Time is a thief
he rests on his perch
flying unheralded only to search
for people like us who think we're not old
a skeletal finger so bony and cold
taking years from our lives with a sinister stroke
stealing our joy and robbing our hope
turning our laughter and love into pain
then along comes a puppy to renew us again
Mornings have evolved into a now familiar ritual and any slight variance can cause major consequences, sometimes lasting all day. In other words, if something doesn't go right in the morning, the rest of the day is probably going to be screwed up.
First awareness comes around 4am when Taz jumps on me and starts pushing and pawing. If I try to ignore him, he'll lick my face, which always works to finish waking me up. I scratch his belly for a few minutes, crawl out of bed, scratch my belly, switch on the light and get dressed.
After stumbling into the kitchen, I get some fresh coffee brewing while Taz waits impatiently at the back door. After the coffee's started, I'll grab a coat if it's cold, a raincoat if it's raining, and go out into the backyard with Taz for our morning pee. I let him choose the spot; usually out past the Japanese Maple tree in the middle of the yard, or if he really has to go, he beelines for the closer grass right at the end of the deck.
When we first started this routine I used to wait for him to finish and then go inside to go to the bathroom myself, but then I realized; What the heck! It's dark out here, the neighbors can't see into our back yard even if it's light out, and I really have to go! So, we started the ritual of the morning pee.
I noticed some time ago that when Taz is through, he always scratches the grass with his paws, sending grass and leaves flying, as if to celebrate a job well done! Unfortunately, the one time I tried it, I not only got a funny look from Taz, but my slipper flew off and I had to hop one-legged across the wet grass to retrieve it. (Not easy at my age!)
Once our morning pee is over, it's time to start a fire in the fireplace. Taz usually waits by the front door while I get some logs and kindling from the carport, and then while I light the fire he goes in to the front bedroom and wakes Chewy up. Chewy used to resist this rude awakening, but like me, he finally decided he might as well not fight it, so he grumpily gets up and follows Taz out into the living room. About the time the fire is crackling and popping they're both lined up in the kitchen waiting for their morning bowl of milk.
How this got started, I'm not really sure. Chewy loves milk, and even though I don't think Taz likes it that much, he has to have whatever Chewy gets. After a little milk and a snack of dog food, (Chewy has special vet- prescribed, expensive dog food that he hates, but Taz, of course, steals it and gobbles it up,) the two of them go to the back door so I can let them out for their morning pee. Sometimes I think Chewy's bladder is the size of a basketball while Taz has one about the size of a BB!
Chewy is 90% blind so he goes out and down the ramp we built for him, using memory and his sense of smell, but I think Taz helps by leading the way. If it's raining I have to go out and bring Chewy in sometimes, because the rain washes away the scent and he gets lost. If they're wet when they come in, I dry them with a bath towel and breath a sigh of relief. That part of the morning ritual over, I can check the email and maybe do some writing, because both dogs have gone back to bed!
Later, when I wake Carol up with a “It's 5:30 Hon!” Taz is right there again, to make sure she gets up OK. They usually play a “growling at each other” game that ends up with Carol chasing Taz into the living room. Chewy keeps on sleeping, and I eat some breakfast.
The morning ritual is over.
I ran across this article on the Internet the other day, and checked it out to make sure it wasn't fiction. Carol and I both were moved by it.
The loneliest mystery of the deep
For the last 12 years, a single solitary whale whose vocalizations match no known living species has been tracked across the Northeast Pacific. Its wanderings match no known migratory patterns of any living whale species. Its vocalizations have also subtly deepened over the years, indicating that the whale is maturing and aging. And, during the entire 12 year span that it has been tracked, it has been calling out for contact from others of its own kind.
It has received no answer. Nor will it ever.
Whatever the identity of this strange unidentified alien whale, it is, for now, the very definition of poetic, existential loneliness, in both time and space. The whale is somewhere wandering the Northeast Pacific, right now, in a rudderless, aimless track. And right now the lonely beast could be calling out for others of its kind, and finding none, for over 12 years and counting.
This story seems to be true, in fact there are many entries on Google about this lonely whale and some of the theories about it. I was going to write a short story about it but decided to attempt a poem instead.
