Vacation Pt 1 - Oh the Panic & The Pictures

The joys of vacation,

1) I started out with a panic attack that I wouldn't get to Ducky's 40th class reunion on time. Work was challenging to say the least. I tell people that radio stops for no one, yes I work all three-day-weekends, yes I work Christmas morning, and yes, I voice track Thanksgiving afternoon. This causes a bit of tension but I remind Ducky that I was in radio when he married me, he knew what he was getting. So Friday we have not one, not two, but four events happening at the station.

A) The wrap up to the first of two major summer promotions - The Summer Entertainment Giveaway. A program where we give away thousands of dollars in concert tickets and admission passes. This final drawing means giving away twenty packets, calling the winners, making out the envelops, and mailing a portion of them now.

B) A live remote from the Florence Relay for Life (I worked the board, the news guy did the remote - while I made all those phone calls and did the envelops.)

C) A synchronized fireworks presentation with the Three Rivers Casino, they set off the fireworks, they choose the music, we make sure the music plays as planned. This folks is never an easy task regardless of how easy it should be.

D) The final production and run up for this Friday's Hot 100 Auction. - now you're saying it's this coming Friday what's the deal? 1) I had three small ads to design and place in the paper, (2 ready the huge ad for the paper for next Wednesday (yes tomorrow next Wednesday (as in write up, edit, and all the other stuff that goes with it 3) Place all materials on the website 4) make copies of everything 5) Design and print up gift certificates for all the sales people's items.

Then make it to Ducky's class reunion - 60 miles away - on time. We had a great time, this is the first class reunion he has been to, since we've been together.
I finally got to put face and name to the stories and people I've heard about for the last twenty years. It was awesome.

For my girls let me say that the man to the right is the dad (Rick) in the refridgerator family - Mom (Marla) was taking the picture. The lady to the left of me is Connie, the girl who just about single handedly got Ducky through high school (he denies this, I know it's the truth.) A joyous time was had by all until the end of the evening when we learned one of the girls who'd not made it to the reunion that night had been found unconcious by her sister and rushed to the hospital. The next morning we were told she'd passed away. She'd been suffering from childhood diabetes.

Day One of my vacation - no pictures, I spent six hours at work finishing up what I didn't on Friday for the Hot 100 Auction. Now before you say anything bad, I did get to accomplish something I'd set as a vacation goal. I slept in until almost ten. No, do not bring up the fact that I'd been up until after midnight.

Day Two - no pictures - despite it being a vacation day, I woke up at 5am - who in their right mind wakes at 5am on a vacation day that is not filled with things that need an early rise? Who? Me apparently and it sucked. I drug my ass out of bed at 6, made fresh coffee (because Ducky drags his ass out of bed at 2 and makes coffee which he leaves until he gets back up at whenever. He is a sick sick man) We spent a portion of the morning at my mom's as Ducky mowed her lawns, Mom and I chatted and I was hit with the realization that My Mom (the lady who taught me to be a good steward of the earth - leave things better than the way you found them, don't litter, and all that stuff) doesn't believe there is "Climate Change". No she believes it is natural cycles (let's ignor the brown haze that gunks up the air from LA to beyond Phoenix. That polar ice caps are melting, and polar bears drowning. That Glaciers are melting at an alarming rate to never reappear in our life time.) The remainder of the day was spent wishing I'd been able to sleep past 5am. And answering a billion calls from the Yankee who was having problems editing a show for a client, which eventually drug me down to work for an hour.

Day Three of my Vacation - he comes the pictures. Burp had a mini swim meet. Now you have to understand, he's not on a swim team, he's in pre-team. The next step if I understand is Novice where they learn actual competition style, right now he's learning technique and building endurance. Psam and Burp knew I was coming, but were suprise to be greeted at Willamalane by Ducky, Miseray (who for getting married on Friday was looking rather Zen-like) and the Brit. I got lost. Now who gets lost in Springfield? Me apparently. The meet is done in heats of three or four per event. Each heat awards a blue (1st), red (2nd), and white (3) ribbon. With no apparent regard for starting at the actual start of the heat, with no real focus on the finish line until say it's ten feet away (Burp is too busy paying attention to where everyone else is), and finally to turning at the end of the lane, pausing, then swimming some more
- Burp came way with several first place finishes and two seconds.

One of the boys in Burp's group - Shane - was amazing to watch, I'm not sure how long he's been swimming, much longer than Burp, but he had style, power, and grace for such a young swimmer. A pure joy to watch, I can't wait until Burp swim's like that. Burp is already showing ability, but it's far from being as in tune as Shane, he'll get there if he doesnt' lose interest and he has the right mother to push him. His heat times already show improvement:

Race.....................Last Meet...This Meet
25 Meter Freestyle......28.91.......26.67
25 Meter Backstroke....35.56.......30.06
25 Meter Breaststroke..42.46.......39.4

50 Meter Freestroke...1:08.47......56.65
50 Meter Backstroke...1:25.42....1:08:00
50 Meter Breaststroke.1:32.16....1:24:00

100 Meter Freestroke..2:31.19....2:07:00
100 Meter Backstroke..2:56.95....XXX (didn't race)

Day four of my vacation began with this blog, I hope there is peace, harmony and some beading in this day somewhere. Until then, Ciao, bona futuna.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Garbage – or a whole lot of things that don’t fit together

It’s day two (sort of) of my vacation and at 5am I’m awoke and couldn’t sleep, despite having taken 9mg of melatonin last night. So at 6 this morning I drug my awake head and tired ass out of bed and began my first cup of coffee. Sadly I could have slept in, I wanted to sleep in, but nada. That folks is garbage. Yesterday morning, I slept in until almost 10am and then spent five hours at work.

Friday night we went to Ducky’s fortieth class reunion. I had a great time and despite me just about having to break his arm, I think he enjoyed it too. He’d gone to his tenth, but not the others. After all these years I was able to put faces with stories. After all these years a part of Ducky’s life was there to be touched, people to like, and missing pieces to be put into their places. It was a wonderful evening.

In my youth and early years I embraced change. The reality of me is that I like knowing roots, touching roots, revisiting roots and sadly yes sometimes I miss certain aspects or friends of my youth. In the years between I’ve learned that not you can’t go back, in reality I don’t want to go back, and that just like me people grow and change, but not at the same rate or in the same ways as I. Just a few years out of high school a friend and I met up for an afternoon together, we’d already both been divorced, I had a kid, she was still living the independent reckless abandon of a life we’d had in high school, each had a focus so different and the fit wasn’t the same. I miss her (and several other old friends), but we did not grow “up” together, we just grew apart and she will be a fond memory forever, but we don’t exist any more.

