State Street Prophet

When I was younger I thought God lived in the mountains and made his home in the pine trees ~ I knew when I inhaled deeply and smelled that fragrant pine and could hear the crunch of the cones beneath my feet, that I was in his home.

Last December, with the chill in the air and the Christmas lights sparkling, God was walking down State Street. Michael and I had taken a spontaneous trip up to Santa Barbara to buy a piece of furniture we found on Craigslist. But with the holiday spirit beckoning us to stay in town a little longer, we decided to go have a drink. We entered the Canary Hotel ~ ended up at the Chase, dining on Chicken Piccata and Caesar salad. The streets were pretty empty being that it was a Monday night and colder than usual in Santa Barbara. But there was something magical and surreal about the night, you know, like a holiday Christmas movie. The only thing missing was a light snowfall.

We were walking back to our car and crossing the street when Michael saw something in the sky, high in the sky, bright red and green. He called to me to come and see it. I walked into the middle of the street not even looking to see if there were cars coming from either direction and looked up.  It was as if the world had stopped, everything was in slow motion.

I could see the bright colored object in the dark cold sky. All of a sudden we were joined by a man, a black man, Carl, who at first glance you would easily peg as homeless. He held a plastic bag in his hand and wore a bulky coat. He wanted to see what we were looking at. Of course, when he looked up into the sky it was gone. He laughed and accused Michael of trying to get us killed by a car. Accused him of looking for UFO’s.

As we walked back to the curb he came with us. He started saying to me that Michael was a keeper.  That he had a childlike way about him, that he was authentic and real. He told Michael to stay that way and informed him that that was one of the things I loved about him. He kept telling Michael how he was so real and authentic and was original with his childlike wonder. He reminded me again that he was a keeper. He told Michael that I was still analyzing him.

He then turned his attention to me and was quite insistent. “He is not them” he stressed “Quit testing him, he did not do it” ~ he told me over and over again. He went on to tell Michael that the men that had been in my life before had been intimidated by me and warned Michael not to control me. I burst into tears. He had hit a nerve. How did he know anything about us? And how did he know anything about my past or present relationships?

Carl kept saying he had to go, as if he were in a hurry, like he had somewhere important to be. But as soon as he would start to cross the street he would turn and come walking back to tell us “just one more thing.” And one of those things was that he was delivering this message from God. Carl might have made me a believer.

The Shoemaker Brothers

Friday night we decided to get out of town and go down to Ventura, which is about 20 miles south of here. Just wanting to enjoy some different scenery and find someplace new to have dinner, we ended up having a cocktail and appetizers at an upscale restaurant bar. We weren't that impressed with  the food or the setting, so we ventured off down Main Street to find some place else to land.  

We'd only walked about a block when we heard this incredible music coming from inside one of the Mexican Cantinas, and it stopped us in our tracks.  There was no room to sit, so we  just leaned up against the entrance and watched, as these two extraordinary musicians kept us mesmerized. Come to find out, they are the Shoemaker Brothers, originally from Washington State, and now make their home in Southern California. Actually, the band consists of four brothers, but only two were playing this gig. We ended up getting a seat and enjoying a full set of theirs ~ which was fascinating to watch.  

Nothing moves me like the violin. I think it might be my very favorite instrument of all ~ it can make such sorrowful sounds, aching, wailing, such desperate sounds, which can speak to me more than any words ever spoken.  

"The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea" – Isak Dinesen

Fly like an eagle

In a little over a month from now our "team" will be back on the rough waters off Alaska, fishing for the 11th or 12th year (I can't remember for sure) for those beautiful King, Coho and if necessary, occasional Pink salmon. Every year as I fill out the required papers and my fishing license application, literally signing my life away, I always have second thoughts before I sign my name to the release of liability form. There is one paragraph in particular that makes me swallow hard, and causes me to reconsider if the salmon, halibut, bear, eagles and whale sightings would be worth my life. Here is how that paragraph reads:

Trip Activities & Risks: As part of your Trip you will travel by small plane to and from the resort. You will use steep ramps, cross what are often wet slippery docks; load and unload yourself and gear onto and from small planes and boats; fish in what can be rough water; and come within close proximity to wild animals. You may also choose to hike on the trails near the resort. These activities and those not specifically stated entail risks including, but not limited to: slipping and falling; water hazards; drowning; exhaustion; hypothermia; prolonged exposure to cold water; boating and/or navigational hazards; cold, heat, sun, snow, rain, fog and wind; guide misjudgment; negative reaction from air or waterborne bacteria or virus. In the event of an accident, there could be prolonged delay in obtaining medical assistance. Due to the remote areas in which the resort operates, evacuation to medical facilities could take 24 hours or longer. We could also experience communication failures and breakdowns or faulty equipment. Please understand that the description of activities and risks is not intended to be a complete listing of all possible activities and risks, and we ask you to acknowledge that the Trip may include other risks that could result in property loss or damage, physical or emotional injury, or death.