Hear My Song
I sing for my mother who taught me this song
I sing for my brothers, all of them gone
Once we were many, now I'm alone
Searching in vain for an answering tone
As I grow older I fear no more
Orcas or Squid, harpoons or shore
I sing to the depths and try to cope
Living alone with little hope
It's been pretty quiet here after the big wind storm, except for the occasional sound of neighborhood chainsaws cleaning up fallen trees and limbs. It's also been unusually chilly, in the 30s at night and barely getting up into the mid 40s in the daytime. Good weather to stay inside and be lazy.
Carol had a couple of busy ambulance days last weekend but for the most part shes been able to relax a bit also.
We just spent over 30 hours realizing how much we depend on electricity these days. The wind knocked down trees and power lines all over the place. At one time over 4,000 people in this area were without power.
It's cold and nasty out today, but that hasn't slowed Carol down any. While I've been sitting around the fire, watching TV, or playing with the computer or the dog, she went on an early ambulance call, picked up a patient in Seal Rock and drove on icy roads 85 miles from Seal Rock to the Florence hospital and back. On the way home she stopped by the grocery store to get boxes for the canned food drive tonight, and picked up the neighbor's mail.
She thawed and reheated a big pot of home made chili to feed the crew, took it down to the station, went to the library to return some books, picked up a book for me and paid the power bill.
Tonight and tomorrow night she's going to be helping with “Operation Santa Claus” which is a canned food drive for the needy. She'll be inside a Christmas light decorated ambulance stacking and boxing food while other volunteers go from house to house gathering everything from noodles to canned peas. (Santa is going to be riding a quad this year!)
Where she gets the energy amazes me, and I sure am proud of her!
As usual, right after Thanksgiving, Carol put up the Christmas tree and spent the day decorating it. I've learned over the years to stay clear and let her do it. I found out that I'm completely stupid when it comes to hanging ornaments, because wherever I'd hang one it would be in the wrong spot and have to be moved. It's much easier to just sit and watch from a safe distance.
Carol and I went over to J.C.'s for Thanksgiving and had a feast as usual; champagned ham, smoked turkey, deviled eggs, succotash, brussel sprouts, home made biscuits and on and on...
J.C. and I hiked into Drift Creek on Wednesday and caught a couple of nice salmon, a 10lb. Coho and a 30 lb. Chinook. We released them both and it was good that we did because I sure had a hard time climbing back up that trail. I don't think I could have packed a 6" Trout out of there.When we got home Carol was so worried that she called one of the paramedics she works with to come over and take my blood pressure. It was fine; 130 over 70, so I guess I was just having a bad day. Plus, maybe I'm starting to get old?
I used to be a big football fan.
When the chill of Colorado's fall was in the air, I knew that my Sunday's were going to be spent in front of the TV watching pro football. I even went to some of the games at Mile High stadium and watched the old AFL Broncos play. Over the years I had my heroes, Johnny Unitas, Walter Payton, Bart Starr, Brett Favre, John Elway and even O.J. Simpson to name a few. They seemed to be good sports, tried to be good role models for kids and it looked like they enjoyed playing the game. There were a lot of players like them, and I respected and admired them.
Then for me, things gradually began to change. Maybe it was just my turning a blind eye to the faults of my heroes, (like O.J.) but I began to wonder about all of the mocking, strutting, and in-your-face taunting that was becoming more and more common in the games. Instead of tossing the ball to the ref and returning to the sideline after a touchdown, the scoring player felt obliged to do a dance, or in some cases, before they outlawed it, an entire vaudeville routine. After a good tackle or block, we have to endure chest beating, taunting and bragging. How often now do we hear the announcers mention “sportsmanship” or “humility” or “gentleman?”
It seems to me that the higher the player's salaries go, the more repulsive their behavior becomes.
Their idea of being an off-field role model is to dress like a pimp, get busted for drugs, drunk driving, wife-beating or murder, and then use their high priced lawyers to beat the rap. On the field they act like the over paid, primping, posturing, publicity seeking, selfish, steroid popping prima donnas that they are.
There are still lots of players who are good role models for our kids, but I'm afraid they're getting harder and harder to find in the media. I guess one of the problems is that the good players deeds are overshadowed by the bad press that the prima donnas make.
