Welcome to Margaritaville

Holiday weekend population at my place is 3. Apparently other households are having guests over too. Yesterday at the beach, I must have seen a dozen people. And with fallout from the demoic acid continuing, there were a dozen dead birds, two dead sea lions, and one sea lion cordoned off waiting for rescue.

It's still paradise.
But for the dead, not so much.

And we have bars in paradise. I love bars.

I especially love bars with music. The night before last we went to see one of my favorite musicians at a beach neighborhood bar so tiny it appears to have been built in someone's garage. A guy we  dubbed "the tornado" blew in about half-way through our evening. He entered as if he was wearing those shoes with retractable wheels you see adolescents gliding around in. He danced his way to the dance floor after a quick word with the bartender. The next thing you know, everyone in the bar had a fresh drink. The Tornado danced. The Tornado knuckle-bumped quite a few of us. And then he blew out again.

This morning he was at the farmer's market looking fresh as a daisy.

So I'm back, enjoying life in Margaritaville.

But not that long ago I was here:

Always aware of the canyons in my heart.
How are you?

Wednesday Morning Beach Report

Ghost boat.
And the pelicans on the jetty are still as statues.
Terns circle and cry but never commit to plunge for a fish.
Maybe there are no fish.
A single sea lions leaves the lazy dock life, undulating straight and fast for the harbor's mouth and
passes a couple perched on the rocks.
They are silent. Turned toward one another, heads hung low. For them the water, the birds, the boat, the sea lion do not exist.

Rescue

I watched this sea lion struggle onto the sand this morning. It's a much larger animal than the others I've seen this summer. This creature appears to be an adult. Not super skinny. Not trembling or having seizures from demoic acid poisoning. Not injured as far as I could tell. It was the effort, the struggle to haul out of the water that made me decide to call the marine mammal rescue.

I've been thinking a lot about rescue. How we do it as friends. When to step forward and when to step back. What to offer. What to insist upon. What to just do without even a word of discussion. How the boundaries are different in different relationships. Dan absolutely did not want to recover at my house after his surgery. I'd seen my mom go through two similar lung surgeries and knew absolutely he could not go home to his place alone. A good friend and I staged an intervention of sorts. Look, we said. You won't be able to drive yourself home. Someone has to drive you and you're not going to be driven to your place. That discussion repeated itself when it came time to start the chemo and radiation, but I relented--mostly because his Medi-Cal was in a different county from where I live. It was a mistake. It would have been so much better for him to be here and ride the train.

What do we do when friend needs help? The best thing is just to show up, if that's possible. When Dan was in hospice at my house, people showed up and did a million things. But what if the peril is less tangible? What if there aren't moment by moment things to be done? Advice is cheap, as the old saying goes. I'm not even sure what the hell that means now that I think of it. I often ask advice. I spun around for months thinking about how to get my mom to Iowa for a big family event in October. I weighed the options with a lot of people, asking what they'd do. Fidgeted around with a couple of different plans until I figured it out.

It's the giving of advice that's harder. What if your advice is wrong? What if the person takes your advice and things turn out badly? What if they don't take your advice and things turn out badly? Can we save someone the way marine rescue can save a sea lion? Chronic or acute are the words that are dashing through my head right now. Years ago I  tried to save someone in a chronic bad situation. The results were disastrous.  I bear the responsibility of having helped put a child in harm's way as a result of my meddling/helping. The memory still turns my stomach.

But on the float trip I took while I was in Alaska recently, we rescued a young man. Cold, wet, and lost for a day with a dead cellphone, he climbed down a bluff to the riverbank and flagged us down. There isn't much to think about when the situation is acute. You pull the person into the raft and give him a jacket. You comfort him and hand him over to the paramedics.

Go head. Give me some advice about giving advice.

Friday Morning Beach Report/ Report from Pillville

Sometimes I smell the bodies before I get close enough to the water to see them. A couple of days ago, I came upon four in a walk that was barely a mile, one so emaciated it looked like a sea serpent.  Sea lions are starving. Last year I saw quite a few pups and juveniles awaiting rescue. This year it's mostly bodies. Someone told me about the northern elephant seal pup that washed up yesterday. It was alive, she said, but didn't look good. This morning I came across the sign and the orange tape. Normally, elephant seals aren't this far south.

Also on this morning's walk, I saw a back hoe dig a big hole and mound up some sand. I guess this is how the dead ones are buried. It being Easter weekend and all, I suppose there's some concern about freaking out the tourists. Maybe we should put up signs marking all the spots where sea lions died. So people know and we can all freak out communally. There's a large sea lion colony in the islands. Maybe they'll survive this crisis.