Miseray is getting married Friday to the Brit, after eight years they are doing it. I delight in the soon to be son in law (unlike the Bosox) he is charming, responsible, and touchingly human. He treats Miseray like an intelligent equal, all the while protecting her. I love him and thank God for him nightly. Pictures to come. They’ve been planning and paying for this wedding for close to a year and a half. It’s been a year and a half of battling her mother (whom is the definition of Trout Pout – without the plastic surgery and enhanced lips – really think down gapping mouth with runny lipstick- oh god the horror) who has tried to dominate every aspect of the wedding to her specifications. She did it when the Cat woman got married so it was expected. My contribution to the wedding is standing back and out of the way, to be a support system and give my love, I also made Miseray’s something blue – a blue pearl and opalite anklet and matching bracelet set.

Sunday we are taking Burp on the Rogue River Jet Boats. Years ago (and a different husband) we took Psam on the jet boats, it is one of my very happy memories of her childhood and that marriage. Ducky and I always try to find events to build and create memories for Burp, and of late I’ve been trying to get him to photo blog about various things experiences and events. His birthday is Wednesday so that makes the timing, just right. Tomorrow is his next mini swim meet, my first, I can’t wait. Hopefully, pictures to come.

In the midst of all of this I have been trying to ignore the status and bottom line of my 401K. Growing up my mother use to tell us plan for the future, there won’t be Social Security when you get old. Well SSI has been running in the red for several years and with several years to go until retirement I am glad I heeded her words. Now if congress would get out of politics and get back to the job they are suppose to do we Americans would be able to survive. But instead, they play their partly line politics and throw their constituents under the bus. Social Security is bankrupt and now Congress, with a little help from the inept folks at Standard and Poors, has destroyed the retirements of millions of Americans. Thankfully, my 401K is diversified both domestically and globally and I’ve several years until retirement, but what about those Americans who have been planning, saving, and looking forward to their golden years? They have been fucked by the system, again. Garbage.

Last week, Wienie Rat Face (as Natalie has named him) was sentenced to life in prison for a rash of crimes. Thank you to the jury and judge in Utah for dolling out (for once) an appropriate sentence, Warren Jeffs (aka Wienie Rat Face) will never see the light of free day again. The world should rejoice.

In high school history we are taught that empires rise, get too big (aka a law unto themselves) and then empires fall. Welcome to the fall. America rose from the clay of a new world with new thinking. America prospered. America got to big for it’s own britches. America is a law unto itself and we will fall. We have not learned the lessons of history. We have not honored the intent of our fore fathers. We have not lived up to our potential. America has stepped over the sick, poor, elderly, and down trodden of our country to help up the sick, poor and down trodden of the rest of the world. We have picked up a big stick and yelled in a loud menacing voice, “Not on my watch,” to a world that took with one hand while whispering nasty no no’s and taunting names about us behind the other hand. We will not learn before it is too late. I love my country, but to survive we need to take several steps back, regroup, rethink, and respect. We don’t need to be the world police, we don’t need to be the world bank, we need to take care of our own business.

That being said, Michelle Bachman? Really, what is the world coming too? Rick Perry? Go read Buddhist in the Bible Belt’s blog it was perfection on the subject. I hate the long political seasons and the one ahead of us is going to get ugly. I am sad that Obama refuses to grow a back-bone and stand up for the platform he campaigned on and that Democrats scurry like rats in the face of opposition. I usually vote Democrat although I am an Independent, I rarely vote Republican. Give me something, someone worth putting my vote behind.

Okay, I’m done, for now
Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Way Safe… or so we think

Sadly, I’m in a blogging funk, what the heck is that all about? No inspiration, even with a topic I’ve no idea what I’m going to write about, nada.

This week I was blessed to meet a friend, a bestest friend, whom I’d never met face to face before. I met Rose through Psam, she’d joined Rose’s online poetry group in a now defunct universe of chat rooms. I love poetry, in the past twelve years I’ve written well over one hundred poems, started a going nowhere book, and then began blogging – and I met Rose.

Psam has long since moved on from poetry, but our small group of three (sometimes four or even a short lived newbie) continue to met on Friday evenings in my chatroom. As in Talk Thursday we have a weekly topic (sometimes that topic hangs on for a month – okay for a while we didn’t have topics) we chat for an hour or so and then we post for critiques and just the pleasure of seeing what everyone wrote. I write rhythmic (oft times metered) poetry, but when I write from anger or sorrow my poetry will move into an asymmetrical structure or free verse. Writing free verse really screws with my metered poetic voice and I will have to go read the entire Austin library to get it back, if that doesn’t work I move to Tolkien.

Psam writes dark poetry, Rose on the other hand was strictly rhymed poetry until earlier this year when both her husband and daughter died (thirty days apart), it was a very dark winter for Rose. She is now finding her free form voice.

Over the years Rose and I have shared the ups and downs of our lives. It’s not always rosy, we once didn’t speak to each other for more than six months, over faults on both sides of the argument, it was a very sad six months of my life. This week she became a physical person in my real life and the grin couldn’t, wouldn’t go away. She is the sister of my soul, a safe place when words need to spill out. She is my friend, she is so very much what I expected and totally different than what I thought she’d be (if that makes sense.) She is more like me than I would have ever believed. And she likes my poetry.

Everyone , okay a lot of people both questioned us meeting someone, in my home, who I didn’t know. But in truth there was no risk in this meeting, I’ve known her for so very long. It’s like when I met Sid, he’s the brother of my soul. Rose is the sister of my soul. I am blessed with my friends.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: How many times do you need to experience it before you learn?

Not many, I’m a quick study. And the angel on my shoulder is screaming in my right ear, “Liar, liar, pants on fire.” Ah, there is no peace in the world. I began my evening with half a poem and no blog for the week. I now have half a poem, some hefty frustration, and a blog concept born of said hefty frustration.

Several days ago, Artgirl blogged, and I felt the need to comment. She’d written something about Stanley Tucci, so I attempted to leave this message…

You're not even in the right age group for him to look yummy, but I am and you're right. It's the whole package that does it. Cute, witty, and silently hunky.

I typed in my google account ID and password and nada, typed it in again, and got a word verification. Now usually I love myself some VW because the words are hysterical and I try to make a definition up for the truly kewl ones. This time it was just irritating as hell, when it sent me back to the ID and password page, then to the VW page, then to the comment page with some inane message. I gave up, dropped Artgirl an email about her comment section. Then said what the heck and signed an anonymous post.

In all truth I’ve not had time to blog this week, so I wasn’t prepared when I stopped by Kristin (the new girl at Talk Thursday) to check out her blog and leave a little comment. Now I know lots of people refuse to comment, to me it’s my way of supporting the blogger. You get paid in comments. So after reading Kristin’s blog I wrote this comment.

Kristin,
Welcome to Talk Thursday, you are so ahead of me, I’ve yet to figure out how I’m going to address this topic.