Oh well, maybe I'll watch a little bit of of the Green Bay Carolina game. After all, Bret Favre is one of the good guys. (Or maybe I'll go up to JC's and watch the Seattle game in Hi Def.)
Well, the crows finished off the last of the apples. Taz did manage to find one they left behind and he fiercely guarded it until he could eat what was left of it. His breath may improve now that the apple season is over, as he usually smells like fermented apple juice. Could be worse, I guess.
Chewy woke us up at 3:30 this morning to go out and pee. Even though he's blind, he usually can find his way back in OK by his sense of smell, but when it's raining he just goes around in circles. By the time I got dressed, put on a raincoat and carried him back in I was wide awake so I put on the coffee and started another early morning.
Carol answered a call to a very bad wreck yesterday right across from J.C.'s driveway. A lady lost control of her car, or maybe hydroplaned on the wet road, knocked down 5 trees and landed upside down in the yard of a new manufactured home. They had to use the “Jaws of Life” to extract her. The whole crew was soaked by the time they got the patient stabilized and ready to transport to Newport. They tried to get a medical helicopter to take her to Portland but they were refused because of the bad weather. We haven't heard if she lived or not.
Carol seems to be able to handle those kind of situations really well, even though Tony, the head paramedic, worries about her. I actually think she does as well as, or maybe even better than he does. They do have counseling available if anyone needs it.
We had our weekly barbecue yesterday; it was our turn, so we set up the patio furniture and Carol cooked up a feast of grilled Salmon, home made biscuits, brussels sprouts and salad.
As usual, after eating, and several glasses of wine, the reminiscing began.
J.C. Usually has a story or two about his days working for E.G.&G. tracking down radiation leaks all over the world, or about something his kids did when they were little, which reminds Carol about our kids escapades, and I'll remember something that happened while I was working for Coors or working in the mine, and after another glass of wine the stories really start flying.
At one time I thought that maybe we should have a tape recorder set up to save our conversations for posterity but then I thought again, maybe not!
Well, we got all of the clocks set back yesterday morning, except for one... the fuzzy one. Now he's waking me up at 3 instead of 4 am. How do you teach a dog to spring forward and fall back? It's beyond me.
I saw a picture like this on "Flicker" I think, so i thought I'd try it.
It was a beautiful day yesterday when Kelly, J.C. and I hiked in to Drift Creek. We got to the trail head around 7am and discovered that there were a couple of trucks and a campsite in the parking area. We needed flashlights to see the trail until it started getting light.
We got to the stream in about an hour but there were already 5 guys fishing when we got there. The water was perfect but there weren't many fish in the spawning beds, and we got pretty discouraged since our favorite fishing spots were already taken.
One of the other fishermen hooked into a bright salmon and we watched while he landed it. It was foul hooked so he reluctantly released it.
Then I started getting some action, hooked one, and fought it a while until it jumped and threw the spinner. The next two I had on decided that they wanted to go back downstream to the ocean, and there wasn't much I could do about it except tighten up my drag until something gave. Fortunately the hooks pulled out before they could take all of my line with them. They were all big, bright Chinook salmon in the 35 to 40 pound class. It looks like the run is just starting so we should be able to make some more trips as long as our bodies hold out.
J.C. and Kelly both had a hard time coming back up the trail because of the colds they both have. I went ahead of them, collected some Chantrelle mushrooms, and waited for them at the beer stops. (We stashed a beer apiece at two different spots along the trail going in.) They sure tasted good!
I forgot to take my camera, but Kelly took some video of an old guy fighting a fish and another one watching.
Well, Fall is here and we had our first storm. It blew a few limbs down, tangled up some wind chimes and destroyed one of our little wind mills, but otherwise it wasn't too bad.
Last Tuesday, after a misty rain, we were amazed at how many spider webs were in the back yard. Usually they're almost invisible, but the beads of water turned them into beautiful designs.
The leaves on one of our Big Leaf Maple trees has some interesting colors this fall. The trees really put on a show this time of the year.
