Come Josephine in my Flying Machine...

So... while we're on family again we come to another picture. This was taken in 1917, and illustrates the complexities of my family even then. Those of you who have heard this story can smoke 'em if you've got 'em.

My Grandfather, Eugene Auguste Coffin, joined the Revenue Cutter Service in 1907. You remember him, he's the one who was born in China. The Revenue Cutter Service became what is now known as the Coast Guard in 1915. He was a short, bandy legged man, with an attitude... He was married 4 times, one of the few Coffins to do so for reasons other than the death of a spouse. His first wife died, but then he just liked them younger... His personal life was, at the best, flawed, but his professional life was intriguing.

That aside, in December, 1916, he came to Pensacola Florida to the Naval Air station to learn how to fly airplanes. In those days, it was a much different challenge than now. Much different. He wrote about the intensity of training after 1917 when we entered the war, " Student aviators came in, in droves and were killed off at the rate of about one a week--they were too eager". He had several crashes: one in April 1917, practicing landings, and another than made the headlines while he was was flying patrols off of Montauk, Long Island. The plane quit flying about 300 ft over the water... To tie this all in with the last blog picture, he writes, " my first flight in any sort of an airplane was made with Lt. Cdr. Earl Spencer of the Navy, who was head of the flying school at Pensacola. He was then the husband of Wallis Warfield, who later because Mrs. Simpson and after that the Duchess of Windsor." He became the 59th Naval Aviator.

In the picture, he is the man just left of center, the first one in a white uniform... the short one. What makes this picture interesting beyond it's obvious historical charm is that the man standing next to him, on his left, is my STEP grandfather. My grandfather's wife's second husband.

Shades of desperate housewives, they were best friends!

But that's another story for yet another time...

Love, Love Alone...

My grandfather (middle) with the Duke of Windsor... and the Duchess (I don’t know what the queen called her, but I can bet it wasn’t Duchess and I’ll bet it wasn’t nice).

Remember the song? hmm... Harry Belafonte... “’Twas love, love alone, made king Edward leave the throne...” I’m going to quote some of it later... I loved any song Harry sang. For those of you who are too young to remember, King Edward Vlll gave up the throne to marry a DIVORCED woman, Wallis Warfield Simpson.. .. a DIVORCED woman from AMERICA! (I used to call her Walrus Simpson... you can understand the confusion, it’s a stoopid name for a girl!).

“Edward's younger brother, Albert, was suddenly thrust into the role of King George VI. "Bertie," as he was called, was a shy, retiring type, with a noticeable stammer. He'd been raised thinking his older brother would be king, so he was unprepared for the job when it fell to him. He worked hard, however, and became very popular with his people before dying at the age of 56 due to lung cancer.
His widow, Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon (the Queen Mother)( you remember her), always blamed the stress of being King on her husband's early demise, and usually referred to Wallis as "that damnable Simpson woman."

I’m not quite certain what my grandfather was doing with them, but I suspect he was showing them some military place... Coast Guard. That was his job. He was a Rear Admiral, although maybe not at that time... Coast to coast, so I have no idea where they are...It looks sort of English, tho'... hmm...

It was love; love alone
Caused King Edward to leave his throne
It was love, love, love, love, love alone
Caused King Edward to leave his throne

You can take his money you can take his store
but leave him that lady from Baltimore
It was love, love, love, love, love alone
Caused King Edward to leave his throne

I don’t know what Mrs Simpson got in her bone
that caused the king to leave his throne
It was love, love, love, love, love alone
Caused King Edward to leave his throne

On the 10th of December 1936
the Duke of Windsor went to get his kicks
It was love; love alone
Caused King Edward to leave his throne

He said he was sorry that his Mommy would grieve
he cannot help it, he would have to leave
It was love, love, love, love, love alone
Caused King Edward to leave his throne

Imagine.... giving up being KING...

for a broad...

There's always another bridge to cross...