I typed in my ID and Password and entered what I now refer to as, The Blog Spot Bermuda Triangle, except instead of my comment disappearing into some other plane of existence where I have to worry about breaking the time travel paradox if I want to retrieve it, I get the endless loop of revolving door form applications. Oh mi god, Betelgeuse was wrong, hell is trying to comment on blogger.

So I closed my browser. Opened a new one (because you know it had to be EI, not Blogger) and I began to comment again….

Kristin,
Welcome to Talk Thursday. I’m not sure what I’m going to blog about, but I promise I won’t put my finger (or thumb – gotta cover all bases) into the cigarette lighter.

You had to be there.And enter the self- induced blogger conundrum again. WTF? I know I can do this. Ergo, I closed the browser, opened a browser, and typed in….

Kristin, (poor girl is beginning to get a bum wrap and it’s not even her fault – Damn that Blogger) I’m not sure you’re going to get this comment, I’m having problems. Regardless, Welcome to Talk Thursday. Now to go figure out my spin on this topic.

And then it happened, the lightbulb when on and I decided to just comment with my name and URL… and so I typed in and clicked on comment.

Mut!% Fr!(%en (omm#&1 H#!!

Kristin, (honestly Kristin I know it’s not you, honest, even I have blogger) Blogger hates me, so I apologize (although you'll never know it) because my comments (although I've tried several times) are not being accepted by blogger. I now know how I will write this topic.... oh by the way, welcome to Talk Thursday - Cele

This time I just used anonymous and all is well – that is if you don’t want to include the fact that I have now not only stalked, but traumatized Kristin. Until the next time I want to post. So reality being as it is, I’ve no clue how long it takes a quick study to learn how to properly post to Blogger or switch to Word Press.

I do know that Stanley Tucci is cute, did you see him in Burlesque? Adorable.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: The Next Time I’m President

The civilized world is thankful this will never happen, but what if? I’m discouraged at the state of American politics today. Democrat versus Republican and the rest of us get run over in the process. I proudly voted for Obama, the sign supporting him in the elections still remains in my living room window, but I am disillusioned at his inability to stand by his “convictions.” I know a politician makes promises and I think they generally believe their promises to the voters they are wooing. But when the vows are said and the honeymoon is over then life and politics begin and promises are trampled.

In the battle between the political parties we are lost. Remember the promise that lobbyist would be banned from the Obama administration? I’d ban lobbyist from Washington DC completely. I would then work to establish the following:

1) A loop hole free, equitable flat tax
2) Work for welfare system, where recipients would have to give back an equitable amount of work for the benefits they receive. This would include serving on jury duty, litter patrol, day care, and weeding in pubic by ways and properties and other public services.
3) Remove the busybody interest of one American in another American’s life – to misquote Hilary Clinton “It takes a village. Who cares who you fuck.”
4) Cut off funds to ALL countries that support or are terrorist – i.e. Pakistan (let India deal with them.)
5) Better yet, cut off nation welfare. If we can’t pay our own interest payment how can we pay other countries?
6) Bring our soldiers home, put them on border patrol. Think about it, if the American Indians had better immigration laws we’d not be in this fix today. No it’s not their fault they believed our lies. Tsk tsk tsk
7) Better yet, if they get in, let them work by setting up a system where illegal aliens can work and pay taxes into our system, but are not eligible for support benefits i.e. unemployment, disability, or social security payments.
8) Confiscate companies and imprison employers who are responsible for hiring illegal aliens who use stolen SSI’s and fuck up the lives of hard working Americans. Oh don’t give me that, you’d be surprised.
9) Create a national health system that takes the power of health care choices out of the hands of insurance companies and politicians and places it back in the hands of the patient and their physician.
10) Open the forest back up to reasonable and sustainable logging.
11) Focus on creating and sustaining renewable resources and affordable solar power.
12) Force the automotive industry to move solidly into affordable alternative fuel sources.
13) Place both steep taxes on American companies that take their manufacturing offshore, and steeper tariffs on their products when they bring them on shore.
14) Remove the pork barrel from American politics.
15) And fill the friggin pot holes – that should put thousands of Americans back to work alone.
Drats, I know I’m forgetting an item or three. This folks is why I would never be elected… And Jen thank you for this topic, tooo enlightening and fun.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: The Animal Life

We use to have a yard filled with birds of varied assortment, squirrels who chattered their fevered warnings from the bull pines as I worked in the yard, and bears. I rarely see a squirrel anymore, birds quit stopping by my yard when I quit putting out birdseed for the rats, and the bears… well a neighbor had three in her yard at dusk three nights ago. But, I now only have Arlo the retaliatory pisser.

Why does a dog have to be so contrary? He is. I can spend the day with him in the garden, I dig out the weeds, he whines. I dead head the posies, he whines. I water the plants, he whines, I squirt him with the garden hose. Hey, a girl has to have some justice in this world. The point is, while I have work in the yard to get done I make sure I take him with me.
If he were trustworthy I’d let him off leash, but the only thing I can trust him to do is wander away (quickly) and ignore my crass screaming at him as I run my fat ass down the street to catch him. Which is more fun than a girl wants to have, let me tell you.

A few weekends ago when Burp was here I didn’t let Arlo in until it was about 9:30 at night. I’d not gotten home from work until late, ergo dinner was late - I was in chat, Ducky in bed, and Burp was in his room. So I let Arlo in, give him several pieces of apple and return to chat; he promptly jumps into Ducky’s recliner and pees in it. WTF!?! Folks, this is not a first. Thank heavens I have a handy dandy little green machine or whatever the little green machine’s predecessor is called, but this isn’t suppose to be this way. I’ve never had a dog who took two years to house break and then reminds me how darm stupid I am by continually pissing on my rug or furniture. And no I can’t get rid of him, he’s family (the type I want to hide in my mom’s closet, but family none the less.)

So here I am, living in heaven with a pissy hellhound. God save me.

Sith,
Cele

Now folks this is rejuvenation… right after my back quits hurting

It was our weekend with Burp, and sadly Ducky had to work. This was made worse by our plans to take Burp to the third annual Wings and Wheels event, something Ducky was really looking forward to. Earlier this week we did a story on tide pools and it reminded me how incredibly long it had been since I’d been to the tide pools or that matter the beach. Is this the wrong time to mention I live a mile as the gull flies from the ocean? Really. Ages since I’d been to the beach.

So at eight Saturday morning Burp and I headed north to the tide pools of Bob’s Creek (that’s about 18 miles north of Florence.) A beautiful spot that is made up of sand and basalt rocks, Bob’s Creek is a bit of a rocky access, next time we will go further to Neptune and maybe even Cape Perpetua.


There is no trip north of Florence that doesn’t require a picture of the Heceta Head Lighthouse. Or five.


