Bleeding Heart

My neighbor, Dima, asked me if I wanted to do something today. I said I’d planned to walk on the beach. I didn’t mention thinking about swimming out to sea to drown my sorrow about being alone, yet again, on Valentine’s Day. People tend to take those comments seriously and want to call a hotline for you. She was happy to hear that I’d be happy to have her accompany me and we went to Surf Beach, which is owned by Vanderberg AFB.

We walked south a little ways (maybe half a mile or so) and a couple walking toward us said there was a baby seal* up ahead. I could make out a speck in the distance. This has never happened before. I go to this beach a lot and I have never once seen a seal*. They went on to say that there was a mama seal further up the beach and she didn’t look good. I asked if they’d call someone when they got back to the parking lot (because there is zero cell reception on the beach) and they said they would.

Dima wanted to know who they’d call. I said I had no idea, since whenever I hear about wildlife being rescued it happens up near Morro Bay or down in Santa Barbara. But they looked like an intelligent couple and I was sure they’d Google it.

It’s a ridiculously hot day here (sorry to those on the east coast, I can’t appreciate 86 when it should be 66), and it’s the weekend, so there were a lot more people on the beach than usual. And by a lot, probably a total of 50 or so.

We approached the baby seal* and he (I have no idea if it was a he or she, but that was my sense of the little sweetheart) was wary. He looked confused, but knew enough to be afraid of the big humans. I talked to him in my “soothing the animal” voice and he let me get pretty close. But then some kids approached and he freaked, moving toward the surf. I wasn’t sure he could handle the ocean (the couple had said they thought he’d just been born and I had no idea if that was true or not). I told the kids to keep back, not to scare him, and they did.

 Dima wanted to walk on, so I left the little guy and continued, curious about his mother.

When we got to her it was obvious that she was in terrible shape. You don’t need to be an expert on seals* to know that it shouldn’t be possible to walk right up to one and pet it. She was in such distress and there was nothing to do for her. 

We walked on (Dima likes to walk because she thinks it makes the calories in her snacks disappear, bless her heart). We didn’t go as far as I normally do because she was tired (when you’re not used to walking on the sand it’s a harder workout), and when we approached the mama seal* again she was in the process of throwing herself into the ocean.

I don’t know where she found the strength to do it, since she seemed so close to death already (I have a way with animals, but I don’t kid myself that a seal* would let me stroke her fur, on her head no less, if she wasn’t incapable of snapping my fingers off with her teeth). The tide was going out and she would throw herself into a wave and be taken out a bit, then the retreating surf would flip her onto her back where she’d stay, unable to move. Another wave would right her and she’d do it again. Then she just couldn’t move on her own anymore and a wave pushed her face into the sand. I couldn’t stand to watch, and walked away.

When we got back to the baby seal* he looked in our direction, which was also the direction his mom was, then started toward the ocean. I have no idea how these animals communicate, but I said to Dima that I wondered if the mama found the strength to get herself back into the water so that he’d know he should do the same thing. They were too far apart for her to show him, but maybe he could sense it.

He hesitated a bit when the first wave hit him, but then he just dove on in and disappeared under the water. I saw him come up once, but that was it. I truly hope he’s okay and found some other seals* to help him learn what his mama can no longer teach him.

A staff sergeant from VAFB walked up at that time and we told him that he’d just missed the baby, and I pointed out where the mama’s body was further down the beach. He said that in the past when a seal has come up onto the beach and been sick it’s been due to mercury poisoning. He asked if she had any wounds and she did have one on her neck. He told me that if I ever saw something I felt should be reported, like this, to call the VAFB law enforcement desk and they’d know who to send out. The couple we’d met had done just that.

He went off to investigate mama and deal with that and we headed back to the parking lot. As we did, I saw that another airman was walking with a man in the same direction. Walking with doesn’t really describe it. He was slightly behind him, off to the side a bit, and his body language screamed “on guard.” I told Dima we needed to be on firmer sand and moved us away, though we were walking parallel to them all the way back to the parking lot.

Poor Dima wasn’t prepared for the final dune climb off the beach and onto the train tracks. It’s not steep, but it’s a long slog uphill through dry sand after you’ve just walked for an hour and a half and it can cause cursing and heavy breathing. Can? Who am I kidding? Every single time I walk up that dune I curse it. So we got to the parking lot, and then used the restroom, and then went to my car to change out of our beach shoes and go home.

I saw the airman standing over the guy he’d walked up the beach. The guy had his hands cuffed behind his back and was sitting on the curb two cars down from mine. The airman was talking into his radio spelling out the man’s name. I didn’t stare, exactly, since I was raised with manners, but I did take in the situation.

As we drove off I said to Dima that I wondered what the man had done wrong, or how the airman had known that he was wanted, if that was the case. She said, “What? What are you talking about?” So I said something like, “The guy on the beach? The guy the military man just escorted back here? The guy who’s in handcuffs and about to be taken away? Did you not see him?”

She said she hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary and she was fascinated that I had. I wanted to say, “Never ever come here alone to walk, okay?” but I didn’t. I said that I often am the only person walking on the beach and I pay attention to my surroundings and to what’s going on when others are present. That it’s called being prudent. She said, “Even when there are all these families here, enjoying the day?” I said I couldn’t turn off my radar. I had the feeling she felt sorry for me.

So, I watched a beautiful creature’s life end, and saw another go off into the unknown very likely unprepared. Rather than taking away from the day that at least I spent some time with an acquaintance, I focused on how alone I am. Just like the baby seal*. No mom anymore, no idea what might be next, and no red roses on Valentine’s Day. Okay, the seal* is probably unconcerned on that score. But it’s been an unsettling day and I’ll whine if I want to.

*I later learned they were sea lions, not seals.

A Walk at the Beach

Yes, it’s January and 64 degrees and I went for a walk at the beach. But don’t envy me until you see how “relaxing” it was.

I always come home from the beach with a ton of rocks. Every time I tell myself that I won’t pick up more and every time I fail. They are so colorful and each is tempting in a different, gorgeous way. The fact that my apartment could end up becoming a first floor unit if I don’t stop adding more rocks is a concern that I never have while inhaling the salt air and listening to the seagulls screech hello.