As for life in Pillville, we have an assessment scheduled with a hospice nurse. Nothing has changed dramatically with my mom, but her slow motion slide inches downward. A walker instead of her cane. More pain. Less energy. But odd as it may sound, we're happy enough here in Pillville. Yesterday friends came by to drink champagne. They're all so pretty, my mom told me afterwards. She wanted to know if they all had husbands. No, I said, oversimplifying things quite a bit. I knew where the discussion was headed, so I changed the subject. I think if I hadn't, she would have told me once again I should have a husband--or at least a man in my life. I'd love to fall in love, but I don't think I'm ready. And I absolutely can't imagine how a man would fit into life here in Pillville. He'd have to be a saint. That's not exactly what I'm looking for.

"I'm no saint. I got papers to prove I ain't."-- fragment from one of Dan's songs.

So thanks for visiting and taking time to read about the dead and dying.

Here's a pure white dove for you. Peace.

Stranded Sea Lions--Do you know what to do?

This sea lion is probably okay....not excessivley skinny, not a tiny pup.

Sea lions haul out to get warm. People go nuts. They get close. Take pictures. Videos. "Would you like a photo of yourself riding a sea lion?" I jokingly asked my friend Ellen when she was here for a visit and we came upon this critter during a beach walk.
It could happen. People do crazy stupid shit.

After we passed this one, we came upon a young pup. Too skinny. I called CIMWI to report it while Ellen tried to keep beach goers from getting too close and inadvertently chasing it back into the cold water. She also tried wrangling two unleashed and romping big dogs who unfortunately chased it back into the ocean.

Here's what to do if you find an underfed, or distressed, or injured marine mammal. Rule #1: Don't get too close and inadvertently chase it back into the water. DO NOT  pour water on a seal or a sea lion or an elephant seal. They have come out of the water to get warm.

Put your local marine mammal rescue phone numbers in your phone. Call for help.

Educate yourself about global warming and its effects on marine life.

Monday Morning Beach Report

Long weekend crowded beach or Why I love it here.

Holiday beach goers.
Bikinied girls boogie boarding into the waves, screaming.
The water is cold and there's a dead sea lion on the sand.
I traipse along in my orange polar fleece jacket, sipping the last from my coffee mug.
On the gritty pavement next to my car is a penny.
Just superstitious enough, I pick it up, put it into the cup holder, hope for the best.

Tuesday Beach Report

C and I decided to let the thinset on our fabulous beach glass fireplace cure another day before grouting and had an extra long walk on the beach instead. We picked up a little trash (it's a pretty clean beach, really) marveled at all the beauty, picked up more sea glass, and saw a dead jellyfish-- while I told her what I know about snowy plovers and California least terns.

In keeping with the theme of the day we ate sushi for lunch, visited the maritime museum, and did some sea lion watching.

The large male snoozing behind the post may be the largest California sea lion I've seen. The group also included a very geriatric seeming sea lion who kept nodding off near the edge of the dock, jerking awake every time her nose hit the water. That's kind of the way I've been falling asleep at night. Refusing to give in as I scroll though pictures and old emails on my phone or on Dan's iPad until I drop them onto my face. Sleeping on a boat dock is not without hazards, and I'll bet plenty of people have given themselves black eyes by dropping their electronic devices onto their faces.

Sea Lion Rescue

"I've gotta hang up," I told my friend Ellen. "There's a stranded sea lion on the sand--or maybe a dog without any back legs." As I got closer, I saw a woman standing and watching. I considered, for a moment, that she might have brought her handicapped dog to the beach to play in the waves. The creature really did look like a dog, and she seemed attached to the animal in a way.

But it wasn't a dog. It was a sea lion pup, and the woman had already called some kind of hot line. I called harbor patrol, and they suggested that the animal might get back in the water and turn out fine if it didn't have any apparent injuries. I could call back later, they said--or I could call CIMWI. I had to ask the officer to explain what that was, and then googled it on my iPhone and called them. I got a recording and a referral to their rescue line where I  left a message.

The woman and I stood guard, cringing when seagulls swooped in to investigate the animal that was now sleeping on the sand. I'd seen gulls go for the eyes of dead fish--and sea lion carcasses, too. We watched as a couple of walkers got too close and scared the animal back into the water. I struck up a conversation with them, and told them what I'd read in the paper after all the strandings last year--that the animals were cold due to being malnourished and without enough body fat, and that they needed to be out of the water to get warm. Sure enough, the pup came back out again after floundering a bit in the water, and it scooted higher up on the sand.

The woman and I continued to stand watch. We flagged down a beach maintenance crew, crawling across the sand in their pick-up truck, emptying trash cans. They called a CIMWI volunteer who lived near the beach. Within minutes he was there. The photos show what happened next.

First signage and orange tape to warn beach goers to go around the animal in order not to startle it back into the water.

Then the arrival of a second rescuer. Equipment: plywood board with handle (used as a barrier), a net, and a kennel.

