Home on a Sunday.......

We found a church home today after wandering through the offerings here in this part the Peninsula. We had gone to St. P's and the door was closed, inside cold and a few huddled in the huge space. The memories of this place wern't all bad, just conflicting as several years ago we had to bust the priest on some unpriestly behavior. He is still a priest in another church and we hope that somehow he was convicted of his strange behavior: talking of parishioner's sex life and offering to have a child with a lovely young woman. The priest was gay or whatever. We went to the Episcopal church in the town next door, two times and no one spoke to us except in the line leaving. Not who are you, how are you or why are you here. Lots of kids and lively atmosphere, but nobody spoke to us at the coffee hour. We used to go there. And then to St. A where we first went years ago when we arrived in the Bay area. The Great Litany was read, which is enough to turn off anyone just arriving to the Episcopal Lent, but despite that, we were home. The priest is someone we knew in Hawaii, and to be met with "Aloha" brought near tears. I had good memories of serving there, despite difficulties with a woman priest who was the interim, who had a problem with sarcasm, and perhaps other women at the altar. Today it was "Aloha" and all that the word meant: welcome, love, hello and we are doing the Great Litany. There were familiar faces who came up to us and gave us hugs - from remembering us of eighteen years ago. That didn't mean as much as the rest of the people coming to us in the Peace, and at the coffee hour. I have had not so much a love/hate relationship with the Episcopal church as one where my expectations of clergy and parish behavior was set to a higher standard than was perhaps realistic. It has never mattered that much to me that Bishop Robinson was gay, or that non-gays elected him, or that Bishops who did not like women clergy and gays forgot some of Christ's words and left the Anglican Communion. What mattered, all along was how people treated each other in the Episcopal church and there, we found behavior that was unfriendly, personal agendas, and politics. Imagine! Some could say that churches are the rock polishers of our society, or the social gatherings that support some spirituality, but damn, some of those rocks have held sharp edges. And there are just so many potlucks you can attend before you get fed up with pasta dishes.

Today,we didn't find any agendas, and felt at home. I had spoken to my son who is attending a Bible study group about personal spirituality, how it had to be vertical and not horizontal. That what one learned in Bible study had to resonate in a peaceful place within, not because there was consensus in the group, but that there was recognition on an individual basis. That the relationship with God was personal, not corporate. Well today, feeling at home, we felt some horizontal, corporate love, and from the Great Litany, an increase of grace, and were thankful

Road trip into the past

Pescadero Beach used to be a place where we would run the dogs, when we had Jake and Bailey and lived on the boat before. We found Jake in a truckload of puppies in Pescadero after eating fried artichoke hearts in a Greek restaurant. The town is tiny, a mile back from the ocean and surrounded by fields. You can't go to Pescadero without hitting Arcangeli Bakery - there are only about 6 stores in town, but this bakery is a must stop. You can get fresh, hot garlic and artichoke bread with the aroma in the store heavenly. We usually buy several loaves, but they don't always make it home. But, back to the beach. Notice the sign about no dogs. What is going on here? We stopped at many beaches along the highway and you got it, no dogs! We found Phipps Ranch behind Pescadero where I used to buy herbs and beans. They are still there, and the narcissus bloom in their driveway. I gave a bowl of these to a friend one year and they had to put them outside as they said they stink. As it is my birth flower, well - it is an acquired smell. Phipps has bins and bins of wonderful different beans, tactile and colorful. I probably have some of the original from years ago. Hope not. Evan and Janice were with us and were made aware of the history of our trips to Pescadero. Jake was given a loving name by Evan, in Jake's later years, that sounded like fart bag. Or such. The sea air was wonderful,
having sun after all these days of rain, magic. The fields were covered
in mustard, and the clouds were moving to heal the drought here in California. A winding, curving back road flows over the ridges back to the bay area, through redwoods and redneck areas of mystery. We stayed on the beach road, thinking good thoughts and remembering Jake and bad thoughts about all those beaurocrats who shut down the beaches from the "killer" dogs.

Surprise Reunions

Linda, Robert and Sha'ash on a rock that was covered during the storms. The sun finally came out after the week of monster storms in Santa Barbara. We found some beach at Loon Point, no signs about no dogs, etc and let them out for a run. Linda drove down and got Charleen and John on the phone, who surprise, moved to Pasadena and they drove up. My sons and their wives drove up from LA and we had a Hawaiian style lunch on Barbara and Dick's beautiful lanai. Well, a quick trip to Trader Joe's helped and cleaning out Evan and Janice's wine stash in their car. Charleen, Linda and I were in the same class for the Diaconate (look up Episcopal Church) and we three holy people, unh huh, gossiped about the church and who we all know. Charleeen and I were ordained a year after Linda and recently had an anniv. - 25 years. John is a priest and had a photo in his office in Hawaii of we three (the Bishop called us his

young turks, whatever that meant) at a restaurant in Waikiki: I was stretched out across John's lap, Linda and Charleen were kissing and hugging him. Somehow John got the pic blown up and framed in his office and when someone asked who the women were, he said: "Those are the deacons of the diocese of Hawaii."

He always wears his hat like that -

It was a fantastic day, and thanks to Trader Joe and Barbara's blue plates we managed to feast and drink and remember wonderful times. And created another wonderful time to remember.

La or El nino rules.....excess

Channel Islands, from Santa Barbara---Rain, rain, rain...