The difference with this tide pool adventure is that we were both armed with cameras. And we both had blogs to write. We were both wearing bad footwear, honest next time I’m buying myself a pair of watersox just for the occasion.

The day was beautiful. We arrived at the tidepools just at low tide. Honest, if low
tide had been at say 9 to 10am we’d have had more time, but I didn’t drag my butt out of bed until 7:30. After two or three bad starts on the rocky beach we finally made it to some good standing pools. In just over an hour we discovered…

Both the Green Anemones shown to the side and Aggregating Anemones (shown in a picture below - very similar.)


Hermit Crabs (okay just one crab in this picture, but honest there were more.)


Ochre Sea Stars (both orange and purple) look close, while the orange one is front and center basking amid the barnacles, there are purple ones above and beyond him.


California Mussels and Gooseneck Barnacles.



Coraline Algea, seagrass, rockweed, and bull kelp. You can see the Aggregating Sea Anemones in this one too. We also found periwinkles, limpets, and several sea snails. But no sea cucumbers. Drats!

Besides being a fabulous morning, I got to spend it with one of my favorite people on the whole earth, who turned out to be pretty darn good at tide pooling.

I'm blessed.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Rejuvenation

From Word Web….
Noun
1) The phenomenon of vitality and freshness being restored
2) The act of restoring to a more youthful condition

Wouldn’t that make it a verb? Just askin’. Seriously it said noun. So I checked out Merriam Webster’s, and while, yes Virginia it can be a noun, in my usage, totally a transition verb. Thank God. I freaked there for just a moment. Lately I’ve been having these Ginkgo Biloba moments and almost fell for it. Whew!

Rejuvenation, in middle age - isn’t that the same thing as diet and exercise? Totally a verb. I can’t say I’ve been rejuvenated. I get out in my garden, it keeps growing, I keep weeding and writing more checks for this compost, that seedling, those pavers and then start all over the next spring. That’s not rejuvenation, that’s repurchasing my garden. But I love my garden, digging in the soil and
un-sticking the slugs from my knees, and dead heading (Jerry and the boys are optional.) Do you know how much satisfaction there is in deadheading? Give it a try. Plant a puny little petunia, sprinkle it with some compost, surround with a heavy duty force field of Deadline, step back and watch mother nature take over. The following weekend go out with your prunners and dead head the spent blooms. Before you know it, removing the old has made way for new blooms several times over and dead- heading has you in your garden for hours on end, sniffing up heavenly blooms.

Dead heading… totally a rejuvenating verb.

I’ve had been on this diet, a life style type change of diet. Having grown up in the sixties I was taught to eat everything on my plate, because you know children in India and China were starving. I’ll pretend I was polite when the topic of my un-cleared plate was brought up. Hence I have an eating problem, I have to eat everything on my plate. Worse I made my daughter eat everything on her plate. America, this is just wrong. Wrong I say. So well into my fifties I’ve had to teach myself portions. This also means cutting back on my consumption of meat. Because America do you know the size of a meat portion? Texas is exempt from answering that question. It is 3 to 6 oz. Do you know what 4.5 ounces of meat looks like? I didn’t think so. I do now, didn’t then, but I have altered my intake to be much closer to 3 ounces than 10. After that I cut out potatoes (except on Fast Food Fridays,) breads (except on Fast Food Fridays,) and pasta (except when I eat pasta.) Now you ask what is Fast Food Fridays. Go ahead, ask.

I’m waiting.

Ah, hmmmm.

Here, let me help you. “Cele, what is Fast Food Fridays?”

Oh, my sole reader I am so glad you asked. Fast Food Fridays is my way of staying sane and on my diet. I try to maintain an 1100 to 1300 calorie a day diet through out the week. Well screw that concept all to heck on Friday night, “Honey, let’s order pizza.” And then I top it off with ice cream. Folks, come Saturday I’m back on my diet with little problem through out the week ( as long as I don’t buy large cans of peanuts.) I’ve lost twenty or so pounds. By now I want to be down thirty, but apparently that isn’t happening without exercise. Ugh.

My clothes are fitting a bit better, can we say “baggy pants?” But I am far from being where I want to be. So I’m going to have to get on my cross train and cross train. It sounds so much better said that way. It’s still not rejuvenation, but it is better than I was, not as good as I will be. And my garden is still growing. Here, see the pictures for yourself.

Now I'm off to plant my Chocolate Cosmo and vanilla scented Heliotrop


Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: I Don't Really Love To Bitch, but here goes...

The reality is, I don’t live to bitch, a good rant aids the soul; a bitch is just that, a negative out pouring that rarely results in positive input. I’m just saying. So instead of a bitch, I’ll opt for some little nit picky, nagging.

Why do people feel they can say what ever they want, gratis? Why? Because it’s coming out of your mouth? That makes it okay that you abused a person?

Not.

Yes, this gripe comes from somewhere close to home. Last Thursday night when I should have been blogging, I instead had dinner with my brother, sister in law, and mom. During post dinner conversation with mostly my sister in law, I was there, but it was her way, her viewpoint; don’t bother with your viewpoint, because she would cut you off before the first comma, ergo while there - I was not actually in the conversation. I sat and politely listened, injected two and a half words, skidded to an elliptical halt and of course politely listened some more. Apparently my face didn’t show what I wanted nor what she found appropriate, because she told me I shouldn’t be offended “it’s the truth.” And then she was affronted when I told her she didn’t hurt my feelings when she said I should get out of Florence and into the real world. What really drove me crazy to frustration was the constant interrupt / over ride, what I needed was to be able to finish a sentence. So I said, “I would just like to be able to finish a sentence.” Apparently I’m a bitch. No she didn’t call me such. But she did huff off all offended. C’est La Vie.

Next, DJ’s who don’t know crap about the music they play. Like say the station’s genre and the genre of the music they keep saying we should play, but ohmigosh we’re an Adult Contemporary station what do you mean we should play Beyonce? She’s not AC, she’s not Hot AC, but excuse me she’s got a great ass – and although she’ highly talented, she’s not the iddybiddiest original. Then there are DJ’s who don’t know who has done what. Song in point (and this is from a very old conversations) my DJ couldn’t understand why we play Counting Crows w/ Vanessa Carlton’s Big Yellow Taxi. His argument, it’s a cover of Amy Grant’s Big Yellow Taxi. To this I said, “Yankee, Amy Grant’s is a cover the original was done by Joni Mitchell.”

Seriously, “Joni who?”

“Dude, go listen to Neil Diamond’s Red Red Wine and then come back and argue covers verses originals.”

