Lifeguard Station #1

Sometimes you just get lucky. I did.

Let me explain… Please, it’s not what you think!

I got lucky enough to see a lifeguard station come out of hibernation.

Having lived within 20 miles of the California coast all my life, I’ve been to the beach lots and lots of times. My wife and I like it best in the winter when the crowds are gone, but all the beauty remains.

As I mentioned in some earlier posts, we recently vacationed in Oceanside, California. One morning, we ventured out for a walk along the beach. We walked for a mile or so along the beachfront road until we were stopped: the sidewalk was blocked by a jacketed lifeguard.

What was she doing? She was blocking traffic!

But why? What was the occasion?



The first lifeguard station of the season was being put in position! Spring break was around the corner, and so were the beach-going crowds who needed protecting.



I didn’t know that lifeguard stations got to winter together. I guess they huddle together for warmth? Or perhaps they’re just social?



I had my camera, so I snapped off a series of shots capturing this serendipitous occasion.



(After they unloaded the tower, a couple of lifeguards removed the wooden beam from the tower’s metal undercarriage.)



All in all, it was a special moment. I got lucky!

So Cal "Groundhog Day"

For many of us in the sun-belt, spring has sprung. For others, like my friend Miss H in Montana, spring has been more elusive. She recently posted a piece called "A Groundhog Moment."

Through writers like her, I’ve become aware of how good we have it here in Southern California. The week of April 5th, I was vacationing with my wife in Oceanside, California. The weather was supposed to be “dismal:” low 60s with some showers. We persevered and only hit rain for 20 minutes in six days. We had a great time.

We were staying in a timeshare just a few blocks from the beach. The public beach close to the pier in Oceanside features two walkways, one on the beach, one up on the bluffs. Walking on the bluffs, I caught a glimpse of a Southern California Groundhog. Here s/he is:



The Southern California Groundhog is really a ground squirrel. These squirrels never really hibernate (because they don't have to), but when things warm up… say in early April… they like to scamper atop the canopy of natal plums to feast on the early ripening berries.



After getting their fill, they might spend some time gazing off at the surfers, who are enjoying glassy peaks of 3 to 5 foot surf in 53-degree water. (You can watch the surf real-time here.)

Besides the surfers, the squirrels enjoy watching the tourists and locals who frequent the pier seen in the distance and the park hidden below the bluffs.



The squirrel’s cousins live up and down the bluffs. Many of these squirrels have relocated from far away places, like Montana, where they are still watching the snow melt while they dream of days with more sunshine than gray. Days like this… in sunny Oceanside, California.

But to be fair, Oceanside does have its perils as indicated on the sign below found just two blocks inland.

Vanishing Point -- Every picture has a Story...

Laura Jayne has created a writing community over at her blog: Pictures, Poetry and Prose. I don't respond to all the prompts, but sometimes I do. Many of the blogs I follow, I found after reading a good post on LJ's site.

I like people who think critically and creatively. When I read their writings, I begin to see the world as they see it. That's fun.

On Saturday Laura Jayne offered this picture and prompt:



Photo by Lorelei
Visit her photo gallary at - http://www.pbase.com/birdseye
and her blog at - http://www.westcoastwriters.blogspot.com/
~
Suggested prompt...
~
Tell the story of or create a poem for this amazing photo.

Here was my offering:

Vanishing Point

"Hard to believe there's only five more weeks of high school," commented Maria, her breath adding to the early morning fog along the riverbank.

"I can't believe it either," uttered Frank as he hunkered along, trying to stay warm against the penetrating dampness.

"And what were we thinking, ending our stint with a zero-period class?"

"Obviously we weren't thinking very clearly."

Maria laughed. "I'm going to miss you Frank."

"Ditto girl. But this is what we've been working hard for: we're both heading off to different colleges in the fall."

"You're right. Goodbye sleepy river town. Goodbye factory job. Goodbye future-less friends."

"We're in the mist now, but the dawn's coming. This fog will disappear, and so will we."

"You're such a poet! I'm the artist. Let's see: Gray hues will yield to bright colors. Vanishing points will give way to new beginnings, new perspectives."

"Oh Maria, I'm going to miss our talks and our walks."

Maria smiled in the mist, "Me too."

They walked on together in the predawn fog, each lost in their own thoughts, each enjoying the white space that punctuated their friendship, both moving on... towards the vanishing point.

Pleasant Surprises

Susan Boyle burst on the scene as a pleasant surprise. Unapparent, unrecognized, less-than-young, yet possessing a secret: she had more that met the eye.

Until I wrote that sentence, I hadn't made the connection to another unapparent, unrecognized, past-his-prime person who burst on the scene: Jesus of Nazareth. His contemporaries said, "Can anything good come out of Nazareth?"




Evidently the answer is "Yes."

This post began in my mind as a post on another recent pleasant surprise for me: Oceanside, California! And that's where I'm going now... or where I went... week before last.

In the coming days you'll see a number of coastal shots. They are all from a gem of a city in northern San Diego county, just 60 short miles south of where I live.



My wife and I traded into a timeshare just two blocks from the beach. I was hoping for the best, but expecting less. Two decades ago, my wife's cousin moved from Oceanside to Carlsbad (a neighboring town). This cousin informed me that Oceanside was, well, suspect in comparison to Carlsbad. I had stayed in Carlsbad before and it is a nice resort town.

