Indian by the Lake

On my walk a couple of days ago as I approached the lake, I could see someone walking back and forth along the highway guard rail. As I got closer I saw that it was a woman looking out on the water, singing and chanting, while she shook what looked like a beaded bag with large feathers attached to it. She was dressed in modern clothing and she had long black hair.

I couldn't help staring at her from across the highway, and when she suddenly turned and looked at me I realized that she was an American Indian. I waved and weakly said, ”Hi!” She smiled, shook the feathered thing at me a couple of times, turned back to the lake and resumed singing, shaking and pacing.

I tried to watch her, but after stumbling a couple of times trying to walk backwards, I went on my way. I could hear her sing-song chant long after I passed the lake.

Later while I told my brother about her, I wondered, did she bless me or curse me?

Roshelle

On Saturday we went to our grand daughter's graduation from Newport High School. When we saw her and her classmates enter the crowded gymnasium in their cap and gowns we were filled with pride. It seems like just a short time ago we were watching her graduate from the 8^th grade, and all of a sudden she's getting ready to go to college.

Roshelle received eight scholarships to help pay for her college education, and she plans to go to OSU in Portland.

We know that her dad would be proud!

Ecky

I saw the creature as plain as day, but later I became afraid that it was a hallucination. (Hallucinating is one of the Parkinson's disease symptoms that up until then, I hadn't had to deal with.)

I walk along the north shore of the lake every day, trying my best to get some of the only known thing to slow the progression of this disease – exercise. I usually walk to my brother's house, about a mile, with a steep trail through the trees for the last hundred yards. It gets my pulse rate up and I'm usually pretty winded when I climb up the steps to his deck.

The creature I saw that windy spring day, (I hesitate to call it a monster, because that conjures up images of Godzilla, or the Beast From 20,000 Fathoms,) surfaced about 50 feet out from the rocky shoreline, raised it's head on a slender neck, water plants trailing from it's mouth, and looked straight at me. It's tail poked out of the water at least ten feet back. I Looked frantically around for a fisherman, or someone who could confirm what I was seeing, but there was no one, and when I looked back there was nothing but a swirl on the wind tossed water.

I searched my brain for an explanation. Otters, Beavers, Nutria and diving birds, all came to mind and were quickly discarded. I had seen it too clearly. It's head was larger than a football and it had a neck, which meant it couldn't have been a Sturgeon, which is the usual explanation for some of the other Oregon “lake monsters.” That left me with two possibilities – either there was a creature of some kind in Eckman Lake, or my Parkinson's had progressed to the point where I was starting to get visual hallucinations.

Eckman Lake is a small, shallow, 50 acre lake created when the construction of highway 34 dammed up Eckman Creek. It's fed by the stream on the south end and empties into Alsea Bay at the north end, under the highway. It's a short two mile trip from the Pacific Ocean to the lake, and during the winter, high water and high tides flood it with bay water, allowing Salmon and Steelhead to swim through the lake to their spawning grounds upstream. Larger creatures could easily enter the lake at that time, but in the summer it's warm, mossy and full of water plants.

I stood there, rooted to the spot, hoping for another glimpse to prove to myself that I wasn't seeing things. The choppy surface of the lake revealed nothing. Eventually I turned and resumed my walk, shaking my head and wondering if I should tell anyone what I'd seen. By the time I reached JC's house I had decided to keep my sighting, or hallucination to myself, at least for a while.

As usual, my brother brought out a couple of glasses of wine for us, and we relaxed under the cool shade of the awning over his deck. We talked about the usual things; our computers, the news and the weather. While we talked my mind was racing with worries about my incurable disease that seemed to be progressing into another phase. I had almost convinced myself that what I'd seen had to be all in my mind. What next, I wondered, Pink Elephants?

On the way home in JC's car, as we passed the lake I turned in my seat and searched futilely for anything unusual, but there was nothing. A man and a little girl were fishing from the bank close to where I had seen, or thought I'd seen, a prehistoric creature, a plant eating dinosaur.

Later that evening I sat down at the computer and googled “aquatic dinosaurs.” I quickly found out that I should have searched for “aquatic reptiles,” as all dinosaurs were land dwelling. I found several that were fifteen to twenty feet in length and had long necks, but they were all fish eaters. “Ecky” as I fondly named it, seemed to be a plant eater. Whether it was a creation of my dopamine deprived brain or an actual survivor from an ancient era, thoughts of Ecky kept me awake most of the night.

The next morning was bright and sunny, so I put my fishing gear in my kayak, put the wheels on it and pulled it to the lake. Ten minutes later I was paddling out past the boat dock where a couple of old timers were sitting in lawn chairs and lazily fishing. I considered asking them if they'd seen any large green reptiles, but thought better of it, and just waved. One of them yelled, “Going out to get the big one, eh?” I sincerely hope not! I thought.