Today I decided, before I got done changing into my beach shoes in the parking lot, that I would not bring home a single rock. I would meditate while walking, being mindful only of my breathing and the waves pounding ashore beside me. My walks tend to last about an hour and a half and one can do something as simple as that for an hour and a half. Right?

Yeah, right.

It was by turns sunny and overcast as I walked, and the tide was going out so there was a large expanse of wet sand to walk on. Of course there were also more rocks visible and they were glistening and calling out to me, “Look how pretty we are, especially when wet!”

Me: Nope, not gonna stop to check out that red one. Just walk.

Myself: Really? Do you think we already have a red one like that? That was a nice specimen you just passed up.

Me: Let it go. Don’t start singing that song, concentrate on the waves. This is relaxing, we’re breathing here, we’re not picking up any rocks. They will all be here on the way back if need be.

Myself: If need be? That means we’re going to collect rocks? But what if someone else gets that good one while we’re a mile away? If we’re going to do it, let’s do it.

Me: No. I said that to get us past that particular temptation.

Myself: You lied?

Me: That’s a harsh way of looking at it.

Myself: Green one! Look at the green one! Is that heart shaped?

Me: It is NOT  heart shaped! (stopping to look) It has the vague suggestion of a heart, yes, and it is our favorite, but it’s staying right there.

You might think the blue ones would be my favorites but you'd be wrong. While I like them, the green rocks possess the true siren's call.

Myself: We’re not picking up rocks but we’re not looking at the ocean, either.

Me: I know. Damn it.

Myself: OMG! Do you see that? It’s pearlescent! We have never used that word to describe a rock before. Shells, yes, but never a rock. We have to have that one!

Me: (bending over and picking it up) Yes, we do. There is no argument about that. We've not seen this before.

And then, in the same way that one potato chip leads to another, my pockets became full of green rocks and tawny rocks and a blue hued rock and a black rock that could be visualized in a craft project that will likely never actually happen, and my pockets weighed six pounds more than when the walk started. As usual.

Me: It has to stop.  Ocean, breathing, let the distractions go.

Myself: Look at the nice piece of driftwood.

Me: We have driftwood. We don’t need any more driftwood.

Myself: No one *needs* driftwood, but it’s an unusual shape.

Me: They are all unusually shaped. We’re passing it by.

Myself: Is that an arrow? It is an arrow. Someone has scraped an arrow into the sand. Don’t even think about ignoring that.

Me: sigh…Let’s go see what’s up there on the dune. It’s pointing at something.

It was pointing at the oil drum that Shell had allowed to become garbage in the ocean. Too much for me to cart back in my litter bag.

Heading back, pockets weighing me down, another attempt at mindfulness was made.  Deep breaths that filled my lungs with delicious, salty air, and my gaze on the waves calmed me for about a minute. Then….

Myself: Red alert! Red alert! Man with a backpack approaching!

Me: It’s okay. It’s a holiday weekend and there are a lot of people here (90% of whom stay within sight of the parking lot and don’t venture as far south as I do). The fact that he’s carrying a backpack does not mean he’s chopping off the heads of women who walk alone on the beach and carting them home in that pack. And these kinds of thoughts are exactly why we should be relaxing. No more Criminal Minds marathons on TV.

Myself: Okay, yes, he’s smiling and waving in a friendly manner. Wave back. He’s old. We could take him easily if we had to.

Me: Only if he doesn’t have a gun. A gun would change everything.

I: Oh, for the love of everything that’s holy, shut the hell up! Shut up shut up shut up! Stop talking to yourself, stop following every something shiny, stop obsessing about fellow beachcombers! We are supposed to be RELAXING, damn it. RE-EFFING-LAX!

Moment of silence inside my head.

Me: Being yelled at by myself doesn’t really help in that regard.

Myself: Watch who you’re blaming!

Me: Thinking that being yelled at by I isn’t grammatically correct.

I: I give up! Continue to be an obsessive nerd! Ignore the entire Pacific ocean! Have a freakin’ panic attack if it makes you happy – I’m done!

It should be noted that I is the only one who thinks we should eliminate sugar from our diet.

Me and Myself then enjoyed a lovely encounter with a small, black dog who wanted to be petted and whose owner allowed it, discovered that “Erik hearts Brad” and we should “Spread the Happiness,” 

took a photograph of a piece of driftwood that was definitely too big to cart home,

and kicked a soccer ball back to those playing the game when it came in our direction. That produced cheers of “Girl power, yes!” and allowed the ladies team to score a goal.

I was a complete failure at leaving the rocks alone and spending an hour and a half meditating as I walked. But me and myself got some exercise. And some rocks. 

Okie day trips

You may think I write these blog posts for you, but I do not. I write them for me, so I won’t forget later on. I find that when I write about something it’s cemented in my memory. Until that changes, of course.

One of the days I was out in Oklahoma with my friend, Diane, we decided to go to Lawton. It’s in southeast, OK and there’s a wildlife refuge there. I’d been telling her that I didn’t see any elk on my drive and we knew I’d see them in Lawton. Definitely.

We took a toll highway to get there, the H.E. Bailey, and not long after the first toll we came to a complete stop. Traffic wasn’t slowed, it was parked. I’d been talking on the phone to a friend who called when we paid the toll so hadn’t heard the woman tell Diane of an accident up ahead. It was morning, but the sun was already strong and we had to turn off the car, and therefore the A/C, to keep from overheating.

I maintained a positive attitude. I said it was just a delay, and for some reason the universe didn’t want us to get to Lawton until later. No biggie. But more time went by, and more, and yet more, and finally I said that someone had to have died for it to be taking so long to get us moving. Sure enough, a cop came by, driving in the shoulder of the road and stopping at each car to give an update. He said we’d be moving soon, and to be polite and merge courteously, and I asked how bad the accident was. He said there were two deaths.