Time is a thief
he rests on his perch
flying unheralded only to search
for people like us who think we're not old
a skeletal finger so bony and cold
taking years from our lives with a sinister stroke
stealing our joy and robbing our hope
turning our laughter and love into pain
then along comes a puppy to renew us again
We hung a couple of six foot dragons under the apple trees last week. They'll have to come down when the next storm comes through, but they do add a lot of color to the backyard.
J.C. and I went for a four mile beach walk yesterday morning, trying to get our old decrepit legs in shape for the hike into Drift Creek this fishing season. We both were tired on the way back and the last hundred yards through the soft dry sand above the high tide mark was tough.
Carol, J.C. and I went to a car show at the Oregon Coast Aquarium yesterday morning. We really get a kick out of looking at the oldies, and saying, “I used to have one just like that!” or “My dad had one of those!” or "Wait, mine was a '47, not a '48!"
We go to the shows whenever we can, there are usually two or three every year locally. There's one more this month in Waldport at the “Cruise and Crab” festival.
It would be fun to find one in an old barn somewhere and restore it, but I think it's a rich mans hobby. If I did have one I'd drive it all the time, I don't see much sense in keeping it in a garage and bringing it out just for car shows. Oh well, dream on!
Around 4am every morning when I hear the thumping of running paws on the kitchen floor, through the utility room and finally with a bounce on the bed and his front paws poking me, I know that my fuzzy alarm clock has arrived!
Now that he’s grown up and brave and no longer needs to sleep on the bed, he still feels that it’s his job to wake me up. How in the heck he knows that it’s four o’clock is beyond me, but he seldom misses by more than a few minutes. He sleeps in the living room now, usually with his wooby blanket, (He’s not that grown up!) like a little kid, with his toys scattered all around. (They’re fun to step on in the middle of the night, especially the ones that emit a loud squeak!)
I suppose, as he gets older he’ll stop waking me up every morning, and I have to admit when he does stop, I’ll miss it.
The same pair of Ospreys return every spring to their nest on the power pole out in the middle of Eckman Lake. They raise two babies, mostly feeding them Trout from the lake and Sculpin from the bay. When the babies are small they start a loud peeping cry as soon as they see daddy coming in toward the nest with a meal.
In the middle of July they begin stretching their wings while standing on the edge of the nest, and then after a few false starts they make a short flight to a nearby stand of Fir trees on the shoreline. Soon they discover how well they can fly and then the acrobatic air show begins.
I’ve been watching them from my kayak for quite a few years, and it’s always a thrill to watch the fledglings practicing their acrobatics, hovering and diving, circling and dog fighting with each other. Several times they’ve made me hunker down in my kayak when they whistled by, just over my head.
I’ve read that they mate for life, can live up to 25 years and what was interesting to me was that they winter in separate places, usually southern Mexico or South America and return to the same nesting site every year. They leave here in late August or early September for their separate winter vacations.
The parents have become used to me fishing from my little boat over the years, and mostly ignore me, but the new babies are hard to approach. I tried to get some video of them this morning but they’re already flying well enough to keep their distance from me. Usually the only time they put on a show is when I leave the video camera at home.
I did get this fuzzy picture of one of them as he flew over me on his way to the trees on the far side of the lake. Maybe tomorrow I’ll try again.
Last year while walking on Ona Beach, J.C. and I found a large glob of Squid eggs that had come loose from their hold fast and washed up on the beach. We collected a few clusters and brought them home. We put some in a small tank at J.C.’s house and I took the rest to work the next morning. Since I was working for the E.P.A at the Marine Science Center, and had access to all of the labs, I borrowed a large aquarium, hooked it up with a steady supply of unfiltered marine water, dropped the eggs in and hoped for the best.
A few days later when I arrived at work, (I was usually the first one in the building in the mornings,) I checked the tank and it was full of tiny, miniature squidlings swimming about, in their squirty, squidy way. Later that day I showed them to the head research oceanographer, and got permission to use one of the cool binocular microscopes located in another lab.
