When life gives you lemons

My lemon tree is feeling the brunt of the drought. With water restrictions we are not watering as much and our darling lemon tree is going dormant. It never goes dormant so I'm hoping that is what it has decided to do and not the alternative; dying and I just can't think of that right now. It's a good old tree and in '07 it had some problems but came back to us after a severe trimming so I hope it will be resurrected, yet again.

This solid old tree has given us lemons year round for the thirty-six years we've lived here. The track, built in 1965, could very well have been built on an existing lemon grove. The parcel of land east of us, now a large apartment complex and huge grocery chain store, once had citrus groves. When we moved here developers were in the process of removing the trees to build these two project. So much of the valley was walnuts or citrus so this tree could be much older than the track itself.

Life without this dear old friend would be sad indeed for it's supplied many memories. Every year we make lemonade for 4th of July and, in it's hay day, supplied neighbors and friends with bags full of lemons. Our spring brings the most blossoms and on a warm day the scent from the tree can be almost overpowering but comforting in a way. Spring has a way of doing that, reminding us everything will continue on it's cycle again. I hope the old lemon tree has not forgotten that promise and next spring will bring forth the bounty of years past.

Mi Doyers: poor Joe

The Dodgers acquired John Garland in a trade with the Diamondbacks for "a player to be named later." For a while I hoped that player would be John Garland but he actually pitched a decent game in Pittsburgh last night. Now if only the other players could have helped. Two errors led to three unearned runs and a loss.

The Pirates record: seventeen consecutive losing seasons and the Dodgers can't beat them? Poor Joe, he just shakes his head. He must sleep with a bottle of Maalox. Not only are his players being dumb during the game one of his star pitcher, Clayton Kershaw, is out with a shoulder separation. And, how did he injure himself? Ran into a fence at practice. He's a pitcher for god's sake. What's he doing running around in the outfield?

Nothing better to do than annoy the cats

Some bizarre pong game. Even has sound effects.

Dude!

If your baggy-half-masted jeans are riding so far below your BVDs that we can see skid-marks-- you are no longer making a fashion statement but a statement on your hygiene. Dude?!

How many fingers?

Let me confess. I'm not proud of the fact that I've driven while under the influence but I did. It was a very long time ago when I was young and feeling invincible. WRONG. But I was lucky and nothing bad happened. Lucky. Now me, or my beloved, would not think of slipping behind the wheel while impaired; most of our friends, same thing. Good for us but what about other people? This young Dr., with a promising career, kills a young girl with an equally promising career; what a waste. Drunk Dr. kills young ballerina.

This is all relevant after being at the Greek Theater to a concert last week. Great to see Dave Matthews Band again thanks to my generous darling daughter. Now, I have no problem with people having fun and if that includes drinking or getting high, don't care. You don't bother me and listening to DMB in concert includes whatever you imbibe, I'm OK with that. But what would possess you to get behind the wheel of your car and drive away?

Anyone who's attended the Greek knows the "stacked" parking sucks, but they eventually do get you out. So while waiting for cars to move in the gridlock that is so, Greek, we saw a number of people having no business getting behind the wheel of their cars. It would be safe to say if you can't maneuver over a small two-and-half-foot picket fence; give up the keys to someone who can. If you have to shake your head to focus; get in the damn backseat and sleep it off. If your friend says, how many fingers and you think he's an alien with more than five; dude, you're drunk.

If LA were smart, they'd have a cattle pen with cots and coffee and offer that to concert goers. Five buck, sleep it off and avoid a ticket or the horror of a lifetime of guilt for killing another DMB fan. The exit should be a two-and-half-foot picket fence. Can't get over? More coffee.

Health care; it really is up to you

Tell your member of Congress to get off their butt and support the President. They did it for Bush when they allocated billions (I still shake my head at that) to fund an immoral war in Iraq. Let's doing something for our kids and assure they will have health insurance in the future. We owe it to them for letting Bush ruin this country.

Sign the letter!

Wait a minute …

… wasn't she just a baby? What happened?