Okay, this one is a bitch. Going into the grocery store and having to….
1) Wait to actually enter the store because people are standing in the entry way
a) Deciding which way they should turn
b) What they are actually looking for
c) or Was this even the right store

2) Having to turn around in the grocery store aisle because
a) She/He had to bring along she/he and they are arguing the merits of mustard
b) Joan on the corner, met June from the other corner and they are catching up on the neighborhood gossip and yes obliviously blocking the friggin' aisle.

3) People who are driving down the highway and literally have to slow to a stop to turn on to the bisecting road. WTF, people go back to driver ed because you need it.

Okay, that’s it. Not that I’ve run out of bitches or nit pics, but it’s getting too negative. Time to go garden.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: On My Road

Oh that is where I long to be, traveling, somewhere warm, the car window down basking in the bone warming sun. I won’t be taking a vacation this year, yes I will take off a week, but we have a daughter getting married and then we are going to take Burp on the Jet Boats out of Gold Beach. Too much fun, I think Psam was about his age when we took her.

Life is a road, with a tremendous amount of one way streets and detours, how we navigate those highways and byways is both the weft and weave of the story of what we are and how it was done. It is the measure by which we are judged; judged by others, by God, by ourselves. I want my travels on the road to be of good faith, intent, and deed; not a dirty little track littered by the remains of those I chewed up and spat out. I want there to be the well-woven tale of a woman who lived life, worthy of the telling at the end of my days.

What I want and what is differs from what was and what will be. Regardless it is my tale, it is my journey, it is my life to fuck up and mine to right. I have an amazing set of numbers that I truly don’t believe I live up to: 38 – 11 – 2 the master numbers of an old soul. The old soul part I believe for I often feel I once was a healer, a listener, a nurse. The sad part is I know that I am not tapping into the power potential inside of me and I fail to understand how to do so. No one has been able to describe to me how I must achieve this goal or worse, how to stay focused.

I do not grasp on to anger, grudge holding is not my forte, but the flip side of that short attention span is that things don’t hold my focus. My life lesson is anger, I know this must be something I indulged in lives past, because I know there is a capacity in me to rage, but I have learned to not say things that can not be taken back. To not lose my temper and rail at an in animate object, to not take my frustration and pettiness on others (for the most part) and I have learned to give up the negative energy of anger and displeasure. I’m still working on blocking the hurt… but maybe that’s another life.

For now I am still on this journey, collecting the love and lessons of others. On this journey I am learning I annoy others with my offer of knowledge. On this journey to others I offer a haven of comfort. On this journey I seek humor, love, and knowledge, in return I create a space of peace.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday:…..Little Did I Know…

Which is assuming I know much of anything, because let’s get real, in this day and age knowing anything and the truth are relevant.

America has played a nasty game of Cat and Mouse with Osama Bin Laden. In the two wars that have ensued since the tragic days of September 11th 2001 Americans have called foul at images of “Muslims” (because we know in “truth” that the word “Muslims” means American hating Arabs – every single one of them, you betcha) parading hooded GI’s about (often just before they were killed) – yes there was a point to the opening line, we’ve become those we have called foul at…well doesn’t it say lusting in the heart is the same as having the affair?

In all honesty I was appalled Monday, in the wake of the death of Osama Bin Laden, by Americans who “celebrated” his death. I’m appalled that we would celebrate anyone’s death in such a way. Osama Bin Laden was a hideous man who worked to keep many Muslim women living in the stone age; who, for decades carried on an active campaign to wipe out Americans; who lived in hate, espoused hate as if it were a tenant of his religion, and who led many willing Americans down the road of his hatred (on all sides of the argument… that doesn’t exist.) This is all true in almost anyone’s reality. But celebrating his death is hateful and an extremely sad comment on Americans and worse so many “Christian Americans.”

Jesus said, “But I tell you who hear me: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you (Luke 6:27-28).

I applaud Americans and those in the world who knew Bin Laden’s death was a good thing, but felt bad that it was a good thing. I applaud those who did not celebrate, but accepted the value of that final action. I applaud President Obama for not publishing the death pictures and for his solemn demarcation of the events. Little did I know there would be idiots like Sarah “Maverick” Palin who is now calling Obama chicken (okay, she really said, “Stop pussy footing around and release Bin Laden’s death pictures.” Amazingly sad.) And if he were to release said pictures, then she would be the first to point her finger saying something to the affect that he’s responsible for the death of ? thousands who perished in Al Qaeda’s retaliation.

Yes, folks I am a pacifist, being Quaker in faith might have been a clue. That being pointed out once again, let it be said I do understand where taking out a murderer can be construded as a good thing. I do have a problem with people who can’t move past the actions of 9/11, I have a problem with people who horde the anger as if it’s a precious commodity to be taken out and stroked reverently as a symbol of patriotism. Bin Laden and his Al Qaeda cronies will win their victories over Americans every time someone gets fearful because 9/11 might happen again… every time an American, especially a Christian American, raise their voice or fist in ignorance at a person just because they are of a different race, of a different religion, or because “they aren’t Americans” (how the heck do you know? Really, Intuition? crappy ignorance.) with every hateful post reaction ignorance and fear give Bin Laden and Al Qaeda a brand new victory. Little do these people know they are Bin Laden’s weapons of Mass Destruction.

Sith
Cele

May Day – 2011 – Roger that.

Today was Ducky’s birthday and for a few years I’ve been kicking around the thought of getting him a flight in a Bi-Plane. Our house is situated just north of the Florence airport and we have often seen the Bi-Planes taking off and flying about. Each time we see one he’d say he’d love to take one of those flights, but that is as far as it’s gone. I’ve told him I had bid on or almost won the bidding at the Radio Auction on a flight and he kind of blew it off. So really I blended that piece of information with his uncomfortable stance of flying and didn’t get one.

Until this year.

This morning (Sunday, May 1st) my little May Flower (tulips please) woke up and found three balloons attached to a water proof disposable camera, a birthday card and this note….

♥ ♪♫•**¨*•.¸¸♥ Happy Birthday ~ Ducky ♥ ♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸♥

Happy Birthday!!!!
My Sweets

Be prepared at 9:15 to begin your birthday treat.

I love you,
Calista

Ps: Please make sure I’m ready too.
Thank you,
Love Me

At 9:30 this morning we met Ret. Lt. Col. Sam Spayd and his beautiful 1944 Stearman BiPlane of Aero Legends at the Florence Municipal Airport.
Ducky was all a tweeter – but no he does not tweet. Sam is a man truly in love with his plane, he walked us out onto the apron and introduced us – she’s a beauty. He gave us her history, explained all the gauges, gadgets, and humerous stories about his plane and then they boarded.



Take off was about five minutes later.


They cruised up the coast to the Sea Lion Caves, Heceta Head Lighthouse, and Carl Washburn State Park before heading back down the coast,
over the Three Rivers Casino, down the Siuslaw River, over the Bridge, into town and landed back on the grass strip between runways 33 and 33-15. Twenty minutes later.

