On the Road Again

Seven days ago, before buckling up for our last out-of-town show for the 2009 season, I imagined this week’s photo blog would be all about Half Moon Bay. After all, the coastal town 20 some odd miles and four hours (ha ha) south of the Bay area is charming enough to showcase all by itself.

However, after having experienced the road trip, it’s more accurate to call this week’s entry The Medford Jacksonville Mt. Shasta San Francisco Half Moon Bay Madera Fresno expedition edition. Fresno? Yes, that’s exactly what I thought, but I’ll tell you more about that later.

First stop, Medford and what iconic image better represents the old Middleford of yore than the scary Monster Bird? And while on the subject of yore, these next three shots were taken in and around the old mining town of Jacksonville.

Goat Mama (not to be confused with Llama Mama coming up shortly), from a few episodes back is the friend we stay with in the Rogue Valley and she’s been a professional photographer for about 456 months now and seems able to speak camera. She uses fancy words like aperture, exposure, F-stop, shutter speed and edge lighting while I know words like lens cap and button.

After spending the day taking photos with her, we left early enough the next morning to capture this sunrise over Mt. Shasta, which we’re calling Fire and Ice.

That put us going through San Francisco via the Bay Bridge during lunch hour. I was awfully tempted to ask Groom for a side-trip pilgrimage to the oft-dreamt about John Fluevog Shoe store, but I behaved myself and kept a self-imposed vow of silence. I’m sure I would have had much more fun buying two good shoes than being a goody two-shoes. Oh well...

We finally made it to Half Moon Bay, named for its crescent shaped beach. The weather was stunning and we enjoyed a leisurely Friday watching the waves roll in and perusing the upscale shops in this affluent community, contented to be ignored by Llama Mama for the third consecutive year. She’s got attitude and ain’t afraid to show it.

For the weekend and the purpose of our trip, we anticipated the feeding frenzy of the purported 250,00 eager shoppers that would clog every arterial and vein from the surrounding areas, and a day and a half into the two-day Pumpkin Festival we were still anticipating…

Now this is the part that perplexes me. Hordes of people risked life and limb to traverse the steep windy roads into town, crowding bumper-to-bumper, and then paying $10 to park once they arrived, only to walk right past the art booths, staring straight ahead, their only view the back of the person in front of them.

Disappointment leaked into the next day as we coaxed our exhausted selves from bed at 2:45am by the promise of coffee and the desire to get on the road ahead of the commuters, heading toward Fresno to spend the day with my cousin.

If you don’t drink coffee, what happened next will not impact you, for you will not be able to relate to the loss. But for those of you with the caffeine gene, you’ll understand and commiserate.

While I was checking out of our hotel (you would weep from the bill), my travel mug mysteriously overturned and my precious liquid gold spilled all over the floor of the van. The vehicle wasn’t even moving, the mug has a flat bottom and a lid, and yet when I climbed in, the carpet was soaked and my mug was empty.

I looked at Groom with his full, steaming cup and he shrugged. No coffee shop was open at pre-four in the morning, we had just turned over our card keys and I knew it would be hours before I would have another chance for chemically enhanced wide-awakeness.

I was in a foul mood. What occurred next did not help matters at all. Two hours into the drive, we pulled over for gas and a powder room. I saw a neon sign advertising what I was jonesing for, so Groom had barely rolled to a stop before I was out and heading for the golden door of coffee land.

Until I saw it. A giant rat with an even longer tail skittered across the floor, it’s unmanicured nails making that haunting clicking sound as it scurried from view. Not that you would have been able to hear it over my girly screeching sounds anyway. The attendant looked at the rat running away and then at me squealing and simply shrugged.

What is it with men and their shrugs??!!

I sulked for the next hour as we drove along in the dark, but the mood lightened when I saw a highway sign for “Los Banos.” Isn’t that Spanish for toilet? I’d heard Fresno called the armpit of California, but I didn’t know it was located so near the toilet of California.

At 6:01am I was in line for coffee in Los Banos. Never mind the translation, the coffee was good. By this time, however, as the joke goes, I was ready to order a café mocha vodka Valium latte to go.

By 7am we were at my cousin’s doorstep in Madera. She welcomed us in her lovely home and we spent the day toodling around the area. I had no idea The Armpit had such edgy and lovely art and architecture.

Notice the Gothic lettering of the Iron Bird Lofts, and what’s with Fresno’s fascination with bees, nipples and rosebud figleafs?? I’ve heard of bee-stung lips, but… ouch!

If exploding hearts and nipple honey isn’t your thang, then avert your eyes and look across the street. A full scale Amazing Grace at thy fingertips.

But my very favorite I’ve saved for last. Click to enlarge so you can take in all the details. Do you see the crow sitting on the statue’s head?

I know, I know, while surrounded by so much beauty, don’t cry over spilt coffee.

Follow Your Knows...

What do you make of this? The whole thing began last summer. A vacant-ish lot in the neighborhood has become a yard of iniquity with teenagers getting high, whooping and hollering, coughing and spitting, shouting into their cell phones, playing obnoxious tunes on their hand-held security blankets and yelling fluently in Obsenities, their native tongue.

As I write and work from home, I remind myself to view this daily interruption as my “spiritual practice,” meaning I try to convince myself that I don’t need them to be different for me to be at peace.