A different Day of Rememberance

Today brings back some very strong memories for many folks and I'm no different. September 11, 2001-- I would normally make that date a link but it might be insulting to anyone alive 8 years ago. If you do not know what happened on that date then good for you because the common consciousness will never let us forget.

This post's purpose is to remember what happened on September 12, 2008. Remembering some anniversaries are not happy; but necessary. It has been a year since the train wreck and to be honest, I don't really want to remember. Remembering gives me a the hollow feeling I felt after the crash. I wasn't even on the Metrolink 111 when it crashed though many Friday afternoons I had been. Fifteen minutes longer in court kept me alive and with my family; fifteen minutes earlier would have had me on that train.

My heart aches for the survivors and relatives of the dead because of what they went through, and more than likely what they still experience, was far worse than I can imagine. Living in Simi Valley you can hear the train whistle as it cuts through the heart of the valley going east. The freight that crashed into the Metrolink comes through about 4:15 and thankfully I notice it less these days. To some it's a constant reminder of what happened last year.

My wish is for peace to find these survivors and relatives and for other to remember, albeit a struggle sometimes, how precious is our time together.

Liar?

My sister is a passionate person and her blog sums up this situation so I won't do anything other than post a link to it.

Mind if I'm a bit appalled?

If she calls you a dope, she's pretty spot-on and she's feisty, too; you'd love her.

Get your fact of the day

Until someone proves them wrong, I love Factcheck.org.

This little factoid caught my eye. This fact is for the last 20 years and they say nothing of what the enrollment difference is from last year but this is an encouraging fact that there has been an increase.

There are an estimated 19 million students enrolled in U.S. colleges and universities this fall. That’s a 41 percent increase from 20 years ago.

Source: Census Bureau

Help me out

Please, I'm begging you, someone tell me why you would NOT want the President of these United States to speak to your child? A bright person who was not handed his education, nor did he waste it, giving an articulate account of his experiences and how important it is to stay in school; this is not good enough for your children? This is not a good enough role model for them?

Please do explain because my senses have been numbed by the last administration and their eight years of folly.

Almost all alone on your birthday

What the heck happened to Admission Day in California? September 9th was always a holiday when I was a kid but it's sort of disappeared from the state radar. The state offices will be closed for Labor Day but open for Admission Day. This has become a non-holiday relegated to a small celebration on the capital steps with a few songs and some ice-cream and cake. No whoopla, not even an Admission Day sale; we have sales for every holiday.

How would you feel if no one remembered your birthday? So here sits a 159 year-old in the corner of the nursing home–on life support–wearing a party hat and no big party. "Boy, says the state, I hope I live to be 160, maybe then they'll do something for the old girl."

Jeeze, I hope she lives another year, too, don't you?

I'm SAD

Since I'm always back-assward most of my life it would make sense that I don't have Seasonal Affective Disorder in the winter like the normal folks. I have it during heat waves. Not sleeping well, cranky, not inspired to do much, it's been hell since the temperature has hit triple digits. Compound the heat with the smoke in the air and you'll notice there are claw marks on our walls.

We have air-conditioning so it's not that personally I'm hot but it's the fact we have the house closed up tight for more than 24 hours. Sure, when it's hot here during the day night times are likely to be wonderfully cool and after sunset we can open the doors and windows and let the westerly breeze in. When my gut starts grinding it's when the drapes are drawn, the windows and doors tightly shut and, if I do venture outside, I move from an air-condition car to a fortress against the heat. Yesterday, when the thermometer hit 107 standing by a glass window you could feel the heat radiate off.

And then, there's the air-conditioning unit itself. I'm not a fan of white noise so the constant hum of the unit only adds to my discomfort. I vote for warmer temps in the house if it means the AC runs less; I'm usually outvoted.

Other sufferers of this malady might wonder how do I cope. Probably the way SAD folks deal with winters. I sleep, and eat, and watch TV until I can fall asleep, again. Can't wait for winter and it better come quickly before I eat any more and can't get through the door.