I paddled out to my favorite spot where a cold water spring attracts trout, especially when the lake warms up in the summer, and fished for a while. Every splash from a diving Kingfisher or a rising trout would startle me and I finally stowed my fishing rod, leaned back and let the gentle wind blow me slowly toward the south end of the lake, watching for any sign of Ecky.

The problem with believing that there really was a large beast of some kind living in the lake was that it was just too shallow. With polarized sunglasses I could see the water plants growing on the bottom in most places.

I shaded the reflection of the sun with my hand, and through the murky water I watched the bottom slowly glide by as I drifted. I caught glimpses of trails cleared of plants, like underwater highways, and some of them seemed too big to be made by otters or beavers.

As I neared the upper end of the lake I paddled my way through the winding inlet to a large culvert which allows the stream to pass under a gravel road. It was at least ten feet in diameter and mostly submerged in a deep hole. As I sat looking at it I realized it would be a perfect hiding place for my creature. The hair stood up on the back of my neck when the thought crossed my mind that it could be in there, looking up out of the darkness at me.

I carry my camera with me now on my walks, but I haven't seen any creature to take a picture of, on the other hand though, if it was a hallucination I haven't had any more of them.

Every day at the lake when I see someone fishing or kayaking, I wave and ask them how they're doing, hoping that one day someone will answer with, “You won't believe what I just saw!”

A Day With The Grand Kids

Don and Dianna had to go to the valley to trade for a new truck Sunday and they asked if we'd watch 7 year-old Shelby and 13 year-old Austin, while they were gone.

It took a little while to get grandpa and grandma going, but once we entered into their world we had a lot fun with them.

Shelby had some bubble blowing gear and we went outside to try it out. The bubbles were so colorful that I got my camera and took several pictures of her and grandma surrounded by tiny bubbles.

I remembered that I still had a “Pop Pop” boat that our grand son Christopher and I had built years ago. Austin and I set up a kiddy pool and launched the little steam powered boat. It runs on candle power, but the little “tea light” candle we had wasn't hot enough to make steam. We tried adding more candles but it got too heavy and sank. We finally used a fireplace lighter to generate enough steam to drive it slowly popping around the pool.

After lunch we all gathered around the computer and looked at the bubble pictures I had taken.

Austin's a reader, and he likes scary stories, so I showed him a werewolf story I had written about ten years ago, for a website I did called “Web Tales.” He read the first couple of paragraphs aloud while I watched, and I realized that he can read faster than I can. I left him to the first chapter and joined grandma and Shelby in the kitchen to do some coloring on plastic sheets that are supposed to end up looking like stained glass...kind of.

When we tired of coloring Shelby asked if we could play T-Ball. Don and Dianna had packed a bag with all of the equipment so Shelby and I went out to set it up. She had to show grandpa how to assemble the stand and then she pointed at the back fence and told me to “Go out there! No, farther!”

I walked part way and watched her tee up the ball, tap the ground with the bat and take a mighty swing. The stand must have been set too high because she knocked it about ten feet and we had to re-assemble it. We adjusted the height and started again. “Go out farther!” she yelled.

Not expecting much, I was surprised when she smacked a high fly ball almost to the back fence. “I got it!” I yelled as I ran, keeping my eyes on the ball. I should have kept one eye on the ground though, because I tripped over Taz and crashed onto the grass. “Home run!” Shelby yelled, running around imaginary bases and sliding into home plate.

Grandma joined us and we had a grand time running after each other around the bushes. The base line, being imaginary, was pretty flexible, which meant to tag a runner out you had to chase them all over the yard. Shelby hit several homers over the fence and we had to move the T-Ball stand farther back.

Austin came out after reading all seven chapters of my werewolf story and he gave me a compliment that meant more to me than if I'd won the Pulitzer Prize. “You're a good story teller, grandpa!”

Don and Dianna showed up a little while later and watched as I ran after Shelby, almost tagging her out until my pants started falling down.

After showing us their new truck, they packed the kids and their gear up and headed home.

Silence ensued, and grandpa and grandma were totally pooped.

Mr. Bullfrog

There have almost always been a few bullfrogs hanging around our fish ponds. I don't know for sure where they come from, but I suspect that somehow at night they hop their way from the nearby lake, through the swampy, forested area behind our property and then when they hear the waterfalls and fountains in the ponds decide to make themselves a new home.

One that I'll always remember was “Bud” who we named for the Budweiser frogs commercials. When he showed up one spring Bud was already a full grown bullfrog, and after a summer diet of bugs, snakes and other unfortunate, smaller frogs he grew into truly gigantic proportions. He was king of the pond and on sunny days when he felt the need to soak up some rays he ruled his little kingdom from a rock that caught the morning sun.