The Bixby bridge, built in 1932... another marvel of another age. I don’t know how long you had to go to go around this span, but it must have been something, for them to go to all the trouble to build this bridge...

and another coastal view...

I took a lot of these to show Mom when I get back. I put them in a slideshow with music (bless this Macintosh!) so that she can see them on a larger screen and, hopefully, enjoy my trip.

tomorrow I head for home...

I DO miss my bed...

The Big Sur Road...

A fire in the woodstove in my cabin. I’ll take this over a kitchen any day!

The cabin is a simple one, but actually quite large. It’s a ‘singlewide’ I guess. I was here one night when some brave and crazy fool came into the campground after dark towing one of the larger versions of this. The newer ones have wood siding and look more ‘rustic’. He had brought this DOWN THE BIG SUR ROAD from San Francisco, a feat at which I still marvel. I then watched him swing his truck around (in this less than adventageous space) and back it up and plant it where it was supposed to be forever. A better man than I, Gunga Din!
My cabin.

Now I have to tell you about the Big Sur road. You can tell by some of the pictures, but they don’t do it justice. It’s 70 some miles long, and it is two lanes. Two very small lanes at times, and occasionally it has dropped off during rainstorms (a frequent happening, as it’s built on the edge of the rocky hills). Where this has happened, it is quickly fixed but often rough... sometimes it stays that way for a long time, and other times they have to build a new road around the old collapse. The lower part, the longest, is harrowing on a good day in places. It’s daunting if you’re driving a motorhome, and I can’t imagine hauling something as large as this cabin even though he took the ‘short road’ (26 miles).

Here’s a picture of the type of cabin he brought. He had no running lights on it (and asked me not to tell anyone)...

A recent break... happens every year that it rains. Sometimes the only way out is the upper road, to Carmel, and sometimes you have to wait... and wait...

The road has kept this area fairly out of the mainstream for years, and that’s the way they like it up here. They haven’t forgiven Henry Miller for putting Big Sur on the map! The road does have it’s charms, though, but it’s only the view...

the view..
.
.
.
.



the incredible view...

Carmel by the Sea....

Carmel meets the sea... right at the edge of the main street you have this incredible ocean and pines.

Today I went to Carmel and Cannery Row. 40 years ago you could live in Carmel. It was a smallish, quaint housed, rustic streeted, Monterey pine filled town. 20 years ago you couldn’t afford to buy a house in Carmel, which had ARRIVED and, while still ‘quaint’, had begun to lose it’s charm. Today, while you still can’t afford to buy a house there, you no longer want to... which is, I suppose, a good thing... Oh yeah, once you get off the main drag (which is FILLED to the brim with a billion gifty shops) the area is still pretty, but it’s changing even as I type this. California’s propensity for BIGGER HOUSES ARE BETTER HOUSES has robbed this once beautiful place of all that made it unique... but the ocean still meets the main drag, and the setting is incredible... so we all still come...

I managed to avoid the 17 mile rip off and Pebble beach and went up further to Monterey and Cannery Row. I’ve loved Cannery Row since I read the book, and, indeed, the first time I came up here it was pretty much the same. Again, not on the map yet, it was sliding into disarray, but had this ... this feeling that, at any minute, Doc might just come out of his place and ask you to go get some frogs... Doc’s place is still there, if I’ve been told correctly. It amazes me that it isn’t gone. There's a picture of it at the end of the blog... There is a big plot of land in the middle of the row that had construction started on it YEARS ago and has never been finished. I have no idea why, but I’ve stared at that rebar for what seems like forever.

Every time I go to ‘the row’ I try to ignore all the shops and stand at the edge of the ocean and listen for the voices...

I can almost hear them....

no... really...

By the Sur, By the Sur, By the Beautiful Sur...

One of the bridges on the road to Big Sur. This was built in the 30's I think, and was a marvel at the time.. Hell, it's still pretty darned impressive.