We inched past the scene when we got to it, and I described it to Diane. I guessed that the red pickup truck, which had clearly flipped over, must’ve been the vehicle where the people died. There was another white truck, with a trailer behind it, pulled off the road, but I couldn’t tell how the accident had happened from the position.

We’d been sitting for a long time, so we stopped at a rest area to use the bathroom and get something to drink, then hit the road again. Elk, here we come. Then Diane asked, “What’s that noise?” I couldn’t tell what it was, but suggested she pull over so we could investigate. The rear tire on the passenger side was flat. We were in the shoulder, and Diane wanted to pull onto the grass, but both of us worried that any more movement would ruin the wheel.

I insisted that we get out of the car and away from it while we waited for help. They’ve done studies about how people will drive right into you when you’re pulled over with your hazard lights on. AAA was useless when I called them. We didn’t know what mile marker we were near and the man seemed intent on getting a “nearest crossroad” even though I told him we were on a highway without a crossroad in sight. So Diane called 911. She was told that the police would be there soon. We figured they’d tell us our exact location and we’d call AAA back. And we waited.

I had on a white blouse with the sleeves partway rolled up. I rolled them down. I put the collar up. I turned away from the sun. Diane got a jacket out of the Jeep and put it on, even though it was over 100 degrees. We could feel our skin burning. More than once she talked about at least getting into the shade of the Jeep. I said no. I said that it wasn’t safe to be near the disabled vehicle and I wouldn’t let her do it. Yes, I’m setting up a big I told you so here.

After about half an hour the state trooper arrived. He was in his fifties and very serious. No hint of a smile on his face. Well, he’d just come from the bad accident, so that made sense. He said he’d change the tire for us. That surprised me. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a trooper changing a tire. The next thing I thought about was that Diane had just had her tires changed. Something about the lug nut locks. In any case, they’d been put back on with a power tool. And this man was going to loosen the lug with only his own strength? I worried for his male ego.

He did it, though. He tried to hide how much effort it took, but he got that thing unlocked and the lugs off. As he did so the subject of driving and speed came up. I forget how. But I assured him that Diane wasn’t capable of speeding. I said, “Just the other day we were passed on the right by a school bus.” He tried, but he couldn’t suppress a smile and then a short laugh. Diane said, “Don’t make me look like one of those people who drive so slowly they’re a hazard on the road.” I said, “She lives by Lake Hefner. She told me it’d take me four hours from Amarillo.” He smirked again, and I believe Diane was about to hurt me when the second trooper showed up. He was younger and pretty much had nothing to do (the first one wasn’t going to look as if he needed any help), so Diane asked him about the accident.

He said that the white pickup truck had pulled onto the shoulder to make sure their load on their trailer was secured properly. The guy in the red pickup hit them and killed them pretty much on impact. I guess hitting them made him lose control and he ended up flipping. He had only minor arm and leg injuries, but of course has to live with what he did.

I said to Diane, “See? This is why I didn’t want us to be anywhere near the Jeep.” Both troopers nodded and agreed. One told her the same thing I had, that they’ve done studies and some people will just drive right into you if you’re stopped in the shoulder. We felt very lucky.

A couple of days later, after I assured her that I had given up on seeing wildlife, we drove to Weatherford to see how the wind turbines work. Diane treated me to a “private tour” of them. The fact that it was just the two of us might’ve had something to do with both the heat wave and the impending storm. Sane people don’t pay to stand next to 300 foot high metal poles when the skies turn dark.

When we got to the museum in Weatherford where we were to meet Ray, our guide, I was psyched for the tour. We could see the windmills in the distance and I was excited at the idea of getting an up close look.

 Then we met Ray. A walking heart attack about to happen. Seriously, he was about six feet tall and 350 – 400 pounds. Most of the weight was in front, like a 9 year pregnancy, and breathing was clearly a chore. He smoked (confirmed later, but I could smell it on him when we shook hands), he had a tumor-like protrusion over his lymph node beneath his left ear, and what I thought was another growth in his right ear. Diane said later that sometimes ticks look like that when they’re overly full of blood. Growth or tick, not good either way.

He showed us a short movie and talked about the history of turbines in that area, and I kept asking questions, hoping to stall, hoping a storm would come through and we wouldn’t have to complete the tour with him. But while the sky darkened, it didn’t dampen either Ray’s or Diane’s enthusiasm.

I admit that I’m a control freak about some things. One of them is who drives me in what car. If I don’t like how you drive, I won’t put my life in your hands. It’s that simple. A year or so ago I was driven by someone who is always impaired, every day of her life. A real pothead. I was unaware of that fact, so she just seemed normal to me. Finding out later that she was impaired, that she'd driven me around and who knows what could've happened, shook me up. So, yeah, I'm picky. Except I’m just as susceptible to the pressure to be polite as the next person. I didn’t know Ray to be a bad driver. He clearly did these tours regularly, and I couldn’t come out with, “What if you have a heart attack and slump over the wheel? What then?” It would be rude.  So we got into his big ass Ford pick up truck which smelled of cigarettes and we set off.

He didn’t drive too fast. He came to complete stops at stop signs. I forced myself to chill out. But then, at the first opportunity, while Diane and I were taking a good look at a turbine that Ray had driven right up under (because the farmer let him), he lit up and smoked. I think I said something to Diane like, “How many miles back to the museum do you think it is?” and she said, with a stern tone, “We’re going to see the blade, remember? I want to see the blade.” 

Okay, fine, sure, we’ll die for the blade. I’m with ya to the end because you’re my friend. I freely admit that I’m not reasonable when I have no control over a situation.

The all important blade:

These things really are wonderful. Birds have figured out how to go around them, they’re not even built in long-standing migration paths, they provide clean energy and jobs for the people who maintain them, and the farmers make, at a minimum, five grand a year per turbine. The museum has 98 turbines on their property. Crops or cattle can get quite close, so the land owners aren’t losing much to have them on their property. And they aren’t loud. When you stand under one it sounds like a plane off in the distance.

The wind has to be at least 8 mph for them to turn (there’s a weather station on top of each one that monitors conditions), and if it gets above 55 mph the turbine stops and turns into the wind so there’s the least likelihood of damage. Weatherford has the most reliable wind in the nation, according to Ray, so is perfect for them.