Death? Did they say death? I know they legally have to cover their ass, so listed are the remotest of possibilities. But if you are a somewhat paranoid like me, you must admit, they are possibilities! Yes, yes, I know that driving my car is much more dangerous or drinking the local tap water, but still, when you see it in writing it just does a little number to your nervous system.

But still, there is something about being out there, on that open ocean that makes you want to come back for more, risk it year after year.  It is truly a cleansing experience, a baptism of sorts. So, with only a moment's hesitation, I take a deep breath, exhale and grab my pen.

Alright, Eleanor!

I understand the premise behind this. I guess after the big scare you get a rush of adrenaline, a feeling of accomplishment, and an "I did it" to add to your experience belt. A feeling of being alive. Because there is nothing that can make you feel more alive than coming close to death, or at least thinking you were coming close to death. The lure of the amusement park roller coaster.

But I don't like being scared. I have never been a fan of horror movies. I was always afraid of the dark, always thought something was under my bed (probably stems from watching horror movies!) and I have fancied safety in my life. Yes, I have been following Downton Abbey, if you're wondering about the Englishy way of speaking. 

The scariest thing that I do would have to be my annual fishing trip to Alaska and the occasional visit to a Walmart when I am forced by a friend to accompany him to purchase some jeans or soap, or some other item that you just find elsewhere at a better price.

For the past 10 years, I have gone on a fishing trip to Alaska. We sign waivers, signing away our right to sue if anything should happen. Like dying. Yes, dying. There are scary things involved.  Float planes, bears, fishhooks, massive halibut that can pull you overboard, and having to pee in a bucket. But you come home with a year's worth of salmon and a lifetime worth of stories.

So, I guess what might even be scarier than signing that waiver, would be staying home, playing it safe, and reading or watching about other people's adventures. I've always admired the brave and brilliant Eleanor Roosevelt, and I'm not about to question her now.

A Privilege to Serve?

I received a jury summons awhile back and had to report yesterday afternoon for service.  After sitting in the small, dimly lit jury orientation room for over 2 and a half hours, and feeling quite claustrophobic, the court was finally ready for us.  Being treated no better than a common criminal, we were instructed not to use our phones, no texting, reminded of our duty to be here, the privilege it is to serve, and informed of what we would receive if we were selected to serve.  If you've served lately in California, you know you get a whopping $15 a day and .34 cents a mile, and that only applies once you begin your second day of service.  The mileage only applies to your one way trip to the courthouse.  For some reason, they don't feel it necessary to help pay your gas to get you home.

As we all marched over across the street to the courthouse together, single file, with our bright purple badges prominently displayed for all to see, I felt like we were being led back to our cells. When we were all finally seated, the judge introduced himself, the defense and prosecuting attorneys and the defendant himself.  He then went over all the "rules" which took him much longer than necessary. He couldn't repeat them enough, and kept saying, "you're going to hear me say this again and again." I kept thinking, "this dude really loves to hear himself talk" as well as, "if we are really this stupid and need you to repeat this stuff to us over and over again, are we really intelligent enough to judge this person and the outcome of his future?" Scary stuff.

Anyway, of course we didn't get a jury selected and we need to come back.  He said it could take four or more days just to select the jury. Big "ugh" here. I do realize in our democratic society that it is quite a privilege to serve on a jury, and heaven forbid, if I was in that situation, I would like to have that privilege bestowed on me.

But, seriously, can't the government see to it that the people are paid a wage that makes some sense?  Many of us don't have government jobs or work for employers that will pay you your regular wage.  Many of us are on our own and $15 a day is quite a deterrent when it comes to our willingness to sit on the jury.  Everyone seems to be scrambling to find an excuse, an out, and I can see why.  I myself kept creating scenarios in my head that I would present to the judge, hoping he would let me go.

It is a hardship to give up a week or two (or more) pay and it just seems to me that with what the government spends on everything else, they could at least reach in their pockets and lay a little of the green stuff on its jurors.

Treat jurors with the same respect that you want the jurors to provide the courts and then maybe this could work and be more of a win/win for everyone.

