. We were told that the babies don’t breathe well at first and the mothers are teaching them to swim and breath. Over the years, this extraordinary behavior has become a regular occurrence only in San Ignacio Lagoon

I can’t explain to you the feeling of rubbing this guy’s spongy head. Scratching his little face just like I would my dogs. Looking him in the eye while his mom watched in the distance. He smiled at me, I’m sure.

The females are larger than the males and grow to about 50 feet. We were surrounded by whales blowing, flipping their flukes, or tail fins, diving and coming back up. The babies are about six feet long when they’re born and weigh about a ton. The babies love to be petted.

The Mexican government is very strict about who’s allowed near the whales. You have to go with an authorized guide and there are groups of government observers who watch from shore with high-powered telescopes to make sure no one hurts or disturbs the whales. Recognized for its importance in birthing and raising young whales, Laguna San Ignacio is a protected bioreserve under Mexican law, and has received numerous international recognitions.

For anyone interested, there are ways to camp there and I hear on the 5 to 7 day tours you’re likely to hear the whales sing at night as you drift to sleep in your tent on the beach. Enchanting. Magical. Very worthwhile.

2004-08-08T19:36:00.000-07:00

Petting a Gray Whale in Baja

2004-08-08T19:34:00.000-07:00

At The Beach Near My House