Half a life ago when comfort was my enemy

Facebook allows me to play Scrabble with my sister, 1500 miles away, and my daughter, 40 miles, and for this one reason I accept this silly little social networking program. My life did not need social networking. I'm already busy with this blog and our food blog, Peanut Butter ´Etouffee, that is when I post. I give myself no deadlines because I lived by them for so many years. UGH. That's the sound they make, deadline, when they fall on your desk.

What I did find interesting is that "Six Degrees of Separation" thing. I accepted, as a friend, a past co-worker and on her list of friends was the brother of Tony, the best man at my wedding and life long friend of my husband. Then, I found on another co-worker's friend list a man I'd lost touch with, my photography teacher and, I have to say, one of the most influential people in my career, John Gray. Without John I would not have known the joys of photography or never made the career jump to computer graphics and web design. In 2005 I retired from a career I would have never had without his coaching.

John has created a site for John Gray's Photography Classes at Moorpark College to "Share ideas about Photography, Ask Questions, Find out what is happening at Moorpark College." This was a giant leap back in time for me; giant. When I stopped to figure out just when I was there I realized it was half my lifetime ago; thirty years.

At that time I was trying to work and go to school and be a mom so I usually took evening classes and it wasn't until the early 80s, when I quit work for a while, did I get a chance to take one of John's classes. I was hooked and should be honest enough to say I quit so I could take his class. There, now that little secret is out, I feel better.

John always let you go in your own direction; explore your art but reminded you when you became to comfortable in what you were doing. He never preached he taught by example and the critiques in his class by fellow students were the most beneficial lessons learned.

One of the best classes I ever attended was not in the classroom but in a Moorpark College van. Every week we'd go to a different destination to explore all types of photography, or art, and a bit of the local dinning. Exposure became not only light to film but different ways of thinking to eager minds. Most fun were impromptu lessons on depth of field or exposure where ever we happened to be. I cherish the photos I took that year.

Moorpark College drifted in and out of my life but a pivotal moment came when I visited John's classroom while I was taking a process camera class. He dragged me to a his tiny little Macintosh computer to show me I could do the same things I was doing with the process camera but quicker and without a darkroom. I quit that class and signed up for his Intro to Macintosh class and never looked back. Well, except to reminisce about what a great opportunity I had taking John's class.

Too much time on my hands

There a far more important things I need to do.
I have a problem just watching TV.
The Dodgers are on every night.

This is a result of two of the three previous statements. Often I'll read and watch TV unless there are subtitles or the show is interesting to me; PBS's History Detectives is my summer fav. It seems if my brain isn't busy my hands need.

After Lil Bird went on her Sheepherding vacation I found myself reintroduced to some woolie crafts, at one time I did some weaving but that was long ago and I was looking for something creative to do. Needle Felting had been on my "must try" list for a while and found the needles and a book while on vacation.

Briefly, you take roving, unspun wool, and form it into a desired shape, then stab the hell out of it with a special barbed needle about a million times. The barbs racing in and out of the wool causes the fibers to grab hold of each other and hold on for dear life resulting in a denser fabric; felt. It's a pretty mindless repetitive motion; just what I needed. I'm for anything that keeps my hands out of the candy jar so I punched up this little bowl. It might even get better looking by giving it a wash in hot water, can't tell.

My next project is little animals made of wool, maybe people.

Editors note: That last sentence reads odd, doesn't it? Am I going to make animals out of people? That's a chilling thought. Let's have another go at this.

My next project is animals sculpted in wool and I might even try to create some human faces in the fiber, as well.

Whew, glad that got changed.

Another Reagan legacy

When riding public transportation there should be a caveat; try not to travel on really hot days and avoid full moons like the plague. On my trip to the Getty last week I broke both those rules.

Let me remind my readers, new and old, I love riding public transportation. My experiences on LA's train and bus system are, for the most part, easy and rewarding. I've sufficiently moved on from the train wreck to be able to travel again on all systems though the anniversary of the crash is looming. I'll deal with that at a later date.