Making the commitment

Commitment ~ why do I have such a hard time with it?  It seems the minute I say, "Of course we'd love to come to your party on Saturday" or "Yoga class next Sunday morning? I'll be there!" ~ I am immediately thinking of ways to get out of it.  Doesn't make any sense whatsoever. And obviously, one of my shortcomings that I need to work on.

So a few days ago I made a "commitment" to participate in this month's NaBloPoMo, one blog post everyday for the 30 days of June, and on the very first day, I missed it.  Was I too busy?  Did I forget?  Was I just plain lazy? Or did my subconscious remind me that I had made a commitment and I needed to find a way out?

Well, I am determined to fulfill this commitment, even if a day short, so to get off on a good start, I will post two today to catch up. And then, hey, no excuses.

McHeaven

There are seven wonders of the world.  But not really, there are many more than that. There are the seven original, which include things like the statue of Zeus at Olympia and The Great Pyramid of Giza.  There are the seven modern, which include things like the Golden Gate Bridge and the Panama Canal. I have heard that an eighth wonder was added, but I’m not sure what it is. Whatever the current number, I have found the next wonder, the real wonder, and it should be on the list.  It would have to be, hands down, any and all Apple stores. 

I am sure that the existence of this modern wonder is very old news to a lot of the world, but I just bought my first Mac computer last year and this is the first time I’ve had to take it in for service of any kind.  It started making a noise a few weeks ago, like something was loose inside, rattling around when I would tilt it up or down. 

So, the first beautiful thing you encounter when calling or going on line to check on getting service for your laptop, iPhone, ipad or whatever other apple product you might own, is that you can make a real life appointment.  Just like making a hair appointment, car or doctor, except at Apple, they are on time!!  There is no waiting around.  These people are on it!  My appointment at the Genius Bar was scheduled for 1:00.  I walked in the door ten minutes prior to my appointment.  I was met by my first smiling Apple employee  ~ greeting me, asking me what the problem was with my computer, and directing me to a table in the back, where he said someone would be by shortly to take me to the Genius bar.

A second employee came up to me in a matter of minutes.  She wrote down notes, looked at my computer, taking her job very seriously.  I had to ask, looking at her name tag, “Leeann, are all of you geniuses here?”  She laughed, “No, we’re not.  We get a lot of training.  But, most of us here are pretty smart to begin with.”  Yes, I figured that, Leeann.

Another blue shirt came and took me to the bar.  I wanted to order a drink and appetizer and just spend the day there.  The place was packed with all sorts of intelligent, geeky, not so geeky, and generally progressive people.  Good place to just hang, people watch and spend a Sunday afternoon.

Meghan, a young tattooed woman, with short choppy and obviously very unnatural red hair (she wanted it that way) came up to me, just like a doctor, a pencil behind her ear, “What’s the problem with the computer Kim?”  It was like I was bringing my toddler in for an exam, bronchitis maybe, not really sure.  Sounds like something loose in there.  She smiled, as if to say, “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of her, she’ll be fine.”  And off she went, cradling my MacBook Pro in her arms and disappearing behind closed doors. 

In the meantime I carried on conversations with several of the geniuses that were all bustling about.  We talked about blogging, weather, twitter and the like.  What really blew my mind, here in this relatively small store in Portland, was when they informed me that during each shift, there could be anywhere from 60-80 employees on staff.  And, Meghan told me, sometimes, that’s not even enough!  "60-80 per day?" I asked. No, per shift.  I don't know, but that was just mind-boggling to me.  That is what I call customer service. 

And, these people, and do not doubt this for a minute, are geniuses.  They are amazing; it is like watching God’s chosen few hard at work.  And when you have a problem with your computer, i.e., your entire life is falling apart, these people are absolute angels.  Merciful, beautiful angels.  I now know why the Apple logo is the apple with the bite out of it, because this store and the people who work there are absolutely biblical, miraculous, and life changers.  I literally thought I had died and gone to heaven.

When Meghan brought my computer back out to me, she gave it to me with a smile, told me they found some little broken plastic pieces inside (I totally forgot that I had dropped my computer a few weeks ago!) She cleaned it out, fixed it up, and I was free to go.  Free to go.  As in, no charge. 

As I watched all of these people, like little worker bees, I beamed with pride, like I had done something to create this miraculous place.  You know, on the 8^th day ~ And even though I knew I probably couldn’t even get a job there sweeping the floors (I’m assuming you don’t have to be a genius, but pretty damn close) I couldn’t help myself.  To watch the efficiency, the pure perfection of the way this place was run and the brilliance and passion of the people that worked there, I had to look up at Steve Jobs and salute him.  I always knew you were a genius Steve, but I think I just elevated you to sainthood.