Bud was not above eating the smaller goldfish, and once I took a picture of him with a fish in his mouth and I swear, a guilty look on his face. He and a couple of smaller frogs, were welcome residents of the pond for several years, hibernating in the leaves and gunk that accumulated on the bottom during the winter and coming forth like Lazarus in the spring.

Then for some reason the frogs disappeared and we really missed watching them. The first thing the grand kids would ask when they came to visit was, “Where's Bud? Where are the frogs?”

This spring a lone bullfrog bravely came to visit. Who knows what dangers he faced traveling on his perilous journey to our little pond.

We first became aware of him when we'd let the dogs out and they'd race to the edge of the pond, followed by a splash as the frog dove to safety. Then we began spotting him trying to get some sun on the edge of the pond before the dogs could chase him back into the water.

One day I noticed Taz busy doing something by the pond and I was amazed to see him nudging the frog with his nose. The stubborn frog wasn't about to give up his sunny spot and Taz turned, looked at me, and cocked his head as if to say” What's the matter with this frog? Isn't he supposed to be afraid of me?”

Lately Mr. Bullfrog spends his days on the stepping stones beside our fish pond and the dogs have to really startle him to get him to jump. When he does crawl back out of the water he has a royally pissed off look on his face.

Mother's Day

Mother's Day started early this year.

Don, Dianna, Austin and Shelby stopped by on Friday afternoon with balloons and a really pretty potted plant for Carol. Brad and Donna gave her a beautiful yellow chrysanthemum on Sunday afternoon.

Earlier in the week I had been telling JC about an ad I saw on TV that featured chocolate covered strawberries for a Mother's Day gift.

“I can do that,” he said, “I've done it before!”

“If I get the strawberries and chocolate, would you help me make some for Carol?” I asked. “I'd probably screw things up royally if I tried doing it.”

“Sure,” he said, “I'll even go to the store with you to make sure you get the right stuff!”

We decided that we'd get together on Saturday morning while Carol was helping with the fire department yard sale, and surprise her with them when she got home.

JC picked me up at 9 a.m. and after buying some giant strawberries and packages of white and dark chocolate at our local market we went to his house to begin.

He put a pot of water on the stove to boil and sat a pan on top of it. “OK, now we put the chocolate in and stir.”

After a few minutes the little brown lumps (or “morsels” as Nestle calls them,) began to melt and turn soft. “I think we're ready to dip!” JC said. I grabbed a strawberry by the leaves and dipped it in the brown goo, turning it to even out the coating. “Perfect!” I said as I sat the coated berry upside down in an aluminum foil covered egg carton that we'd had the foresight to prepare. A little melted chocolate ran down onto my fingers but I licked it off, getting a little on my chin in the process. The next one was a little messier, and by the third or fourth one, my hands and face were turning into a sticky, brown mess. JC began dipping because I was slowing down, and as the level of the chocolate dropped we had to spin the berries to get them covered. This resulted in the sleeve of my sweater getting a nice, shiny brown finish to it. By the time we finished with the dark chocolate phase of our project the strawberries looked great, but us... not so much. We put our masterpieces in the freezer to cool, and cleaned ourselves up with warm water and soap.

“Now for the white chocolate!” JC said, as he poured the little white lumps into a clean pan and started stirring. For some reason the more he stirred the more lumpy it got and pretty soon it was just one big lumpy lump.

“I don't know what's going on here,” JC said as he began reading the directions on the chocolate bag.

“Are you sure you've done this before?” I asked.

“Well, actually no, but I watched Emeril do it on TV the other day, and it looked easy! Oh, it says here you can microwave it.”

The first seeds of doubt began trickling into my head, but the microwave has always been our friend, (despite a few fires and explosions,) so JC glopped most of the lump into a cup and started nuking it.

After one minute he pulled it out and it still was a lump, but a little smaller. He added some more and put it back in for another minute.

His microwave has a really good light inside of it, so we had a great view of the white lump almost instantaneously turning brown. “I think it's burnt,”JC said as he shut off the microwave, pulled the cup out and put a piece in his mouth to check it out. To his credit he didn't scream, but he had to peel the burning piece off of his tongue with his fingers. I couldn't understand very much of what he was saying for a while after that, but we mutually decided to forgo the white chocolate part of Carol's Mother's Day gift.

JC made a pot of coffee and we stirred a spoonful of burnt white chocolate into our cups. It wasn't half bad! Maybe Starbucks could use the recipe.

Bad Dog 2

The other day when we returned home from shopping in Newport, the dogs greeted us with their usual exuberance, bouncing up and down like a couple of out of control yo-yos. We carried in the groceries and gave them a treat for being such good doggies.