The netting goes smoothly.

And so does the placement into the crate.

This lucky pup will be examined for illness and injury, and if all goes well, released back into the ocean with a nice layer of body fat.

Orange is the New Kayak

Daughter C has been visiting so I talked through my kayak dilemma with her. (You didn't know I had a kayak dilemma, did you?) "Should I get a 1-person or a 2-person kayak as our second kayak?" I asked. We discussed the pros and cons, one issue being how we would get a 2-person kayak home. At 12 feet, it most certainly would not fit in the Prius. I knew from my earlier purchase of a 1-person kayak from REI that they didn't deliver.

C and I decided to go the West Marine just a few miles from my house. If we could carry the kayak a block or so, we could put in in the water and paddle it home. After a brief jaunt around the store to prove to myself that I could carry my half--30.5 pounds--we walked out the the door with it. It's rather awkward walking down the street with a kayak.  And I did require a pause or two along the way, but we made it to the water.

It was so much fun that the next day we paddled it to lunch and had to share a boat dock with a sea lion. It was a long dock, so a turf war was avoided.

That was so much fun, that today we paddled to the supermarket to pick up a few groceries.

I'm thrilled to have been out under the blue sky so much the last couple of days. C. goes back to Minnesota tomorrow, and the man who loves me has finished his recuperation here and went back to his place today so he can get ready for chemo and radiation.

Now with the kayak dilemma solved, I will turn my attention to the usual Pillville matters--the first of which will be to follow up again on the hospital bed I'm trying to get for my mom.

Birds and Bees and Brains

I read about THIS in the newspaper a few days ago.

I could see the barricade and the sign as soon as I stepped onto the sand this morning and knew what it would be. The sea lion was gone when I got there. A vacancy opened up in a rescue center, I hope.

Mother Earth is pretty stressed out. The BEES. The THE BIRDS. Our BRAINS.

I now have the marine mammal rescue phone number in my phone.

Hire Me

Here is the email I sent today:


Dear Someone:

If you are well enough to pick up the phone and ask your attorney to do whatever it is that has to be done, would you do it, please?

I simply CANNOT function financially without a court order that reflects my current alimony.

The only other option is for you to deposit into my account that money that is owed per the current court order. If you did that TODAY I could finalize my re-fi.

Feel free to call me. I am at my desk....pulling my hair out.

This unfortunate drama has been going on for more than a month.

In a perfect world, there would be a job description that reads like this: "Wanted: Responsible and determined person to hover over people who do not return phone calls, answer letters, or emails. Job responsibilities would include hounding said unfortunate persons until they perform their required tasks--and inventing fit punishments for work not performed in a timely matter." 

I would so love to be the boss of that.

Meanwhile, the sea lions have been barking here in Margaritaville. I think I'm going to go bark with them....before it's time to do my mom's weekly blood test. Poking holes in people is not something that should be done until there's been some therapeutic barking.

photo credit: National Geographic

Fearful Symmetry

In a weird symmetry both the Someone and the man who loves me have been very sick with the flu. I would not know of the Someone's condition, of course, if it weren't for the fact that I have contacted him a half-dozen times asking him to please get a new court order to formalize the lowered alimony he began paying in January. He has invoked his illness as an excuse. A good excuse, as excuses go, but making a phone call is probably not going to spike a fever. Then again, I've become physically ill by having to root through a box of divorce papers.

I haven't seen the man who loves me for a month. Like many who've caught the flu this year, he's had a relapse and sounds positively awful.

Meanwhile, here in Margaritaville, the days tick by in their own symmetry. When I come downstairs in the morning, my mom is already up. She's opened the curtains, and fed the cat, and is standing in her spot at the kitchen island looking out at the water. I go to the gym, and when I come back, she's still there in her p.j.s drinking her re-warmed coffee. We talk. We read the paper. We talk about the paper. I eat my breakfast. She goes to her room to crochet and read, and I go up to my room to read and write. I come down for tea. She has her lunch. I have mine. She re-warms the last of her coffee. Off we go again to our separate retreats.

At five, the ancient cat meows for her special ancient cat milk. My mom gives the cat her "cocktail," and  pours her martini. I begin to prep for dinner and maybe race off to the store. Seven--we eat. She does the dishes. I put away the food and wipe down the counters. I brush the ancient cat while she takes a last scroll through the news on the iPad. She says good-night. I say good-night.

I read. The New Yorker. Jack Gilbert's poems. One of the many books from my MFA colleagues. Prairie Schooner. Missouri Review. The pages from my writing group. And sometimes I blog. When I hear the beep of my mom's oxygen machine turning on, I sink deeper into the reading or the writing. At my desk in the dark, I look out at the shining black water and marvel at rings radiating across the surface. Sometimes I open my window and listen for the heron's croak or the deep gasp of a sea lion as it comes to the surface. I take a deep breath, too.