Looking south from the lanai on a morning between storms

Loon Point Beach, and these were the smaller waves the day after the storms were over.,

New Beach, Same weather

Brookings on a typical winter's day, the waves silvering in the little bit of blue, and then south to the damp cold of the boat. My friend Barbara offered us her house in Santa Barbara, so the boat held us for a day only. California is green, green, green from the recent rains and the ocean is brown and murky along the shorelines from the last week's five storms. We moved into Barbara and Dick's house, hit Trader Joes and Blockbuster and had the best view of the storms from high in the hills. The ocean was pure foam and wild, with individual monster waves visible even from up here. The fourth storm brought snow on the "mountains" behind the house, and a trip to the harbor found about ten boats washed up and stuck on the beach. Fool's Harbor is what the locals call the anchorage in front of the city, and a wild dance of masts went on for a week. We were warm, dry and happy and wondered what the poor people were doing.

Haiti. That's what they were doing. I had been there a few yars ago with a group of clergy, and stayed in the hotel that collapsed. There were familiar views of places we had visited, and heartbreaking views on the tv of so many people in trouble. The need is overwhelming and the administration of any help and supplies is chaotic. So we are warm, dry, sheltered, and heartsick for the lovely people who showed me their incredible spirit in spite of their poverty. We are in one of the wealthiest enclaves in the world and the contrast with what I have seen and we are now seeing is too far apart to describe. Unreal.

Apres le deluge, le earthquake, le non tsunami......

These critters may be some of the missing San Francisco harbor seals/sea lions, but these have taken over some docks in Moss Landing. When we biked by later the docks were empty save for a young man who had some sort of water weapon

used, supposedly to deter dock landings. As if. As soon as the young man left, the lions climbed back on the docks. After some of the docks in San Francisco sunk because of the sea lion landings/loadings, new docks were built, not for boats, but for tourism. The numbers grew over the last few years from a few hundred to about 4,000. And this winter they have disappeared save for a few diehards, disappointing all the tourists who have come from all over the world. The word on the street/ocean/ and argument from naturalists is that they are all now playing and eating plentiful herring and multiplying at Oregon's Sea Lion Caves. I say arguing as the naturalists don't seem to understand the sudden increase in numbers of the critters at the Caves. Well, duh.

We, too, are back in Oregon taking care of the elders. There was a writer who said that if you lived on or near a beach, there would be no good reason to not walk it every day. That writer was correct, although the constant rain and 55mph wind as well .as the care demands of the elders sort of shuts down the daily walk. The surf has been incredible and being able to let the dog's run on Mom's beach is worth being out in the wind and rain.

There was a 6.5 earthquake about 100 miles south of Brookings this week. We didn't feel a thing as Mom's house is concrete, including the walls. There was some damage in stores, historic buildings losing their decoration, and a lot of nervousness about a potential tsunami. Robert was coming back from a hospital visit and driving along the coast where it was low and open to wave action and until he arrived back in the "high country" there was some concern about an unscheduled visit to the beach. When a tsunami was forecasted in Hawaii, I had been recovering from an operation in Lanikai. Robert called me from his office in downtown Honolulu and told me to blow up the inflatable dinghy, get my jewelry and get on board. My response to Robert was, "What jewelry?"

Tourists in Monterey Peninsula

Part of the new year get with it program is to get healthy. Yeah, I know - we say that every year, but this year we mean it. We both lost weight in the move and with the work on the boat, and the "sort of Zone" diet we have been following, we need to keep this lifestyle up. I say this after eating three huge cookies called Blondies (caramel and pecans, yum). So we loaded up the bikes and tried to follow the old road alongside Highway 1, tourist area in the Monterey Peninsula. Those guys and girls, at least they looked like girls, in the sleek little tight pants and jackets zipped by us. As it was freezing, big waves, windy and the usual January California weather, I wore everything I could and after the uphill slog, was sweating. There are little byways where you can take your car just so far to get to the beach, and absolutely no damn dogs allowed, but people were exploring the area so we would have to slalom around them. The bikes are 21 speed types that let you go up steep hills, supposedly without breaking a sweat. Supposedly is right - and it isn't true about never forgetting how to ride a bike. I kept trying to find the right combination of gears. Think on it: twenty one gears compared to the Schwinn we all learned on. Wobbling up hill, trying not to notice the looks of pity from those sleek damn yuppies and trying to get the right combination, thighs burning, and getting to the top was, well, exhilirating. Sort of. Downhill is another story - I sometimes get off and walk for fear of pitch poling right into the sand dunes. We have also been watching the great adventures of people on the Nature programs who walk the Continential Divide Trail, or the Appalachian trail. Not one ounce of fat on them. Ok. We get the picture. Then there are those who run marathons. Again, not an ounce of fat on them. We stopped backpacking when I complained my back was too out of it to carry a pack. We did Haleakala and Kalalau hikes so many times that we felt wonderful after a week of just being with nature and were fit. So the word for the new year, is to continue this quest and to find some beaches where dogs can run free. What is with this bit of legislated wilderness? Most people pick up their dog messes and the beaches along the California coast are huge and there is more than enough room for people, surfers, dogs and other assorted wierdos. So what the hell is with the deal of treating dogs and their owners as suspect? Perhaps it is a fear of litigation, bad dogs, bad owners, etc. It is frustrating to just find a place where they can just race their butts off. Dog parks are suspect. Come to think of it, so are some of the people we see on the beaches.