I'm here.. the trip was arduous. One of the things I hate about getting older is this stoopid inflexibility. Everything seems so much harder. I understand why Mom dropped out of her activities as she aged... it's a battle each day to not just NOT do something.. Once here, I had to change cabins because the one I used before didn't have a wood burning stove, which is part of the fun! Man, I want one of those in my house!

This is a short blog because I'm sitting in my car, stealing wifi from the River Inn... and it's COLD in here!

So I had a great time last night, but I am certainly aware of NOT BEING IN TOUCH! eep!.. no phone, no computer, Quell conundrum!

I'll write later...

A guy named Joe...

I loved this picture... it was early in the relationship, as you can tell from his NJ shirt and tie... (grin).

Ok, so my Joe wasn't quite the Spencer Tracy character... or the Van Johnson character... or even the Irene Dunne character, but it wasn't from lack of trying.

I met Joe in 1972 when he installed the battery in my Volkswagen. The VW in those days made one of the stupidest decisions ever made in an automobile (and there have been some doozies) by putting the battery UNDER the rear seat. It made it impossible to check it without major contortions, so it was never checked. I'd put even money on some under the table dealings between DieHard and VW. That battery did die hard, and when it had to be replaced, there was my guy named Joe.

Joe was from Jersey. I'd just read The Godfather, and I knew ALL about New Jersey Italians, and was more than a little intrigued. This carried me for a while before I realized that it was all we had in common. My liking Sonny Corleone, and Joe thinking he WAS Sonny Corleone... Not exactly a basis for longevity, but we managed to live together for more than 4 years.

I'm not going into great detail about Joe. I do consider him one of my great failures, as I couldn't make things 'right' for him. He had no self belief, in spite of the fact that he could do just about anything. He could fix anything, he could figure out just about anything, yet somehow these talents were not considered valuable. I never understood that.

We never married. It had as much to do with my not caring for the institution as it did with the fact that he had never divorced his first wife. There were other wives after me. Joe couldn't be alone, couldn't live alone, couldn't be happy alone. This is, in my humble opinion, a crippling lack. Each of his other women would eventually call me to ask how to deal with Joe. I would get a " Joe said you were the only one who knew how to handle him" call. It was true. I did try to help, but noticed through the years that the phone calls were more frustrated... and often drunk. Alcohol and Joe were not friends. He was smoking again, in spite of the asbestos damage to his lungs. and he was ever the manic-depressive, schizophrenic, paranoid sweetheart.

eventually the calls stopped...

Moonshine glass...

Another favorite thing about Joseph, Oregon, the town in which I wish to live someday is it's proximity to my friend, Russell Ford. Russell is an artisan. Hell, Russell is a god! He makes the most beautiful glass... Joseph is known for artists and their work, much of it in bronze. I own one good bronze piece. I have several Russell Ford pieces. When I move there, I will have this window, which exists only in my mind at this time, in which I can properly display his work...

Russell used to date the skinny girl in that family camping picture taken in 1953, Leslie, one of my oldest and dearest friends. He is, if only judged by the fact that they dated for a while, clearly the most patient and temperate person I know. Leslie, my dear friend, is, at best, a handful... (grin) Now while this certainly doesn't float MY boat, Russell has shown some good sense and has just married this year. Not Leslie. I haven't met his new wife, but I am looking forward to doing so sometime this year.
But this is not about his love life, it's about his exceptional art. I encouraged him to get a website, and even provided the extremely creative black and white picture of Mount Joseph for the opening page. Someone else did the rest of the work, but it is an unfinished page, without size or price range or more pictures...
I'm working on him to work on the website, but he is an artist....

One of the things I DO know about artists is that they are the worst salesmen... especially where their own work is concerned.



So I'm helping out...

as best I can...

Sunrises ain't bad neither...