Ray and Diane, chatting by his truck, while I contemplate the drive back:

The raindrops started falling and we got wet at the blade, but I for one enjoyed it. I live in a drought state, after all. We got to see a rainbow on the way back to OKC, but I didn't get a picture of it. I think that was about the time Diane was informing me of what happens to ticks that have sucked too long and I was a bit grossed out. All in all it was a good day because we learned something new and because we survived. That's just always a plus.

The Very Large Detour

On my way home from Oklahoma (which was not a vacation, but that’s a whole other blog post), I decided to go see the Very Large Array (VLA) which is 50 miles outside of Socorro, New Mexico. It’s one of those places I’ve always wanted to see but didn’t because it’s not on the way to anywhere. When I’m driving across the country I usually have to make good time, not stop and smell the antennas. But if not now, when, right?

I spent the night before my visit in Socorro, spending way too much for a room at the Holiday Inn Express after reading the online reviews of the budget motels in town. They all talked about a “strange smell” or a “stank” that one could get used to after a couple of stiff drinks. So I paid for cleanliness. The front desk clerk was a little odd, which strikes me as normal for New Mexico. She talked about how heavy her purse is, due in part to her habit of carrying around eating utensils. “You never know when you might be in the desert and want to eat cake,” she said. When I suggested that she might only need one fork for this she replied, “What if you’re not alone? You don’t want to be rude, do you?” I couldn’t argue with that.

I headed out early the next morning, because even when I’m trying to take a relaxing detour part of me still wants to make good time. There were few people on the road early Sunday morning. I was cruising along at the speed limit (55 mph) on a two lane highway when I saw a coyote running across the field to my right. I slowed to watch. He or she slowed to look at me. I stopped, s/he stopped. I put the window down and said, “Aren’t you nocturnal?” and s/he took off running again.

I was happy with the sighting. I’d been seeing signs for various wildlife since I left home and hadn’t seen any (except for the raccoons that waved goodbye when I pulled out of my parking lot – didn’t know they lived there). Not one elk, not one deer, not a buffalo roaming, nothing. Then, shortly after the coyote, I saw two pronged antelope bucks. I took their picture. They just stood there as if thinking, “Why do the big pieces of metal stop, point something at me, then go?” Or maybe not. I like to imagine what’s going through the critters’ minds.

The scenery along the way was stunningly gorgeous. I don’t bother to take pictures of New Mexico landscapes because I can’t do it justice. If the state had an ocean it would be perfect. Eventually I arrived at the plains of San Agustin, also known as the middle of nowhere, and saw the VLA in the distance.

When I visited the telescopes were in the D formation, which the gift shop clerk told me she calls the “Darn Close” formation (as opposed to the All Away A formation, which spreads them out over the miles of tracks).

I followed the signs, parked in the visitors’ lot, and stepped out of my car and into a plague of locusts. Okay, a swarm of grasshoppers (so less dramatic). I realized belatedly that they were what I was crunching over on the roadway as I drove in. Eww.

I went inside and found that I was the only one there. No employees, no other tourists, just me. So I started the movie that’s narrated by Jodie Foster (she of Contact fame, which was filmed here in 1997) and watched it. You can see it, too. It’s available online here: http://vimeo.com/70554007. It’s 24 minutes long and I highly recommend it. Even if you’re not interested in what the VLA does or how it does it, the scenery and pictures of space are superb. The VLA is how we learn about black holes and see into the past.

Once done with the movie I left the theatre to discover a couple of tourists had arrived. They’d waited for me to finish the film and went in when I came out. Just as I was picking up the map for the self-guided tour the gift shop clerk stomped into the hallway from an outside door. She literally stomped her feet, and shook her head and made “ugh, eww, yuk” sounds. I’d been so enthralled with the movie that I’d forgotten the grasshoppers.

I went outside, phone turned off as directed, and began the tour. I tried, at first, not to step on the grasshoppers. I don’t want to kill any living thing when it’s in its own environment. A spider in my bathroom is a different matter entirely. At first the grasshoppers almost seemed cute. They bounced all over the place, off each other, off me (not landing), and the larger ones were beautiful. I tried to get a photo of their blue and green coloring but they didn’t pose like the antelope.

I read the signs, I took pictures of the antennas and the sun dial (old and new, side by side), and I would have thoroughly enjoyed my time there, especially since the two other tourists hadn’t come out and I still had the place to myself, except the grasshoppers decided to ride my legs. Well, to back up, first I noticed that they were cannibals. Mildly upsetting to see them eating their brethren’s corpses. But then they landed on my jeans and wouldn’t get off when I tried to shoo them away with my rolled up map. That’s when the beatings began.

I was determined to complete the tour, to see those gorgeous ‘scopes from all available angles, to read every last sign, and I wouldn’t let the plague of locusts stop me, damn it. But I had to whack myself over and over again, killing them to get them off me. Still, I managed a few photos:

When I got to the end of the tour, at the door that leads in to the gift shop, I entered just as the clerk had, stomping my feet, shaking my head, and uttering noises of disgust. She laughed and said, “You made it!” The other tourists were shopping, and clearly had no intention of doing what I’d just done. They’d seen enough from the movie and hurried back to their car as I began deciding if I had to have another mug as a souvenir.

I chatted with the clerk, who told me about the back roads I could take to return to the interstate another way, and she said I had to stop in Pietown. Of course I did. A town whose sole purpose, these days, is to serve pie, can’t be missed.

When I left the VLA, the little buggers were determined to go with me. See?

I turned my windshield wipers on and he just rode it like he was at the carnival. Using the cleaning fluid got him to let go, though. On my way to Pietown I passed bikers. Those poor guys. Ugh, eww, yuk.

Zoom Zoom

Not long ago in a blog post I lamented how my job schedule (mostly two weeks on and two weeks off) was less than ideal. At the time I was feeling sorry for myself, and saw only the negatives. Today it occurred to me how happy with it I am.