I came to work earlier than usual the next morning, captured some of the babies in a small jar and took them to the microscopy lab. Earlier, one of the scientists had shown me how to use the equipment, and where to find the concave slides I would need to hold the squid in liquid while I viewed them. It only took a few seconds to transfer them to the slide with an eyedropper, and when I peered into the eyepieces, and turned the focus knob a few clicks, I was rewarded with an amazing sight. Instead of little swimming dots I was now looking at squid! I could easily see their huge black eyes and through a transparent body speckled with brown spots I could see the heart beating. Then, amazingly, the spots changed color to yellow, then to orange, then to black and finally back to brown again. Sometimes the spots would get larger and then they would almost disappear. I watched in awe as they squirted around in the little pool of seawater on that slide and for a while completely lost track of time.
I had rigged a brine shrimp hatchery in the lab to feed them, hoping to grow them up to full size, (six to eight inches) but by the next morning they were dying at an alarming rate. I brought my video camera to work and took some fair video through the microscope lens, but they never did the color change again; I think they were lacking some natural food that I couldn’t provide. Later that day I took them out to the bay and poured them down into the water between the rocks. Hopefully a few survived, I guess none of them would have made it if we had left them on the beach.
Well, we tried out our camping rig Thursday night at an unimproved campground on Five Rivers. It was a beautiful, shady spot next to the river with a large fire pit and a makeshift grill someone had left behind.
We set up our tent, which has an opening for a vehicle, like a station wagon or a pickup, to be backed up to it and provide sleeping space.
Unfortunately the Toyota just is too small for two people, an air mattress and a double sleeping bag. We had suspected that it might not work, so we had a larger air mattress ready to set up on the floor of the tent. Oh well, back to the drawing board!
J.C. set up his new tent and he, Mike, Kelly, Carol and I had an enjoyable evening sitting around the fire.
Taz protected us from an invading crawdad
Lets see… What’s been going on around here lately...
Carol’s been really busy on the ambulance, one day she had 4 calls, I think she’s averaging over one a day for the month even though she takes a couple of days a week off.
I tried barbecuing a “Beer Can Chicken” and it came out excellent. You stick a half-full can of beer in the chicken’s rear end and stand it up in the Barbie to cook. With a few Hickory chips on the coals and the steam from the beer it really has a great flavor.
Yesterday was Waldport’s “Beachcomber Days” celebration; J.C. and I went to the car show to look at all of the old restored cars.
They sure bring back a lot of memories. You always overhear the old-timers like us saying, “ I had one just like that when I was a kid!” or, “My dad drove one of those!”
Carol cooked two huge pots of beans and bacon to feed all of the firemen, medics, Coast Guard and Sheriffs who hang out at the firehouse during and after the parade.
Last night Taz woke us up barking at something outside. We turned on the outside lights and everything looked OK, but this morning I saw that the Raccoons had raided the fish pond again and made off with another Koi. They’ve got two of them so far this month, so I guess I’ll have to get a live trap and try to catch them. It seems like if it’s not moles, ants, fleas, weeds, dry rot, moss, deer and raccoons, it’s trees getting ready to fall on something they’re not supposed to.
This morning I drug the kayak to the lake and lost two big Trout. One broke my line when he jumped, and just as I was getting ready to land the other one, the hook pulled out. I did get a couple of smaller ones for tomorrow's breakfast though.
A dead Gray whale washed up on the beach just north of Seal Rock Saturday.
Yaaaay!
J.C. and his grandson Mike came over for our weekly Sunday barbecue and Carol made beans, ham and cornbread. Later in the evening Carol, Chewy, Taz and I sat outside and enjoyed a fire in the Chiminea we found at a yard sale. It's cast iron and we thought it was a bargain for $35.00.
This morning I took Taz out at 4 am for his morning walk and he dutifully did his business. Since he did such a good job I let him run around the living room playing while I sat down at the computer in the den to check our email.
My coffee got cold so I started to the kitchen for a warm up, but I stopped when I got to the living room. It was a disaster! The entry rugs were pulled into the room, wadded up into a tangled pile with dog toys, slippers, socks and anything else Taz could find. He sat there looking up at me as if to say, “Look at what I made!”
I shook my head, half-heartedly scolded him and straightened things back up. At least he didn’t poop on the floor, I said to myself. I got my coffee and decided to put my shoes on. They were sitting between the two easy chairs where Carol and I watch evening TV. I sat down, put my left shoe on, tied it and shoved my foot into my right shoe… right onto a lump that squished under my foot!