This is the first picture I took with my 'new' digital camera. I got it for Christmas in 2001, a gift from my ever wise sister, and the very next morning I was off to breakfast with 'the boys' to show them my new present! On the way there was this killer sunrise...

Sunset, sunset...

I'm going to post some sunset pictures. If they bore you, move on, cuz they absolutely thrill me... I love the arrangement of the palm trees in this picture. Further down you can see more taken the same day, different times and angles. If I remember correctly, this was a winter sun... raining out at sea, but a warm day as evidenced by the line of small waves .
I have lots of pictures of sunsets. I was born as the sun hit the water on a Saturday afternoon that I don't remember (thank goodness!). I have loved sunsets ever since, especially, but not limited to, those over water. I love digital cameras because they allow me to take ever so many pictures and then look at them and take more...

Look.. another one, same day ... this is not a 'colorful' sunset, but an interesting one, with lots of light and shadow.
Often times I only notice the sunset at home, and grab that camera just in time to catch what must be a terrific sunset at the water level, as it is so beautiful from my front 'porch'. We don't have porches much in Southern California. I don't know why, but if I DON'T get away from here I will remodel my house someday and MAKE one. I love porches. I want a big one that is partially enclosed so I can sit on rainy days and watch the clouds move about. I love a sky full of clouds like the one here.
It lets you see just how big the sky really is...


From my porch...

Sur la mer...

This is my absolute favorite picture of the Big Sur road, taken at about 7 AM as I try to beat the school bus down the windiest road ever... got to get up early to beat the bus, and if you don't, there's a really good chance you will follow it for a very very LONG time. Or it will SEEM like a long time. This may actually be my favorite picture of anything, although I have some killer sunset pictures that I've taken of my 'mer".

I'm mixing my metaphors again... or at least my languages. Sur means South in Spanish, and Mer means sea in French... So what I sort of have here is the Southern Sea, or South of the Sea. Big Sur is neither, unless you're from San Francisco in which case it IS south and I should just shut up now...

I'm trying to get away for a few days to Big Sur. It is on my top 5 favorite places to be, and more so because it is 300 miles from home and not 1500. The problem is that it's too cold to camp now, not in my little astro, and the cabins at the campground are entirely excessively expensive. I do need a break, tho'... I dearly need a break.

I'm not fond of 'hotel' vacations. I love my little Astro, and am never comfortable in any kind of motel/hotel setting. The cabins at the campground are ALMOST an exception, tho' because they are individual and surrounded by redwood trees and water and solace. So I'm working my way up to taking the plunge.

South of the sea... or the south sea.. or

whatever..

Sweet Adeline... My Adeline...

If you don't know it by now, it's time to learn. I love music. While I love playing music on various instruments, my favorite music is singing... even better than whistling. I have no idea when I started singing. My father loved music, but had no time to even indulge a fantasy had he had one. He sang occasionally, but mostly he whistled. I sang. It may have been the only reason I ever attended church. I may be a godless heathen, but BOY I love the music... I took piano lessons, and my piano teacher started a small singing group. We sang for Jimmy Durante... in his home. his home. We sang on the Milton Berle Show in 1955. I had such a wonderful time! Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis were on the show... it must have been one of the last ones they did together. I remember hearing that they made $25,000 each... a princely sum! They fought during rehearsals, and I was surprised to see that Dean Martin was the funny one, and Jerry Lewis was in charge and controlling. Dean Martin came to our dressing room and chatted with us... it was such a gracious thing for him to do. There was a sandwich machine, the first I had ever seen. You could put in money and get a sandwich or an apple or some milk... DOWNTOWN!! They PAYED me $85.90 to sing on television!! Damn...
I had arrived.

Unfortunately, I had arrived jussst a little late. I was 12 at the time. I never sounded like a 12 year old, at least not a 12 year old GIRL. I am a baritone. No longer a whiskey tenor, I have a deep voice, made deeper by misuse over the years. You should hear me on "Old Man River"... I can put Paul Robeson to shame... .... Ok, that's an exaggeration. So I was asked to leave the group. They all had to join the union for $200 and never made another cent. Karma...