I got out of bed when I woke up, not when the alarm told me to, and smiled at the thought that I had no one to please but myself. Not that I mind pleasing others, per se. If I like you, I want you to be happy. But not "having" to do it is special.

Around lunchtime I saw that New Frontiers in Solvang was featuring Irish Potato soup. Because that sounded yummy, and Solvang is a scenic 30 minute or so drive away, and I have a fabulous new car, I set out to get soup.

I vented my moon roof because that's all that's necessary here on the coast, and worked at maintaining 30 mph through town. It used to be easy in the Saturn, but now I have this strange thing called "good pickup" and I so want to use it -- often. Heading out of town I enjoyed the gold and green hills in the distance and the occasional patch of wildflowers along the road.

Nearing the sleepy 'burb of Buellton, I closed the moon roof and turned on the air conditioning. There was no discernible dip in the car's power which made me giggle for the hundredth time. New cars rock. I also slowed down, as I seem to pass a cop every time I drive into Buellton, and today was no different. I cruised by the gas stations, motels and Pea Soup Andersen's, then sped up again as the countryside opened up in front of me. There is a wonderful stretch (can't remember if it's before the ostrich farm or after), that's lined with coastal pines. They've been pruned over the years so they don't grow into the road, and what's been created is a comforting cocoon of green that isn't claustrophobic in the least.

Solvang is architecturally the Tudor capitol of California, and it has a clock tower and windmills (plural!), so you almost don't mind having to slow to the 25 mph speed limit throughout the town. Perversely, you can't really enjoy the kitschy wonder of it all because you're too busy watching for idiot tourists who step into the street as if cars don't exist and won't crush their bones and squish what little brains they possess. Okay, I'm a little protective of my shiny new paint job. When in a bad mood, I wish all the Solvang tourists could be beamed straight to Manhattan, where they'd last 30 seconds. But my car has me in a good mood. So today I inched along to the far side of town where the very cool grocery store, New Frontiers, is located.

Irish potato soup had beckoned me, and I was prepared to deal with what it'd do to me if I ate it. Lately, while my taste buds still enjoy dairy, the latter part of my digestive system has decided to say no to the cow. So imagine my surprise and delight when I discovered the soup had a broth base, not a creamy one. It was delicious. So was the naan bread with roasted veggies that I got to accompany it. Yum.

The ride home was even more enjoyable. Traveling toward Lompoc literally makes me sigh with appreciation and contentment. The mist hanging over the mountains, the ten degree drop in temperature, and the knowledge that, if I keep going a few miles past my apartment, I will arrive at the ocean, puts a huge smile on my face. Sometimes I do keep going, just to say hi to the waves before I go home. There just happens to be a nice stretch of open road that isn't heavily traveled as you go to the coast, too. Zoom zoom.

Instead of looking at the possible downside of having an odd schedule, I'm looking at all the positives it allows me. Freedom, time to write, time to explore, and time to enjoy the hell out of my wicked fun new car.

Thanks again, boss!

Peeved when not Perfect

I am not a control freak. I do have a few control freak tendencies, though. For instance, I prefer to drive myself, rather than be a passenger. You have to be an excellent driver for me to be comfortable in your passenger seat. That's just smart, right? I also dislike, no can't stand, no hate being sick (out of control) and having to see a doctor.

So when I go out twice in as many days to seek medical assistance, there is something wrong with me. The big question is what, and I'm not thrilled with being sent home with a "probably" diagnosis. But I'm so much happier than I was when I thought I was going to die that "not thrilled" feels pretty good.

I woke up on Monday with a very swollen nose. It was red and it hurt and I stared at it, in a small bit of horror, thinking that my nose was impersonating Ted Kennedy's (while alive) and wondering why. At the same time, my neck was swollen on the ride side and I had what looked like a spider bite there. I took a hot bath and thought positive thoughts. And I napped a lot, since I was tired.

Yesterday I could barely drag myself out of bed and when I did I discovered that the swelling was under my right eye, too. Possibly because I've needed glasses since the 4th grade, I'm a bit sensitive to anything that affects my eyes. I was too tired to deal with begging the VA for a same day appointment, and definitely too tired to drive to Santa Maria, so I went to an Urgent Care walk-in clinic here in town.

The average person is polite, so I guess that explains the receptionist asking what brought me in. I pointed at my nose, which is twice its normal size. She nodded and told me that I'd need to give her a $200. deposit and if my bill came to less she'd refund the difference.

The nurse who took my vitals asked me what brought me in. Why do they have you fill out those forms?! I'd written it all down, and anyone with normal sight could see my Elephant Man nose! This guy actually said I looked okay to him. I was just too tired to smack him.

Then I saw the clinic's PA. Not a doctor. That was annoying. He had an absurd professional manner. He looked extremely concerned, and asked me questions ("Does it itch? Does it hurt when you chew?) in a way that suggested a wrong answer on my part would land me in isolation. He looked up my nose with one of those black pieces of equipment that have a name I'm completely ignorant of and probably couldn't pronounce (like the blood pressure thingie). He said something like "Oh my" and informed me it was red and infected in there. He guessed I had a bacterial infection and told me the "spider bite" was a nodule that had come up due to the infection being over there, too. He gave me a prescription for antibiotics and told me to come back if I got worse. Total for that sage advice turned out to $130.00. For not even a doctor. My inner frugal beast called my nose several nasty names, but my nose just remained red, swollen and hurting, uncaring about finances.

I went home, I took my first pill, and I laid on the couch like any sick person (except that I brought my bed pillow out so as not to get germs on the nicer, couch pillow). My body started to ache. Then the chills hit me. I took my temperature and found I had a fever. I took it again, obsessively, every fifteen minutes for a while as it rose a couple of tenths of a degree each time. Since eating held absolutely no appeal (thereby ruling out ibuprofen), I took a couple of Tylenol and went to bed.

I didn't sleep much because the swelling kept waking me. I was so tired I just wanted to ignore it, but when I finally got up and looked in the mirror I went into a bit of shock. I took a picture of my nose and eyes in case the swelling went down as I got up and moved around and no one believed me. Problem was, the swelling didn't go down all that much as the day progressed. And I didn't want to go back to the clinic because I had the feeling that the PA didn't know enough and a real doctor was needed.