Ducky loved it, said it was easier than flying in a jet (even if the destination were Las Vegas). Next time I’ll have to get him the hour flight. I can’t wait to see the pictures he took, even if he wound the film advancer backwards. And I'm definately looking forward to my turn.

Sith,
Cele

The Second Coming (aka the Legend of Con Revisited… again and again and again)

Have I mentioned how eternally blessed I am? My husband is amazing… very male, but still amazing. My daughter is happy to be my friend, to spend time with me, and bead with me. My grandson is my joy. My dog pees on the carpet. Okay so every sunny day must have gnats – those would be the dog and my baby talking, pistol slinging grandmother.

My mother had been told dinner was between 2 and 3pm, it was her choice as to whether my grandmother would be coming. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I didn’t want her to come, it’s that she’s 91 and has good days and bad, and often spends the remainder of an afternoon in bed because her back is basically broken and she’s in deep pain. My mother is an excellent judge of what my grandmother can and can’t tolerate. So yesterday morning Ducky was informed by my grandmother, my mom had only just told her at 8am they would be coming to dinner. What the heck is the deal, it’s not like she had plans. The ham went into the oven at 12:30 at 350° and came out at 2:30 (20 minutes after it should have and the center was still cool) mom and grandma showed up at 5 minutes to 3. Next year I am telling her dinner is between 1 and 2 and not tell her I’m serving at 2:30.
Ack!

So we’re sitting there eating dinner and my grandma turns to Psam and ask her if she saw the article about her in the paper? Mom, Ducky and I all roll her eyes (I’m silently curious as to how much the story will change.)

Several months ago my Grandmother received a phone call from the “Niagara Falls” police department needing a bond to release her grand daughter for attempting to smuggle drugs over the border into Canada. Does my grandmother call someone in the family to verify? No, she ask if she can talk with her grand daughter. Sure, no problem.

“Becky, are you okay?”
“Yes, grandma, I’m fine, how did you know it was me?”
“I recognized your voice in the background.

The “Officer” gets back on the line and tells my grandmother that they need her to wire $4500 to them to secure her release and bond. Now this next direction from the “Officer”, should have sent bells ringing, but no nada, not my grandma, “Don’t contact your local police, we’ll deal with the issues here, it’s out of their jurisdiction.”

So my grandmother, accompanied by the armed idiot that lives down the street from her, go to her bank and retrieve a cashier’s check for the requested $4500 and go to the local drug store where she can wire it off. You did note that the idiot down the street was armed right? And that he walked into the bank with my grandma? Right? Armed? Riiiight.

Thankfully the wise man at the drug store alerted my grandmother to the fact it was a scam. Had she called to verify that her granddaughter was missing? In Canada? At home? No. At this point my grandmother and the armed idiot that lives down the street from her go home and my grandmother swears to not tell my mother. But someone did and my mom came into tell me. Ack!!

Fast forward to Sunday: Ducky and I go to do my grandmother’s wood and in the middle of one of my numerous treks from the wood shed to her wood chest in the living room she proceeds to tell me her story. At the end she tells that she would have called me “because you are knowledgeable about these things”, but you were at work. Folks, take my word for it that has never stopped my grandma from calling me for something frivolous before.

“Grandma, why didn’t you call mom?”
“Because you know more about this stuff than she does.”
“Excuse me? She’s always been your go to girl. That’s ridiculous.”
“Well, she would have yelled at me.” (by the way folks this is before I knew that the idiot down the street had walked into the bank armed.)
“That should have been a hint grandma.”

That same night my mom tells me that grandma thinks I should run a public service announcement to alert people to this scam. Sadly, the day after I found out we had a lead news story about the victim of a scam, a different scam, but nonetheless an elderly victim is out money – feeling raped - scammed. We run these stories constantly, I live in what has become the number one retirement community in the US (Google it - #1 Retirement Community), the retired and elderly (sometimes they are the same) are big targets of scam artists.

Fast forward to the following Thursday night dinner. Over hamburgers my grandmother tells me I should run a public service announcement so that people don’t get conned by these people.

“Grandma, I’m not running a PSA.”
“Don’t you care about me?”
“Of, course I care about you. But grandma we run news stories about this all the time, if you’re not going to listen to a news story why would I think you would listen to a PSA?”

Since then the story has evolved and my grandma as dropped her side arm slinging side kick, with no mention of the bank at all. She will only mention that she got the money to wire off to the con men if cornered – and then she will give some credit to the guy at the drug store. She is now pretty much a wise hero of this legend in her mind. Oh, and the phone call to check on Becky – well she now has made that call and of course Becky couldn’t answer the phone because she was a work.

I just roll my eyes faster and inwardly cringe when the topic is mentioned and the history retold, I mean reformulated into its’ latest incarnation.

How was your Easter?

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Resurrection

Talk Thursday: Resurrection

There is a cemetery in Massachusetts where all those interned within one large, secluded section are of the same family. Not so strange in of itself, most cemeteries in America and across the world have family plots: small family, large family plots, and family plots that are “just right.” But within this one family plot the interned distinctly have severed their ties with tradition. Where as in other cemeteries of the world you can walk orderly lines down row upon row reading the names of departed family members and folks of whom you’ve never heard, not so in this lone Massachusetts plot. Those interned are laid out in circle upon circle all with their feet placed towards the inner circle. Why? So that on the day of their resurrection all within that circle shall only see Sedgewicks. A bizarre piece of trivial fact I picked up when I was probably seventeen and read the autobiography of Edie Sedgewick. Those Sedgewicks were some strange people. Edie Sedgewick is not buried inner circle facing inward, no she is buried in California instead.

After we have spent the total sum of our lives decaying into scarred wrinkles of dust we die. Why would we want to be resurrected in our final glorious state prior to that demise? Really, why? How you return varies according to a number of films and shows. In Betelgeuse you end up looking much like you did when you died. Or mayhap you come back as a beautiful ethereal being dressed in gossamer. Or maybe like Michael you molt. All seem somewhat preposterous, but most are better options than returning like the walking dead of half the movies on the Syfy channel.

Resurrection, hmmm. I believe in reincarnation. I believe I’ve been here before and I will come here again. I am told I’m an old soul. What does that mean? I’m thinking it means I’ve yet to learned my life lessons or I still have teachings to impart. So, hey, remember me? Who knows? I feel I was once some sort of healer. Why do I think this? Some things just come easy. I believe in herbal remedies before pills… but don’t take away my sleep aide (the thought of using Melatonin – although I’ve bought some – scares me.)

Resurrection? I don’t even necessarily believe in resurrected romances or friendships let alone bodies. New and improved (please give me a bikini body) I could go for, and I’m all for repurposed, but moldy oldie reused (a lot abused) resurrected bodies not so much. Especially not mine.