In High School I sang in the choir. My best friend got all the lead parts because she was a soprano... damn her soul... I made up for it by um... dating her boyfriend (albeit much later). I sang in the choir in College. I was in the group that became the 'Young Americans", but was out of college when they formed. I would have loved to sing in a group.. any group... preferably a folk group, but I was working, and lazy and not of an age where I knew how to speak my own mind as well as I do now...

sigh..

The last group in which I participated was Sweet Adelines. Man, I loved the music. Boy, I hated the group! This was worse than church! Large groups of women with not a bit of testosterone to allay or temper them... not a pretty sight.

We competed (the picture) at the Biltmore Hotel in Los Angeles. Many things wrong:
1. I am dressed like an aging hooker, in hot pink with big hair and enough make up to disguise any good features I may have had.. Not so bad when I was with the group, but very difficult to explain when caught in the elevator ("no, you see, I left the last john in the room, and I'm just going down to check on my corner... no really")
2. We come in FIRST in sound but 5th overall because our makeup wasn't bold enough and our choreography wasn't sharp enough... silly me, I thought this was a SINGING contest...
3. We have been bitchfighting for months, yet are asked to 'come together' for this concert... yeah... right... just as soon as you pull that tiny knife out of my back I'd be more than happy...
4. They don't want me to wear my glasses. I am legally blind without my glasses. Finally they decide that it's better for me to actually be able to see to get up on the stage rather than lead my bunch off into the darkness, singing boldly as we go...

but boy I loved the music... not the female version as much, because they don't allow women to sing the same kind of harmony as the men... nor do they get all the good songs... but I love the music.

I finally quit when a small group of us got together after a rehearsal one night and went to a local pub... at one point, of course, we started to sing... and arrived at the next gathering to stern looks and a copy of the RULES... which stated... "Sweet Adelines shall refrain from poor quality singing in public places"... I kid you not..

Don't know about you, but I reserve the right to sing as badly as I want any time, place or where I want.

Can you find me in the picture... I'm the rebel...

Yes Dear, butt....

I have always paid attention to the 'dancing deer' signs, as my friend Treasure used to call them... There is a reason THEY put them there, and never more evident than in this picture.

Just a break from family, kitties and Christmas. This picture was taken at my favorite lake outside of Joseph, Oregon. The deer are actually a problem around the campground and surrounding area. They have, through the years, come to realize that they are safe there during hunting season... safe and well fed. The feeding part I have to cop to, as I used to carry a box of Saltine crackers with me just for that express purpose (although I love saltine crackers on their own merit, but that is another story for another time). The deer used to greet my van when I pulled into the campground, particularly if I got there after dark, or if there weren't a lot of campers around. They can become aggressive, but moreover, they are unlearning how to find food on their own (although how difficult could it be to teach a deer to eat grass and leaves??)
Another view of Wallowa lake...


When last I visited Wallowa lake, my camping neighbor was quickly named 'the Deer Whisperer'. The people before him must have fed the deer, or it was just a place they liked, because every night they congregated in his campsite. I finally caught as many of them as i could on film... I believe he was cooking venison at the time?? naw... that would be too cruel!



The outcome of these deer gatherings is that the powers that be are starting to fine you if they catch you feeding the deer. They are also setting up feeding sites away from the campground, as the deer sit and sleep right outside the RV's. I don't mind stopping, although there is a thrill that comes from standing next to an animal who is ALMOST wild and certainly beautiful. I have seen people put their children next to these animals to take pictures... I have seen these animals become aggressive because it is rutting season. I never wonder at the intelligence of deer...

people, however...

That's MR Roadkill to you...

Before we leave Calamity for a while, I want to introduce roadkill. This is a picture of C.J.'s new bed. She, like any kitty, LOVES anything new on which to sit, sleep, curl up or spread out. Calamity has taken this fetish to a new level, however, by including Roadkill.