I had another opportunity to hone my mad Zen skills while passing through the City of Trees, otherwise known as Boise. Driving through the desert in summer from Park City, Utah, I wanted an air-conditioned break. A movie was just the ticket and the elegant Egyptian Theater was hosting a cool matinee. Walking in the grand foyer and even more glorious auditorium, the place was entirely mine. Empty, I had the choice of any seat. Aah, the darkened theater, the smell of freshly popped corn, the dramatic raising of the curtain provided just what I was looking for.

Until they came in.

A group of unruly teenagers. Yep, a gaggle of hypernoids, whispering in loud voices, roamed the aisles in search of seats. Can you guess? With every seat in the theater unoccupied save two, this murder of crows decided to sit directly behind me. They squawked and laughed and pecked the back of my seat. When I turned around and asked them to be quiet, one girl jumped up and came back a few minutes later with more teenage spawn. Their obnoxious behavior increased.

I could think of only three options as I sat fuming, engaged in a battle of wills, while the movie I came to see played on without me. One, I could move, but I was here first, so why should I have to find a different seat?

Two, I could snitch to the management, but if the person in charge was the pimply faced boy who took my money and serviced the concession stand, then he was not going to be of any assistance, and besides, tattling grates my sensibilities. Three, I could get up and sit right behind them and kick their seats and make rude and loud comments, but that fantasy rated zero on the satisfaction scale.

I wanted to see the movie more than stay connected to that juvenile scene, so I went with option number one and moved. The new location was a vast improvement. I didn’t realize I’d been sitting in a funky acoustical pocket and the balcony railing had been partially blocking my view until I had this new seat. The movie reabsorbed my attention and the puerile dysfunction faded from memory.

Until Half Moon Bay.…

With the sun barely up, I took a walk on the crescent shaped beach, enjoying the crash of waves and the expanse before me. Desiring to write, I chose a picnic table overlooking the bluff, a peaceful office in nature. A few sentences in, I heard them.

You have got to be freakin’ kidding me.

I wasn’t going to look. Head down, pen to paper, I continued to write. I whispered to myself, “Spiritual practice, spiritual practice.” But there were too many of them. I glanced up and to my dismay, a troop of mustachioed monkeys and lip glossed beavers were slamming car doors, beeping their alarms off and on, yelling into their cell phones, lighting up cigarettes, playing cacophonous ring tones and swearing their customary greetings to one another.

What the…? It was a Friday morning, shouldn’t they be in school? Out of the entire empty beach, why did they have to descend upon the adjoining picnic table and congregate next to me? I turned to my faithful companion and said, “This is too much to be a coincidence. This makes three States now — next door in Oregon, a movie theater in Idaho, and a beach in California. Wherever we go, there they are. What’s going on?”

Just as I asked that, the wind shifted. Words cannot describe the putrid odor that gutted my nostrils and boxed my gag reflex. I could not grab my writing utensils and move quickly enough. While in flight, we saw the offending culprit, a bloated sea lion baking in the morning sun.

Prior to the nasal felony, I was in a defensive mental posture. Why should we have to move to gain our peace? We were here first, why do I always have to give in? Why should a lounge of lizards be able to have the run of the place, huh?

The scent of decaying flesh, wafting on the generous air, served as an excellent motivator. I didn’t think twice about moving when the vomitous smell invaded our space. There was no pride or stubbornness, no arrogance or contest, just a speedy relocation.

Catching my breath, I asked Companion what was being reflected back to us with all the teenage energy? What images/symbols were popping up in our immediate vicinity, waiting to be interpreted? Something was definitely trying to get our attention.

I know you know what happened next. Yes, I called Chakra Girl. She’s one of my Go-To, energy-interpreting friends. I needed her help reading the smelly, obnoxious energy field. What was the message?

She had no difficulty piecing our puzzle together. “Teenagers, groups of them. Hmmm, represents 3rd chakra fire energy. Rebellion, power, trying to figure out where they fit into the world, but still needing the safety of home and their own private room for retreat. Experimentation, expansion, taking over a space with their energy (noise, laughter, smoking, drugs, music, cell phones, text messaging, posturing, attitude, etc.).

“With the sudden onslaught of odor, you are being encouraged to step fully into your power, to MOVE to a better place. Your stubbornness is keeping you stuck. What you’ve known, what’s worked before, all that familiar stuff will decay and rot if you ignore the energetic message and refuse to move forward, clinging to the old way. You may not know what the new looks like yet, but apparently you’re about to find out.”

She went on to say that I was engaged in a bit of teenage energy myself, which was being reflected back to me. I was trying to figure out where I fit into the world and it was time to quit clinging to the past and open my heart.

Faithful companion wisely noted that when uncomfortable or toxic energy takes over a space, we waffle in our decisions, unsure if we should move, yet when an icky smell comes a knocking, we know exactly what to do. If we accidentally tasted something nasty, we wouldn’t hesitate to spit it out. Why is it then, if we are suddenly exposed to a blast of energy that is counter-productive, we act inconvenienced in the midst of being directed to a better place? Why do we obey our bodily senses immediately, yet hesitate to listen to our intuitive senses?

I shouldn’t have to – I don’t want to – sometimes we get stuck in old patterns and refuse to accept the new and improved situation that reading the reflected energy would gift us. The kids have their text messaging, but we have our energetic messaging if we’d just monitor our guidance system and stay as connected to Spirit as they do their phones.

Beep, gotta go, incoming message.