Still too tired to drive to Santa Maria, I went to the ER in town. When the nurse told me that the PA, David, would be in to see me, I said I'd rather have a doctor. I think David heard me, since he acted offended when he walked in a moment later. Perhaps that explains his lack of thoroughness and the way he purposely tried to scare me. Or maybe he's just incompetent.

I told him how the situation had worsened (and I was getting really tired of people acting as if my nose might actually look like this normally, or that I have huge pouches of skin around my eyes, and having to point out the obvious), and that while my neck was no longer swollen, I'd felt some discomfort in my right armpit -- and isn't there a lymph node there? David reached under the gown they'd had me put on, apologized for his hand coming into contact with my breast (I told him I'd barely felt it, and I meant it) and poked me. At that moment nothing hurt and he didn't feel swelling. He looked down my throat and in my ears but, oddly, not in my nose. The big, honkin', sign me up to fill in for Rudolph on Christmas sleigh duty nose. Didn't look in it.

He did, however, tell me that they'd run some tests. I'd give a urine sample and they'd take blood and they'd see if they could rule out -- are you ready for this? -- kidney failure or lymphoma. For that bit of ridiculous overkill he was punished by having to watch me cry. As if my nose wasn't red enough already. He made me feel like I was being hysterical (I don't cry that way), and kind of said I should've gone to my primary physician. I told him my primary was the VA and asked if he had time to drive me to Santa Maria.

I was left alone. Then a blood-letter came in and took several vials. The nurse provided me with a cup and pointed to the bathroom. Then I waited (not in the bathroom, but back on the gurney). A woman came in whose job it was to make me sign papers and warn me that this was going to be expensive. She smiled too much. She called me "dear." Once. After my eyes went into full slit mode (not far to go), she didn't do that again.

Then the curtain was pulled back and a doctor came in. Dr. West (not his real name) must've heard that I wanted to see someone with a level of education and training above PA. But I guess he never considered that I wanted it because I was scared and alone. Because he made matters much worse. He felt my neck, and my armpits (hmmm, he managed to do it without touching my breasts), and he looked in my nose. He reacted strongly to what he saw in there. I think he said something like, "Whoa!" He told me it was red and angry and obviously infected in there, and went on to explain how you can get a nose hair that becomes ingrown and causes it. But he kept staring at my eyes. Or, rather, the swelling around my eyes.

He told me that swelling of the eyes is one of the first symptoms of nephrotic syndrome. I laid/sat there (more like lounged, except that implies comfort) on the gurney and coughed to ward off more crying. It works. He talked about kidney failure, and sodium, and how protein comes out in your urine so they'd know from the tests, and mentioned the names of two nephrologists in Santa Maria with rhyming names who were related to each other in some way though he wasn't sure how. Obviously my brain had gone into panic and I was remembering the important details.

I did manage to ask if there might be some other, more innocuous reason for the swelling. He said I might have conjunctivitis in both eyes. But I've had that, and I knew this wasn't that. He said that they could also be swollen simply because of the infection inside my nose. WHY HADN'T HE STARTED WITH THAT OPTION??? I felt like I was being punished for asking for a doctor, or not having normal insurance. As if I should be a good little patient and take what I'm offered without speaking up. But then I tend to personalize things.

He left and I sent a text to my friend, Lola (not her real name), who'd texted me to ask how I was doing. I passed along the worst case scenario, but then had to stop because David came back in. The test results were back and all looked good. Seriously. Maybe five minutes had passed. The doctor had struck terror in my heart when, if he'd waited five more minutes, I wouldn't have been put through it.

David, who had either realized he'd missed it or had been told he'd missed it, wanted to look in my nose. He had an "Oh, jeez" type of reaction, too. He said that the infection was likely causing all my other symptoms, including the eye swelling. Likely because they just don't know for sure. But the only thing that was off in my results was my creatine level. It was a little high, indicating inflammation somewhere in my body. And the vagueness just keeps comin'.

He prescribed a topical ointment for my nose, and said that and the antibiotics should cure me. Come back if I'm worse.

I texted Lola, whom I'd left hanging.

"Labs came back okay. No kidney failure, just a creative level that shows inflammation somewhere in my body."

Lola: "I always knew you were creative."

"CreatiNe"

"Damn autocorrect."

Lola: "Does it hurt to laugh?"

"Shut up."

"I'm getting topical for my nose and a huge bill and will be lea bing."

"Leaving!"

Lola: "Call me when you can."

"Okay, clearly I can't type."

It did make me laugh. But the interaction with her, and the subsequent phone call where she reassured me that I wasn't being hysterical or overreacting, made me so sad about being alone.

The woman who had made me sign papers had asked who my next of kin is. I didn't know what to say. I don't have parents anymore. I don't have kids. I don't have a husband. I picked an aunt. I have friends. I know a lot of people who care whether I live or die and who are a treasured part of my life. But they don't live here. My family and friends are far flung. I don't have someone to go to the ER with me and make me feel better just by being there. Or, for that matter, to drive me to the VA so that I don't end up paying God knows what. They didn't give me the bill today. That they mail it must mean they don't want to deal with the screaming and crying.

I like where I live. But I don't have a normal life. I'm here for a couple of weeks then up north for a couple, usually, with changes to that schedule as circumstances dictate. I can't get involved with any regular activity here, or take a class, because I'm not always here. Same thing when I work. I know it takes effort to make new friends when you're an adult, but I feel handicapped to begin with. And no, Panther, if you're reading this, I'm not moving to L.A.. I'll never be an L.A. sort of gal.

Being alone just sucks. Being alone in a hospital ER sucks even more. All fears are amplified when there's no one there to say, "P'shaw! He's just talking about nephrotic syndrome because he's a doctor and bored and wishes he had something interesting to diagnose." I know I would've felt better because of what happened as David the PA and the nurse questioned me. I am sure I turned my phone to vibrate only when I went to the ER. It acknowledges my doing so by displaying a little "vibrate only" icon. But when a friend called me, not knowing where I was but knowing I was feeling sick and wanting to check on me, my phone rang. It rang softly, but I heard the ring tone and knew who it was. And I swear I could feel my blood pressure go down just a little. I apologized for the call, assuring them I'd intended to silence the phone, and when they left me alone I took the phone from my purse to see what I'd actually set it on.