Sea Lions in Margaritaville!

I was just waking from a nap when I heard the woosh of breath and a gentle splash. A different sound from the immense splash of a diving pelican. Sea lions!

I went downstairs and told my mom, and we went out to the patio to watch them. The pelicans continued to soar and dive, and I found myself wondering if there had ever been a tragic pelican-sea lion collision.

And then there was a sort of "explosion" near the dock across the way where the sea lions were swimming under water. Dozens of small silver fish flew out of the water. Sea gulls descended. I pinched myself to see if I was awake. Fish exploding out of the water. Sea lions. Seagulls. Pelicans. In my back yard.

Oh, what a wonderful world.

A double marine mammal morning here in Margaritaville

There were dolphins arcing in and out of the surf this morning. I walked along the sand just a a few feet from them until they outpaced me. A few seconds after I turned back, I spotted two seals, or maybe sea lions, diving through the waves. To the south god-fingers of light spread through the clouds, and to the north the coastline was swaddled in mist. The ocean itself was cellophane--blue layered over green layered over silver. A color without a name. Lucky, lucky, lucky. The word repeated itself and I listened. The capriciousness of the universe sometimes seems most evident in the weather. Superstorm Sandy wreaking havoc and misery while I make footprints in sand so smooth it looks as though some beach version of a Zamboni has whisked across it. There is no reason as far as I can tell.

The misfortunes of the east coast have caused me to pull the "earthquake protection" guy's card from my rollodex. Time to anchor my towering bookshelves and old armoires. Time to think about storing some water, check the batteries in my lanterns, and figure out where the battery phone charger went after last December's windstorm. But I am never prepared, really, when the bad stuff happens. I prefer to dwell on the smooth sand murmuring about luck and marveling at dolphins.

The heroes whose job it is to respond to disaster, the men and women whose jobs require drills to man lifeboats, escort passengers from crippled planes, race gurneys down hallways are as exotic to me as dolphins. Because my daughter C and her husband are both sailors in the tall ship world, I found myself staring at my computer screen in the wee dark hours watching the waves wash over the HMS Bounty after Sandy hit it. I thought of how many times these submerged sailors might have run the lifeboat drill, and I thought of  the hours of training required to be a Coastguard rescue swimmer or helicopter pilot. I wondered what it must be like to be in an upside down canopied lifeboat praying for rescue. Or to be washed under and not make it to the lifeboat. But I couldn't visit that scenario for long.

My daughters and I sometimes talk about having superpowers. All of my children are crazily brave in ways I cannot imagine. It seems to me that they really do have superpowers. My superpower? It might be finding lost babies. I've found three, so far, in my life and shepherded each of them back where they belonged. So, hey, all you wandering toddlers out there......never fear.

photo credit: paintingsilove.com

Do Not Change the Channel

Like many children, my grandchildren have been raised on TV and videos. Staring at a screen first thing in the morning, last thing at night, and plenty of time in between. I don't hanker for the chirp and drone of the TV in the background as company, and during visits from my son and his family, I would often turn the TV off when I found that no one was really watching it anyway. This visit things were different. I have no TV here at my new house. Yes, they came with their various small screens, but I think the ocean proved to be more mesmerizing. "Can we go back to the beach?" was the refrain of the past few days, and we grown-ups obliged.

We even took a boat ride to Anacapa, one of the The Channel Islands. A large sea lion lounged on the edge of a boat dock setting up the expectation for wildlife even before we left the harbor. Thirty minutes or so out into the ocean, the dolphins arrived. Dozens of them in the distance at first, and then scores mores, rocketing closer and closer until they were almost close enough to touch, racing along side of the boat or leaping out of the water. A couple of seals popped their heads up, too, and there were more sea lions than we could count on the rocks near Anacapa. Sea gulls hovered above, and squadrons of pelicans were so numerous they became practically became mundane.

I tried to mitigate the media's influence with my daughters, allowing only an occasional video or TV show when they were little and, starting with kindergarten they went to Waldorf School where TV, movies, videos, computers and electronic games of all kinds were discouraged altogether. I felt like I was only partially successful when I was in the thick of it all, and would have probably caved far more often if it weren't for the support of our Waldorf school community. It's so clear to me now that nature is the only real competitor for the pull of the media. And kids want to do things. Sitting means flipping a switch and waiting to be entertained. Being out in a boat on the water, chasing the waves, digging in the sand, playing outdoors, walking the dog, doing chores--there's a satisfaction to all of those things that doesn't seem to crave passiveness.

The flat blue water we were lucky to sail on yesterday was almost like a screen. And real live animals popped right out of it.  I love you, Mother Nature.