“TAZ! You little rat! You crapped in my shoe!” I yelled as I hopped around trying to get my shoe off without falling down and breaking the coffee table or a hip or something. I made it to the kitchen, got my shoe off and dumped it out into the trash. A smashed purple grape fell out. Carol had dropped one of her late night snacks.
I finally found the puppy hiding in the den where I picked him up, petted him and apologized. He licked my face so I guess in puppy talk that means “apology accepted.”
Friday morning my kayaking buddy, Tony Moony called and asked if I wanted to go kayak fishing on Olalla Lake. I jumped at the chance, even though it was kind of cloudy, and a bit chilly out. (40 degrees) He arrived about 8:am; we loaded my boat and hit the road.
We stopped and picked up some new line for Tony’s reel on the way and when we arrived at the lake I unloaded my kayak while he replaced his old line. “Go ahead and start!” he said, so I drug my boat down to the ramp and got ready. The lake was really low for some reason, (certainly not from lack of rainfall,) and the ramp was steep and muddy. The kayak kept trying to launch itself because of the slippery mud and the incline, so I decided to get in and slide into the water. I got one foot in and the boat took off with me half in and half out, the paddle in my right hand.
What a disaster! The kayak hit the water on its side and no matter how frantically I pushed on the water with my left hand, the boat rolled on over and I went for a swim. The first thing I thought of was the camera in my sweatshirt pocket, and I grabbed it and held it above water as I waded back to the shore. I laid it on a rock and looked back at the disaster; the kayak was upside down and full of water, my little tackle box, my creel and dry bag were floating, but my fishing pole and sunglasses were on the bottom in about 6 feet of water. I waded back in and started retrieving my gear. I was chest deep in the lake trying to drag my favorite fishing rod toward me with my paddle when Tony backed his truck down the ramp to unload his heavier kayak. He took one look at me and said “Uh Oh!” (At least he didn’t say ‘Whatchya doin, Bob?”)
After we retrieved everything, I said, “Let’s go ahead and try this again, I’ll dry out eventually.”
Tony, being a Paramedic and a lot smarter than me, said, ”I don’t think so!” I took off my sweatshirt, which had soaked up enough water that the lake had dropped several inches, and started to wring it out, still thinking about toughing it out and going fishing. It was then that the cold hit me and I started shivering and shaking. I realized that Tony was right.
“Get out of those wet clothes,” he said, “ I’ve got a sweat suit on under my outer clothes and you can wear that.” So after promising each other not to look, we undressed and I put on his triple x size sweat suit. I can’t describe how good it felt to put on that warm clothing.
I sat in the truck with the heater going on high while Tony loaded everything up, and as we headed home I realized how lucky I am to have a friend who is willing to literally give me the clothes off his back.
Good company, Green beer, Green wine, (courtesy of food coloring,) and a great meal of corned beef, cabbage and potatos. What more could you ask for on St. Patty's Day?
Tony and Lindy Mooney invited us to go Quad riding with them yesterday. We drove to a large clear cut on Howell Ridge, a few miles from our house, and Tony showed me how to operate a Quad. They're pretty easy to drive, even if, like me, you've never driven a motorcycle. Carol had to sit it out because of her broken hand but the weather was nice, we had a picnic lunch, and we even found some beaver ponds to check out for trout fishing. It was a fun day.
I don’t remember that house breaking a puppy was so hard. Maybe I’m just getting old and cranky but shouldn’t he be learning the difference between carpet and grass by now?
After all, in dog years or more importantly, in dog poops and pees he’s accumulated quite a score of hits and misses.
He’s not real sure if he likes the wet grass at first, but once he gets going he’s a joy to watch. He usually finds a piece of moss or a stick to grab and shake until he’s satisfied it’s dead and no longer a threat, and then he might attack a snail or a beetle speeding by, and if I’m lucky he may remember why we’re out there freezing my butt off, and do his business.
This usually lasts for about an hour until he finally wears out, and takes a nap. Thank God! This is my chance to clean up his “mistakes,” go to the bathroom, take Chewy out, brush my teeth, fix breakfast, get on the Internet and…Shit! He’s awake, and we start all over again.