It was then that I saw the books on the coffee table... the brand new Clive Cussler and James Lee Burke books that had just come into the library the day before we'd checked them out. They looked like a giant rat had been chewing on them.

As soon as I picked the books up to inspect the damage, Squeak crawled under the table with her head between her paws and a very guilty look on her face. She was the rat!

The next day we took the books back to the library along with our checkbook. The librarian looked at them and told us that Jill, (the head librarian,) would let us know how much they would have to charge us. A couple of days later we received this email:

Carol:

I hope your dog did not get indigestion on Cussler’s book The Wrecker. I much prefer the flavor of Rain Gods by Burke. Sorry to say I have billed you for the replacement of the two books. I ordered replacements today. I did give you a BIG break on the cost since you were so direct about the problem. And because you two are great patrons.

So the bill is $20 for the two books. Would you like to have the books??? I will keep them here on reserve for a week.

Thank you again for being good patrons.

Jill Tierce

Waldport Public Library

wplstaff@beachbooks.org

So now we're the proud owners of two brand new, slightly chewed books.

Froglegs and Eggplants

Early last Thursday morning Carol accompanied me to the hospital where I was scheduled for surgery to repair an inguinal hernia. As usual, our little hospital was fast and efficient, and before I knew it I was in a hospital gown, and under a warm blanket with an IV dripping into me. Carol sat beside me as the male nurse, Bill got me ready for the operation.

In my pre-op interview a few days earlier when an RN asked if I had any allergies, I answered, “None,” then I added, “Oh yeah, I'm allergic to frog legs!” (Being a slow learner it took me three tries of eating them and becoming deathly ill each time, to figure it out!)

Evidently, the nurse wrote it down on my record because Bill made a special arm band for me that read in bold letters: Allergic to frog legs! (Just in case the cafeteria had them on the menu, I guess.”)

After surgery, Doctor Larsen came in to give me my post-op instructions, he said that everything had gone hunky-dory. It was a good thing Carol was there to hear what he said because I was still pretty dopey. We were home by a little after noon and I hobbled around for a while and went to bed.

Friday was kind of blurry, but I remember that it hurt to bend over, and it hurt to sneeze, hiccup or cough. The pain pills worked pretty well, but I was out of it for most of the day.

Saturday morning, as per instructions, I grabbed some clean clothes, took a nice warm shower, dried off and started to remove the dressing over the incision so I could replace it. Looking down, I suddenly realized that something was drastically wrong.

Holy S**t! My p***er is purple!

Not only my p***er, but the family jewels were purple too! They weren't just a little bit purple, it looked like I had (rather small) eggplants hanging off of my crotch. I showed my technicolor thingies to Carol and she said, “It looks swollen, too!”

“Nah, that's normal size,” I said, trying to glean something positive from my predicament.

I thought about calling the doctor, but since it was the weekend, and since I had very little pain, I decided to wait and see what developed. My follow up appointment was on the next Tuesday and by then things were almost back to normal.

“Sometimes that happens,” doctor Larsen shrugged when I told him about my purple problem. Thanks for warning me about that, Doc! I thought, but since he seemed happy with my progress, I listened quietly while he warned me about lifting anything heavier than a gallon milk jug. (I didn't even ask him if that was a full or an empty one, but I was tempted.)

Hot Potato

In my usual morning hazy, daze, I stuck a potato in the microwave for three minutes so it could nuke while I fried some bacon, sausage and eggs. I got the bacon and sausage going, cracked a couple of eggs into another pan and stuffed some rye bread into the toaster.

The dogs decided that they wanted out again, so I opened the door for them and went back to cooking.

I poured a glass of milk, rolled the sausages around and flipped the bacon over. The eggs were almost done so I took them off the burner, buttered the toast and let the dogs back in.

I got a plate down and slid the eggs onto it. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed that the fire I had lit in the fireplace was merrily burning.

Oh crap! That's not the fireplace, it's the microwave!

I turned it off and realized that I had evidently double punched the three button and set it for thirty three minutes instead of three. I fumbled around under the sink looking for a spritzer bottle with water in it to put out the fire, but by the time I found one, the blaze had gone out. There actually wasn't much left to burn.

I put the last cremains of a Yukon Gold potato in the sink, ran water on it and started the exhaust fan to clear out the smoke. It doesn't smell too bad I thought, forgetting about the loss of my sense of smell.

When Carol got up she let me know that her sense of smell works just fine!

Slow movin old man

I've got to start moving around more.

Twice now while sitting on JC's deck sipping wine I've had spiders attaching their webs to me.

The other day one made me cross eyed as it slowly lowered itself from the bill of my cap. I guess getting up every now and then to pee isn't enough to let them know that I'm not a tree or a bush. Next thing you know I'll start growing... wait, what's that green stuff on the north side of my legs?