It was set to vibrate only. And I had a voicemail that I hadn't heard a tone to announce since it was on vibrate. Why did it ring when it very clearly shouldn't have rung? Because it's that important not to be all alone, especially when you're scared, and sometimes the universe gives me gifts like that.

But I am really going to have to start dating, if I can find a guy who'll put up with my schedule, because being alone sucks.

I'm going to have to wait till I have my normal nose back, of course.

Cliffhanger

Do you ever watch The Amazing Race? The couples vying for a million dollars often have difficult tasks to complete, tasks that require getting over a fear (of heights, the water, etc.), or are physically exhausting. As I watch, someone will inevitably give up partway through, whining and complaining that they can't do it -- that it can't be done. Of course it can be done, and if they don't do it they will go home a failure and have no shot at the prize. I mock them from my couch. I tell them to stop saying it can't be done and just do it. Since they can't hear me, I feel free to show this total lack of empathy. I doubt I'll talk to the TV anymore, after today.

This morning I met a friend of mine, Alex (name possibly changed due to blog and privacy issues), to explore a fairly remote area of the wilderness. By explore I mean ride along as a passenger in his big truck with the high clearance and four wheel drive. By explore I mean go beyond where the public normally goes, but I don't mean backpacking to the ends of the earth or anything. Just a three hour tour, you might say.

We were miles away from any people, on a "road" that hasn't seen traffic of any kind in years, and we could only go so far, no further, due to a rock slide. But that didn't stop us from continuing on foot, walking down the road, down the mountain, to see where it would lead us. The road had pieces of pavement in random places, but more rocks and tall grasses and holes caused by erosion than any semblance of a street. Possibly for that reason, the "shortcut" looked appealing.

We were overlooking a lake as we walked along, and while it didn't appear that the road would lead to the water, a dry stream bed just might. We stepped off the long lost beaten path and onto the ankle-twisting sized rocks. They weren't boulders and they weren't stones. They were medium to large river rocks and tumbled into what only looked like a surface to walk on. In reality every other step felt slightly off kilter which slowed me down considerably. I like Alex and didn't want him to have to help me hobble back to the truck if I stepped wrong and sprained something. With care and consideration he held branches away from my face as we picked our way through the overgrowth. This was not a trail. But after a little effort we came out near the lake, and I for one was happy to have a meadow-like surface under my sneakers and an open space to walk freely and comfortably in.

Alex pointed out the various animal tracks, like mountain lion and bear and deer, and assured me that the critters were all likely sleeping and not interested in us at all. We sat near the lake and communed with nature and took in the gorgeousness around us. Here are two pictures that don't do the area justice.

Because I didn't know what the immediate future held in store for us, I had no interest in backtracking our way to the truck. Onward! Just because the road and the entire area hadn't been used by the public in who knows how long, "there must be a trail around here somewhere." I'm not sure who said it, probably me. I think it's a safe guess that Alex wanted to find me a nice, easy walk back. I wasn't whining (yet), but I had dressed for a drive in the big truck, not a hike. I wore sneakers and I was carrying my purse (for the love of God why is it always so heavy?). We walked along the shore until it disappeared. Rudely, I thought, there were just rocks. A hillslide (not a typo, but what I consider an apt description) of rocks all the way to the water. The choice was go back ("never give up! never surrender!"), or walk like some demented crab over the rocks while hoping they didn't come loose to land me, and them on top of me, in the lake. We were having fun now. Seriously. I felt excited by the unknown factor, and was literally giddy on the inside every time I stepped and didn't turn my ankle or fall down the slope. Okay, when I had to use my hands (call it crawling if you must) to keep my balance the giddiness may have been a bit manic, but I was getting it done!

The second or third time that Alex claimed that we'd be done with the rocks "just after the next bend" I realized that some of the whiney thoughts I was having might have been verbalized in something louder than a mutter. He was very nice, very encouraging, but all I could think about was how embarrassing it was that I was breathing heavily while he wasn't. I didn't want to be that part of the Amazing Race team that slows them down and gets yelled at and told to hurry up. I didn't want to be the weak link. It wasn't a race, and Alex wasn't suggesting there was anything wrong with our pace. But in my mind, where all the drama happens, the stress was building.

When we finally reached a clearing I was both relieved and slightly horrified. I was thrilled to be done with the unstable rocks but saw only a wooded slope and then more rocky shore ahead. I rather stridently, or so it seemed to me though Alex didn't react as people normally do to my stridency, said I'd had enough of the rocks. I didn't want to keep going along the shore. I wanted to go up to the road. And in my mind it should be a simple matter of walking up the wooded slope, possibly with some branches needing to be held back from hitting me in the face. It should've been like that.

First I pointed to an area that looked almost like a mini trail. It was. It was an animal path, and Alex didn't think it was a good idea for us to go that way. He was clearly being polite and not saying, "Do you want to wake up the napping bear, Mare?" He doesn't call me Mare, but it rhymes with bear and I had to write it that way.

So we found a different spot and started up. The *road* awaited. Road should be sung in a heavenly sounding voice in that sentence, followed by a deep *ahhhhh." Work with me.

It did not take long for disappointment to set in. The dirt was, quite possibly, even more slippery than the rocks. It skittered away and down the hill with each sneaker fall. I had started praying back on the rocks. I specifically requested several guardian angels be sent immediately to help us and get us safely back to the truck. We'd had an incident with St. Anthony earlier in the day (not worth going into -- suffice it to say that he took his sweet time helping us find what was lost), and I feared I might've taken a tone with the universe. As we went up the hill that wasn't really a hill, but a freakin' CLIFF, I apologized for the St. Anthony thing and stressed, stressed, stressed the need for angels. Roll your eyes if you like, but there were a couple of times when I'm sure the only reason I didn't pull a Romancing the Stone slide was because something supernatural held me in place.