Sith,
Cele

The Pickle Thingie

It is with a modicum of certainty that I say everyone has a commercial that makes their skin crawl. Right now mine is a Big Mac radio spot that is literally called the Pickle Thief.

Every time I hear the guy start his little tirade about her being a pickle thief and maybe he should rethink their whole relationship I begin screaming, “Run girlfriend, run.” I know you’re thinking, “Cele, change the channel.” But you have to remember I’m a DJ I can’t change the channel, I can’t turn off the radio, and worse, I can’t open the Mic and scream, “Run, girlfriend, run” (in all truth that is what I am dying to do – but, like my job. A lot.)

I write commercials, I know that comedy sells, but who at their ad agency thought, “Oh, let’s do a commercial where a young man berates his date for STEALING the “Big Mac” altering pickle,” who? Not only did they think this would sell burgers, but they then sold the concept to someone who said, “Great, run with it.” (Well okay that is kind of an assumption, but when I write a commercial, I have to get customer approval before it runs.) Honestly, if they start selling their Angus Bacon Cheeseburgers that way the whole face and make up of my Fast Food Fridays will change.

Having been in an abusive relationship or three, attempting to sell me products with a self important brat heaving around his caveman tactics is friggin stupid. If you’re already married to a person who throws fits you learn how to deal, but if you find out about the abusive tantrums or worse before the I Do's (because really you shouldn't have)… run run run – do not pass go, don’t stop for cash – hie thee to safety. And you certainly don’t buy his hamburgers.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Weird Stuff I Dream About

This is going to be an extremely short post. I don’t have dreams. Well really I must, doesn’t everyone dream? I don’t remember my dreams… or often even the sensation of dreaming. And don’t you have to be asleep for more than four hours to have REM (the sleep not Michael Stipes and gang) to get deep into your dreams? I never sleep more than two… and a half hours without waking up. And yes, this is very frustrating…

…I am sleep deprived. I’m sure I’ve expounded on this before, it all started with the pre-menopausal thing at age 42… while is a good 12 years after the night sweats. Suddenly with hot flashes I couldn’t sleep and we all know why premenopausal women are bitchy… it’s because they don’t get any sleep, so let me reiterate for all to read again – With the first hot flash find yourself some…

1) Evening Primrose oil
2) Heavy duty calcium
3) A really good sleep aide
4) And your own fan for your own side of the bed
5) (plus if you sleep with a cuddler you might consider the reinvention of the bungle board

A survival list of the most basic needs for any premenopausal woman.

Back to the sleeping thingie… or lack of sleeping thingie… it means I get no sleep and ergo don’t dream. When I was a child I would dream, wonderful – fantastical dreams of flying with the kites and pots and pans (I have no clue – it’s just what I remembered) and being able to breathe underwater.

About six months after my father passed I had a very vivid dream that I was driving down 18th street and stopped to turn on to Highway 101. There on the curb stood my father with a big grin on his face, he walked up to my car (the one he gave me at Cutlass Supreme) knocked on the window and told me he was okay. My heart sang. And he was gone.

I don’t have dreams, but when I am visited, it rocks.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Who, Me? Already?

Who is me and do I even really know? Personally, I think not, because me is ever changing, ever learning, and ever seeing things anew. Really, shouldn’t this journey be just like that? And epic adventure of change and growth? I’ve said it more than once, "The day I quit wanting to learn should be the day I die" (I oft just say, "The day I quit learning just shoot me.")

Once upon a time I use to love, even relish change. Now I am enamored of routine and that schedule which I know, but it wasn’t always that way. Once moving to a new place, meeting new people were met head on with the tingling excitement of a new adventure. Now the thought of packing up boxes makes me think I should move out the family pictures and china and strike a match. But I couldn’t do that, my home is my nest. My place of rest, healing, and health, my place of comfort and comforting. I still love to roam, explore the new and unknown, but return to my nest.

So, me? No I’m not ready, for I’m not done. I’ve not yet seen all I want, to say all I have to say, and do all I am here to accomplish. But even more so than all that, I have not learned all the lessons I am here to learn.

Who, Me? Yeah, me, and you too.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: The Long Way Home (a week late)

You know how you store those special moments in your life and take them out in your old age to pet them dearly? Wait, you’ll get there so take your Ginko. Some of my fondest memories revolve around music or involve music – crap in this case what’s the difference? I love music, I love my daughter, and some of my dearest adult memories are in the car singing with her.

Once upon a time I had this kewl 200SX. I loved it, bought it used and took the best care of it I could… which is to say, I wasn’t very good to it at all. When I married ex-number two we traded it in for a Chevy Luv 4by4 (the exact sequence of events is pretty fuzzy in my memory.) Music in the 200SX was pure Pat Benetar, Thin Lizzy, and Blondie… that much I remember. In the long run, because what woman ends up with the better vehicle, I ended up with a faded white VW Bug that we bought in a storage unit sale for $283 – note there was also a chest of drawers and a bureau in the unit, the Bug was in need of an engine and love.

Before you could say Chevy Luv I was driving a mildewy faded VW Bug that had definitely seen better days. Psam hated that car, I’m fairly certain it was the aromatic combination of oil and mildew that lovingly wafted through the small vehicle (I really tried to not use the heater for this very reason, but have you ever tried to NOT use the heater in a VW – yeah you understand.) Music in the VW was pure KZEL and well I and Psam were past Blondie, she wasn’t hot on Thin Lizzy, and I had a copied cassette of Supertramp.

Keep in mind that Florence is a whole five miles from Siuslaw River Bridge to Heceta Beach Road and at the time Highway 101 was just two lanes in most places. In my defense I must remind you that Supertramps’ Take The Long Way Home is the better part of five minutes, so if you wanted to hear the whole song, you took Rhododendron drive, past the dump, along the Siuslaw River and up 35th street, ergo we took the long way home. Hey it could have been worse, I could have played all 8 minutes and 52 seconds of American Pie, then we could have drove the che… VW past… crap it loses a lot in the translation…. Oh oh, I know she loves Alice’s Restaurant… I mean it’s only eighteen and a half minutes long – we could have driven all the way to Mapleton – and Psam loves all those

eight-by-ten colour glossy pictures with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one

and Arlo was driving a VW microbus, red not faded white.
But no, I had Supertramp and a oil soaked mildewy wafting faded white VW – Psam had to hold her breath or puke, and really I’m glad she has good lung power.



BTW, did you know that March is Sing With Your Child Month? No lie, some of my happiest times of parenthood were singing in the car with my daughter… we had a very special sound track that started with Nino Tempo and April Steven’s Deep Purple, included Sonny and Cher’s The Beat Goes On, Gladys Knight and the Pip’s Midnight Train To Georgia. Those were some of the best days of my life.