One observation is so blatant on the bus. Most of the riders either can't afford a car or for some reason are physically/mentally unable to obtain or keep a driver's license. I don't have a problem with that because I truly don't want to eliminate the poor, disabled or chronically unwashed. I want to add more people that own cars and decide it is more efficient to ride a natural gas bus to work/shop or whatever gets them on the street. Everyone knows the traffic in LA is a nightmare. But does everyone know we have a very efficient bus system?

Unfortunately what keeps people from trying the systems are the wackos that ride the bus. Yes, I'm ashamed to call them wackos but everyone riding the bus has a similar story. And, yes, I know they are not going to go away, nor should they. They are part of the Public in public transportation. If we only had a few more semi-normal people to ride it would balance everything.

Take my last ride. Everything was pretty tame until the lady with four stuffed teddy bears got on. She rode quietly until, imagine this, someone started talking loudly on a cell phone. This sent the bear lady over the edge and with fingers stuck in both ears, started ranting and raving. It wasn't until she screamed, "You can't take my baby!" that I noticed all four of the stuffed bears were wearing baby clothes and realized this poor woman needed much more care than the State of California is able to give.

Thank you Ronald Reagan. In the 1980 his policy toward the treatment of mental illness failed to address the issue: the mentally ill. I know it's easy to blame him for the past but what scares me is to think of what will happen with the current budget cuts coming from Sacramento. What legacy will that create?

Now, I've seen everything

Signs of the Apocalypse: Plague, pestilence, wars, me buying a PC. Readers that know me would agree this is a disturbing sign.

It's not that I've never used a PC, there is one in my husbands office and when I was employed I used both a Mac and a PC; I can see some benefits of both. And it's not like I'll be using it for anything serious, just surfing the web when we are camping. A bit of bill paying, blog posting, or e-mailing–nothing serious at all–just a need for a laptop.

Why did I pick a PC over a Mac Laptop? Honestly, it's the price. For the very few times I'll need it I couldn't justify a Mac. That and the fact the Mac Tablet won't be out until next year sometime. What is the Tablet? It will be larger than an Ipod Touch and smaller than a laptop and I'm sure more expensive than both combined but when it does come out I'll have to investigate, sell some blood and buy one. I'm a sucker for Macs you see, been one for ages.

Here's hoping the Mac Tablet comes out next year and not 2012 since that is the expected year of the Apocalypse. I'd sure like to enjoy it before Armageddon.

Is nothing sacred?

There is honestly a product called Anti-Monkey Butt. With this guy on the bottle do I have to say more?

This product was featured at the check-out of a hardware store in Solvang and I can't say why, maybe the picture, it brought me to my knees with laughter. I so wanted my friend to purchase some but he refused but it's still funny. Side splitting, pants wetting, cry your mascara off funny.

True confessions

I met him in parking lot of the Post Office of all places. He stole my heart with his sexy body. He was black with yellow stripes. I felt like a school girl and when I learned he was electric; I fell head over heels in love.

When I saw him I thought I recognized him only when he told me his name did I know for sure."It's Cooper, M. Cooper." Knowing how my husband would feel I went directly home and told him; I'm not ashamed of my new love. Devastated to learn we couldn't be together I begged for him to reconsider but I was informed he might have time for me in 2012 but no sooner.

My unrequited love will have to wait until then I'll dream of time we can be united and silently slip away.

One soul; stolen

He hates when I take his picture; he always said it steals his soul. What the hell would I do with his soul?

There wasn't a recent photo of my beloved so, with camera on the table I tilted it up a bit and snapped this without his knowing.

This pretty much sums up his existence. He's wearing a t-shirt and a baseball cap. The t-shirt is more than likely car related and the cap was probably given to him. It's summer so he's wearing shorts and tennis shoes; no socks. His arms are scared from hard work as is his back but you rarely hear him complain.

I've gotten to know his moods, both high and low, and love him in spite of the low ones. He takes very good care of me and I think I've been good for him. If I'm cranky, he knows what to say; if he is I know to leave him alone. Though the road to this place has not been easy; both of us can be stubborn beyond belief-we are good for each other.

This is the man I've known and loved for 40 years. The father of our one and only daughter and all around good guy and he'll never know I took this photo. He doesn't bother with the 'net and maybe that is a good thing.