Roadkill is a small toy I gave the kitties years ago. I think it was Elisha's favorite, which may explain why C.J. feels compelled to include it in all of her wanderings. It looks like a spotted hamster that has lost a fight with a large truck. It's intended to be stuffed with catnip, but neither kitty much cared for the stuff.

Instead, Calamity has chosen to include Roadkill in everything she does, particularly when I am not at home. I can only think it gives her comfort. Here's the drill: I have NEVER SEEN HER CARRYING ROADKILL. ever. He just appears in various places that she loves to spend time. I will come in and see Roadkill on the bathroom rug. I will find Roadkill on my bed. He appears in all of her sleeping places. I repeat in case you missed it, I have never seen her carrying Roadkill from place to place. ever...

She shows him all her new stuff. When I got the bed (picture above), she curled up in it and seemed quite pleased. I came back home later in the day to find Roadkill, right in the middle of the bed. I moved the bed to my bed, and Roadkill appeared next to it... If I put a towel on the floor, Roadkill will be there sometime in the next couple of hours, but only if I leave the house. I can see her running, as soon as I leave, and grabbing RK and dragging him in and saying,"Look! a new place! What do you think of THIS one? Doesn't it look soft? Quick, let's try it out".... for he's always in the new things within hours, happy (I think) to have been chosen to share this honor...


The only thing she hasn't shared with Roadkill is her morning cup of water.

C.J. loves baths. Not hers, of course, but mine. She wants to drink the warm water, which I discourage (ewww), and dip body parts (mostly a tail and her right front paw). So I thought maybe it was just the warm water she wanted, not the entire bathing experience. Now, every morning, she gets up on the sink beside me while I wash my face and she gets a cup of very warm water. She runs to the bathroom the minute I get out of bed, crying demandingly. I figure it's her morning cup of coffee... minus the caffeine... and the cream... and sweetner... and the actual coffee...

Roadkill has his own buddy, of course. He prefers a small knot with frayed ends that used to be C.J.'s favorite toy. Sometimes, if I've been gone all day, BOTH toys will appear, as if Calamity needs the extra comfort...

I hope she gets it, she's earned it....
Roadkill and a friend....

A kitty in the hand....

I have many other things to talk about in the coming months, but today is for Calamity Jane, kitty extraordinaire. She is a sweet faced kitty, 15 plus years old, who measures my moods and needs with a calm and jaundiced eye, having seen it all...

She came to me by chance. She had just been fixed when she arrived in my back yard. She had a collar and a shaved tummy and was very scared and tiny. I figured she belonged to someone, and kept shooing her away, careful to not feed her lest she not return home. She was very good and very quiet, but after a couple of days I realized I could make my fingers meet around her waist... she was also very hungry. I fed her. She went through two cans of cat food before she stopped to sleep.

Now I already HAD a cat I hadn't wanted. Elisha Hunt Rhodes came to me from the old railroad right of way across the street from my house. I used to feed the birds. He appeared in the back yard one day, looking for lunch on a cold winter day. I put out a box and towel and gave him a can of tuna, my only kitty food. A mistake, it turns out, as tuna and cats don't always agree. He slept in the box for the afternoon, but made it known that the house would be a better place for him and would I please arrange it as soon as possible.

I opened the door, and that was all she wrote.

His 'sister' turned up after a while, much in the same fashion, except that I think she was tossed away by someone. I don't think she has ever crossed a street, while he was so adept he would wait at the crosswalk until the cars quit coming. I guessed she scratched the kid after being grabbed while recovering from being fixed... I'll never know. I put up signs, but no one claimed her.

After she ate, she sat outside on the small retaining wall in my back yard. As I used to tell my kids in school, that night she sat there with this LOOK as Elisha and I retired to the house (he was an inside at night kitty). The look said.. "NO... don't mind ME, it's not THAT cold out here... I'LL be FINE.. No... really.. don't you worry about me one bit"

I opened the door.