Oceanside is a beach town: relaxed, a bit weathered, and under-rated!




We could hear and see the surf from several of our second story windows. Yes, we had to look through the telephone wires to see the surf, sunsets, joggers, walkers, and pier in the distance. The sunsets were juxtaposed against the infrastructure of our telephone age. I can live with that. It was beautiful.

The unit was a one bedroom, 850 square foot affair in a small gated complex called Aquamarine Villas. We used the jacuizi, the gas BBQs, and the pool. They had an internet station (not wireless yet), a pool table, air hockey and foosball games, plus an assortment of videos, books, games, and surf "toys."

All this was only an hour away! Who knew?

We hope to go back another time. It was close, quiet, charming, friendly, and slightly aged.

It was a pleasant surprise, like Susan Boyle... or even like the biggest surprise of all time -- Jesus of Nazareth. (He's the one who conquered death... Yes, on Easter. But that was so "last week.")

Some have suggested a bigger surprise is coming... the Second Coming of Jesus Christ!

(And you thought the jaws dropped when the saw and heard Susan Boyle! You ain't seen nothing yet.)




I wonder what else I've been missing? I'm on the look-out for more... pleasant surprises. How about you?

Happy Sunday!

Mission Accomplished!

Whew. That was a busy week.



I’ve been home a week from vacation, and I just put away the suitcases. Partly I was resting my back, which is about 95% better, but also it’s been a busy week at work.

I do my best to not bring work home with me, but there are some weeks, where it happens. This was one of those weeks.

We had a saying amongst the data processing managers that went like this, “In order for a project to succeed, someone has to bleed.” When deadlines approach, when crunch-time arrives, then it’s time to “Get ‘er done!” I had two of those days this week.

Whew. Mission Accomplished.



It remains to be seen if things quiet down sufficiently to blog more regularly, but I anticipate that it will.

After my recent vacation, I made a list of topics I want to write on. I still have that list!



Don’t get me wrong, I’m still finding some time for rest, relaxation, and recreation, but work temporarily has encroached on my fun-time.

But I’ll be back! Just you wait.

Another Vial of Sand

I'm back from a week's vacation. I've been catching up on reading what my blogging friends have been up to. Now it's time to turn my attention back to my own blog.

Well, sort of. I'm borrowing from a post I did elsewhere, but want to share it here with my own set of readers. It starts with a picture:



Photo by Kathryn
for more of Kathryn's photography visit -
http://www.pbase.com/katwilkens

Over at Pictures, Poetry, and Prose the above captioned picture appeared along with this suggested prompt:

It was the sand of ______ that she would remember because...

Mixing fact, fiction, what-if, and some creative license, I came up with this:


The Other Vial of Sand...

Fifteen clear boxes of labeled sand. They were relegated to the family room shelf for display, clumsily inscribed in her husband’s bland printing. In her separate bedroom, she had her treasures, it wasn’t the gems, the jewelry, or the rings, but it was the small vial containing the sand of southern Utah that she would remember and treasure because of him… a different him.

They had met at college – a friend of a friend. Soon they were more than that, much more. The school year was ending, and she had convinced him to join her for a month-long, transcontinental road trip. He loved to drive; she had the car and her mother’s financial backing. His mom didn’t like the idea, but hers did.

His mom had moral problems with the arrangement, and worried about unplanned pregnancies.

Her mom appreciated the security that the young man would provide her daughter on the cross-country trip that would culminate at her son’s home in northern Florida.

The trip started out great. It was the best trip she’d ever take despite the lack of glamour.

They drove to the Grand Canyon, camped there for four days, and made a three-day hike into the canyon. Together they saw Phantom Ranch located on the river’s edge where they ate over-priced five-dollar peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Hiking out, they ventured off the main trail to Ribbon Falls. They drank in the beauty, and they showered together in the falls.

From the North Rim, the plan was to drive north through Kanab to Utah’s Zion and Bryce canyons before heading east. But on the way, they took an unplanned side trip to the Coral Pink Sand Dunes State Park. It was nearly deserted, and they took advantage.

Salmon was her favorite color. This was what she would call her “salmon colored summer.”

The vial of soft, wind blown, pink coral sand that she kept in her jewelry box was like a magic lamp, providing a gateway to pleasant memories, to another time, to another place, and to another man.

Ahhh… that was the best part… a different man… the man of the salmon-colored summer, not the man of fifteen clear boxes of labeled sand.

King of the hill?

Today's post is a copy of what I wrote over at Pictures, Poetry & Prose. The picture was provided by Brett Trafford and the prompt was: Start or end your writing today with this line... Under the spreading branches...
The picture:



Here is my offering...

I Stand Alone?

I stand alone atop this hill.

I’ve given millions of leaves to the earth over seventy-five years,
But none remain. They’ve all blown away.

I’ve shed tens of thousands of seeds, year after year,
But none have escaped the grazing animals.

I’ve seen thousands of sunrises,
But I never grow tired of them.

What am I? Alone and lonely?
No.

I am a host.

Under my spreading branches
Children have played.

Under my spreading branches
Picnics have been made.

Under my spreading branches
Young have been born.

Under my spreading branches
Old have lain down for the last time.

I am a host,
To man and beast.

I am a host,
To bird and bug.

I am a sight for sore eyes.
I am a reminder of pleasant days.

Beneath my boughs,
Life happens.

Over and over again.

I am a host.