Sith,
Cele

March 11th - Or A Day In The Wake Of A Disaster

My world goes round, my family is safe, my home is whole –dry – stable, and there is food on my table. My heart goes out to the Japanese people.

In total ignorance of the growing crisis in Japan (I was watching cable not network TV – so no information crawler) I took two sleeping tabs and went to bed at about 10:30. At 11:30, Beady Dee Dee called me. We are on Tsunami watch, after we checked out CNN together and her husband the Chief gave me some info through her I got dressed and was at work by Midnight. Yes, she chatted with me that long.

The National Oceanic Atmospheric Administration or NOAA has an amazing array of informational sites for professionals and the public. KCST began disseminating information and Tsunami watch information. Phone calls began coming in. CENS (Community Emergency Notification System – or reverse 911) called me at the station (WTF) at 2:30AM or 3 o’clock to let me know I needed to be at the newly opened EOC (Emergency Operations Center – aka the Siuslaw Valley Rural Fire District’s main station.)

Thirty minutes later I was called by incident command that they were going to sound the Tsunami siren in 15 minutes.
This gave me enough time to write up and record a new dissemination and air it. It went something like this….

*********************************************************************************
The National Weather Service has issued a Tsunami Warning for the coastal areas of the Pacific Northwest.

At approximately 9:36pm PST an earthquake registering an estimated 8.9 struck the eastern coast of Japan. A Tsunami wave is expected to hit the Northern California and Oregon coast at approximately 7am (7:15 – 7:20 – 7:25 – sometime between 9 and 10am [seriously it changed that much.)

The Tsunami siren has sounded – please do not call 911.

Residents living near the beach and those in the Tsunami inundation zone are advised to evacuate to higher ground. The Florence Events Center has been opened as a relocation center (as was Three Rivers Casino, the Florence BiMart and Fred Meyer’s parking lots.)

Please do not call 911, do not go to the beach

Again, the National Weather Service has issued a Tsunami warning for the coastal areas of the Pacific Northwest. Stay tuned for further information and updates, you’re tuned to FM 106.9 KCST.

****************************************************************************************

And the phone calls began. I don’t call it the headless chicken republic for nothing. Excerpts from actual phone calls I answered (and for a while I was the only one at the station – so I answered them all) –

“What’s that siren? Can they turn it off I’m trying to sleep?”

“What’s that siren?”
“The NWS has issued a Tsunami Warning ma'am.”
“What should I do?”
“Well ma’am where do you live?”
“On Siano loop.”
“You need to evacuate ma’am. They have opened the Florence Events Center as a relocation center. That or higher ground would be where you need to go.”
“But how do I get there?”
“You drive ma’am” (Siano loop is just over the dune from my house – which is not in the Tsunami inundation zone and take my word this woman could hear the siren it’s less than a block from her house.)
“But I don’t have a car.”
“Ma’am, I suggest you call a taxi then.”
“Oh.”

I had several phone calls in the same vein. One lady wanted to know if they would let her take her pets - see has dogs, cats, and birds. I really didn’t know the answer to that one. Several phone calls, and I mean several wanted to know if their house was safe. They lived at least a mile outside the Tsunami zone.

What frustrates me, and I imagine the EOC too, is that since the 2004 Indian Ocean Tsunami that killed tens of thousands, the City of Florence and other communities along the Oregon coast have been neck deep in educating residents in disaster prevention and preparation. You can not drive anywhere in Florence west of Highway 101 and not see signs that either tell you you’re in a Tsunami Inundation Zone or that road you are driving is
designated as a “Tsunami Evacuation Route”.

Monthly free workshops teach residents how to be ready in the event of a multitude of disasters – but they all focus on earthquakes and tsunamis. So how can you be in Florence for any amount of time and not know 1) If your house is in an inundation zone 2) what you should do 3) what emergency supplies and equipment you should have on hand in preparation 4) HAVE A FUCKING PLAN!

We kept our listeners up on where they could go, what schools were closed for the day or just on two hour delays. Sadly, at least one of the valley TV stations reported that Siuslaw schools were closed for the day, when in truth, until 8am they were just on two hour delay with morning kindergarten canceled. But of course at TV station 65 miles away would know better (according to phone calls) than KCST, even thought we get phone calls directly from the 97J Superintendent of Schools. Yes, they did finally cancel school for the day – the “I told you so” phone calls were delightful.

Then finally they called us at 10:30 to say in 15 minutes they would ring the all clear. It was a delight for me to make that announcement – Being a mile away from a Tsunami siren inside a building I didn’t get to hear the chimes. Several times before my airshift was over I made sure to invite people to openly say thank you to the officers, firefighters, city and county employees who made their Friday safer. Being a Friday, I still had a full day of work to do (I hate Fridays) and didn’t get to go home from work until 6:30 – over 18 hours after I arrived. But it was a fulfilling day.

I demanded pizza for dinner, ate three pieces, brushed my teeth and was in bed by 8:45. I didn’t get out of bed until 9:30 this morning. Yes, I did not go to yoga.

This afternoon I went and had to settle for kelp with 400mcg’s of iodine, because the two pharmacies I checked didn’t have potassium iodide (my friend got a bottle but it was expired) I need to go buy some potassium to go with it – no bananas won’t work, Ducky hates bananas. One pharmacist looked at me and the guy who asked for the potassium iodide like we were idiots. Do I have to worry about fall out from the Fukashima Meltdown? You betcha – check out the Unisys satellite image. Be safe, be educated, be smart.

Now I’m going to go have ice cream (Umpqua Dairy's Chocolate Brownie Thunder,) read the high wind warning one more time, say a prayer for the people of Japan, and go back to bed.
Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Guilty Pleasures

It took me a week to figure this out and then, “Bam!” as Emeril would say (and no I don’t watch Emeril.) Chocolate, decadent, melt in your mouth chocolate. I’m on a diet, but I’ve learned a piece of good chocolate at night goes an extremely long way. And while I would prefer to melt that chocolate on my tongue while savoring a fine French roast it is at night that I indulge. In the deep dark night.

I’m on a diet, so chocolate isn’t in my daily diet. And I’ve learned cheap ass, sugary chocolate doesn’t cut it. In fact, cheap ass, sugary chocolate is kind of addictive because it satisfies nothing. Don’t’ give me Palmers – I want Dove. Even some types of Hershey’s doesn’t cut it. Give me a hand dipped truffle or yumm yumm Cadbury’s Crunch – friggin’ HEAVEN.

My other guilty pleasure, peanut butter, by the spoon right out of the tub. Don’t give me Jiff, I want the chunky store brand in the three pound tub. Heaping tablespoons full.

Heathen, I know, but that’s how I roll. No wonder I’m on a diet.

Sith,
Cele