She entered, moved him to one side, and took over.

C.J, in my fiddle case... It looks as if she has a bow tie, and is ready to play some Mokzark (a tribute to a small friend). She probably could, she has opposable thumbs!

Elisha never minded her being in the house. She , however, took occasional umbrage to HIM, and picked on him mercilessly. She was half his size... when she first came, she would lick him all over, then grab his cheek in her teeth, and bite until his eyes bugged out... He did nothing. She did, however, teach him to play, something he sorely lacked, and he was SO proud each time he picked up a new game. Most of the games ended with him being trounced, but he never seemed to mind. He may have been just a bit dim...


Last Christmas... they had been without blankets before fires for so long that she reveled in it each time I had one. This year she has her PILLOW, a present from Shelby, in South Carolina. C.J. LOVES her pillow... it has a palm tree on it... she thinks she's in Hawaii when there's a fire in the fireplace..


She is the only kitty now, and she is loathe to let me leave. She sleeps on me at night, to make certain I don't escape again. Elisha didn't do well while I was caring for Mom and gone. She survived and has gained weight, although I still can't feel her when she is sleeping on me. She's learned a new skill.. she starts sleeping on my chest, right under my chin. If I wake and turn on my side in the middle of the night, she will sidle over and change position to my hip or armpit and not get up. She's very proud of herself for learning how to do this, and purrs mightily the entire time...

I'm proud of her, too...

and happy she's still here!
On her favorite shelf, over the computer, which is VERY warm... she's learned that her feet can be warmer if they get even closer to the source... I love this picture!

Football, Football, yes we are for football...

On the right, my sweet daddy, and on the left, Cliff Brice, a dearest family friend (and marriage relative) who died last year and is missed a great deal... watching football... this may have been taken the first year we were in our new home, 1956, as there doesn't seem to be much in the way of furniture...

Well, clearly keeping up with my blogging was not one of my NYR's (as they are now called). This is always such a chaotic time of year. It all has to do with NOT putting 2005 on any check I write. That's it. That's what causes all the tension, I just know it!

My father loved to watch football, and I learned to love it sitting at his knee. That and boxing, but that's another story for another time. I do not watch football as much without my father. I am aware of it, but I used to be keenly interested. Somethings are not better alone... This is a picture I love of my father and Cliff watching football. Notice that each has their own BOTTLE of booze... not just a drink, but the bottle. I can only assume that the plan was to not have to move from the TV at ANY time for ANY thing. Good plan. Must have been the UCLA/USC football game, although my parents often went to that game. My father, because of his back, found going to events such as a football game difficult... but that was all forgotten when it was UCLA/USC.

The Brices were family AND related. Cliff died last year, more than 20 years after my father left, and was always a sort of link to my father. He looked more like my father as he aged, even though it was his wife who was related. I see his son, my cousin, on occasion. He works close to me, and the last time I was in his office I saw him from the back and was taken back by how much his stance was like my father's. Family. Never ceases to amaze me...

I was born during the UCLA/ USC football game, or so I'm told. Either that, or the false alarm the week before interrupted the game... I don't know if my father ever truly forgave me...

but maybe that's why I loved sitting at his knee and watching with him...

without the booze, of course...

Is it finally over?

Yet another glorious sunset from my house. I love the reflection on the houses across the park. I love that winter has such different sunsets than summer..

Ok.. I just want to know this for certain. Is 2005 over? For real? For absolute certain? Cuz I for one am ecstatic to see it leave. I hope, in the particular place that old years go, it is relegated to the bottom of the heap! I cannot even begin to list the cacophony of disasters, both large and small that have plagued that year.

It's gone..

It's finally gone...

And a very Happy 2006 to all of you, each and every one. May this year have all that last year did not...

me