I had been dealing with nervous laughter for some time. It's a vicious cycle. I'd get nervous, laugh, the laughter would weaken me and make me lose whatever grip I had, I'd get even more nervous, and I'd laugh some more. Alex must've thought he'd brought a lunatic along with him. He didn't show it, though. He kept trying to create toeholds for me by picking into the dirt with his boot. He was rewarded with a shriek of, "Hey, you're SIX feet tall! I'm five foot, four and three quarter inches here and when I leave off that last quarter inch you know the importance of how much shorter I am!" I normally like to round up to sound "taller" at five foot five. He'd apologize and try to accommodate me, and offer me his hand for a helpful pull up. I'd reward him with, "Forget it, I'll just pull you down to your death. Leave me and save yourself."

Alex: This is poison oak. Don't touch it.

Me: I can't remember that! I can't possibly remember what that looks like! Point out all of it you see!"

Alex: Don't touch the plant to your left.

Me: Oh my God! I can't touch anything! It's everywhere!

Alex: Don't touch this rock. It isn't stable.

Me: That rock? I wanted to touch that rock! You can't keep telling me not to touch things when I need to grab onto things!"

Alex: We're almost there. The road is close.

Me: You're lying! You're just saying that to try to make me feel better and keep going and it's not going to work, mister!

He never yelled at me. He never took a tone. He never left me to die.

As we got closer to the top of the cliff (I'm not kidding, it really was a cliff), I had tunnel vision. My adrenaline was pumping and I'd gone into a full-fledged panic mode. I saw a tiny tree, just the beginning of one really, but it seemed to have a firm grip on the earth. I grabbed it. Alex took a very large side step and then went up a bit. I didn't move. I tried not to say that I couldn't move, but the words came out anyway. I think it was about that time that he slipped a bit. Not a lot, and he quickly recovered, but he joked about what to do to call for help if he should go flying past me and land somewhere at the bottom. I don't know what I said, but I don't think it sounded appreciative of his humor.

I looked down. I have no idea if I vocalized what I thought or not but it was, "No no no! Looking down was a bad idea, a very bad idea!"

Poor Alex. In that kind of situation only one person can panic and I'd clearly called dibs on it. He had to be the strong one. And he was. He was a hero, even though he couldn't have known I saw him that way as I called him names and refused most of his offers of help. I do recall him saying something about my "trust issues" once when I couldn't take his hand. But he managed to say it with a smile.

Somehow he got me to let go of the tiny tree, take his hand, and he pulled me up and over to another precarious position that was a few feet closer to the top. Of course, I had only Alex's word for how close to the top we were. And I didn't believe him. I thought he was handling me, because I clearly required handling at that moment. He said he'd throw my water bottle up onto the road to show me. He threw it. I said something like, "What does that prove? So you threw the bottle. It could've gone anywhere!" He smiled and said I was doing great and I was almost there. The man has the patience of a saint.

I advanced to a medium sized tree. Tree is being kind, actually. It was several branches poking out at lots of angles, most of them hitting me in the face or chest, but it had a couple of sturdy limbs. I grabbed them and, again, couldn't move. My rational brain said I had to move, but my lizard brain said that sitting there forever was just the thing, made perfect sense, and was truly the only option. Alex worked his way around me, claimed to be at the top, (he was, I could see it with my own eyes, but panic does strange things to your logic), and took my purse (which I got off my body somehow without choking myself and handed to him) and threw it to safety. After I calmly told him that I couldn't move, that I meant it, he somehow convinced me to move. And I slipped.

I had absolutely no purchase under my feet at all. I was hanging on to the tree limbs with just my hands and knew I wasn't going to last long doing that. I don't remember clearly how Alex was next to me, then behind me, holding the tree and keeping his body between me and oblivion as he kicked at the dirt to make toe holds for me. I do remember that I couldn't wait for those holds and something told me to lean into the dirt. I did, and my knees somehow took hold. You don't have to believe in divine intervention if you don't choose to, and Alex certainly gave me support and time, but I believe an angel guided my panicked body into a position of temporary safety. Why the angel couldn't just lift me up and place me on the road is a mystery. Maybe they're drama queens at heart.

Alex got back into position between the tree and the top and made suggestions about where I should put my hands. I came back with things like, "The tree is in my way, Alex! I don't know how you expect me to do that! I'm going to kill part of this tree and I don't care!" I think the nervous laughter might've mitigated my stridency a tad, because he really should've been annoyed with me, but he wasn't. I did attack a few of the branches with one hand while keeping a death grip with the other. I managed to get my hands the way Alex wanted them, so that I was holding on but would be able to let go and grab his hand when ready. And that would be never. The lizard brain was firm on that. Letting go of the tree was not going to happen.

My rational brain decided to think about The Amazing Race again. Oh, so that's why they stop mid-way through a challenge. They're scared. They can't think logically. They may have safety harnesses on, but they probably don't feel safe at all. I have to stop mocking them. Finally, I realized that Alex would never leave me and save himself, that the only way out of the situation was to do what he said, and even though the idea of him hoisting me up and onto the flat, safe surface without both of us just crashing to our deaths seemed illogical, I had to trust him. The part where I let go and took his hand is a blur. The part where he pulled me up as if he did that sort of thing all the time and it was no big deal is crystal clear.

I laid on my back, barely able to speak because fear had taken all the saliva out of my mouth, and whispered, "I love you, I love you, I love you, you saved my life, I love you, I love you, I love you." Alex laughed and told me that I'd done well, that I'd climbed a cliff, and I should be proud of myself. Hero. Definitely.

He even seemed to think he should've found us an easier way back to the road. I guess the stress of getting me up that cliff had made him forget that I'd wanted to go that route. I'd been afraid of the rocks and didn't want to go another way. Afraid of the rocks. Oh, hindsight.

But if I hadn't had that fear of the rocks and falling into the lake I never would've conquered the cliff. So I'm glad we went that way. I'm grateful for guardian angels. And Alex will always be my hero (even if he doesn't want to take me hiking again).

What a day.