Category: Bay Area

Happy Anniversary!

One hundred and five years ago today, San Francisco suffered a devastating earthquake.

What the quake didn’t destroy, the subsequent fires did.

Each year, people gather at Lotta’s Fountain at 5:12am to remember.

I guess Mother Earth decided to add her own fireworks to the remembrance:



It came on with a loud thump, it almost felt like a truck ran into the house. The Good Man shouted “doorframe, honey!” and I found one quick.

Once it was over, with hands shaking and heart thumping, I recalled the video I saw of the recent earthquake in Japan where it just kept going and going. I can’t even begin to imagine. The few seconds duration I just experienced seemed almost intolerable.

All are well in the house of The Good Man. The Feline slept through it. The fish are non-plussed. The boy hardly flinched. The girl is a little on edge, but will get through it.


Happy Birthday to The Hag

Today, April 6th, country king Merle Haggard turns an amazing 74 years old.

I’d just like to give The Hag a hearty Feliz Cumpleaños and and big shout out for another year of amazing music.

Because this:





Plus this:





Equals some real, real nice memories.

Thank you for being such an integral part of my life, Hag.

And cheers to your next trip around the sun.




Special shout out to my twitter buddy, local radio guy @Pcon34 for playing “Fightin’ Side of Me” on the early morning show. Saaaalute!


One To Ponder On

There’s a lady I work with who I like a lot, and she and I have become pretty good friends. We’ve decided, together, that we need to get more exercise during our long work days. To that end, we’ve started taking lunchtime walks along all the wonderful walking paths near our office.

During the walks, we generally kibitz or cuss about work or discuss the news of the day. I’ve learned that my new friend is a big fan of birds, I think she keeps three at home. She loves looking at all the wild birds out there in our marshland ponds, and I do too.

I’ve talked before about the proliferation of birds, and especially Canada geese, here in my vicinity.

Yesterday my friend and I were walking around the lake at a brisk pace when she suddenly stopped and gasped. “Look at that goose!” she said and pointed.

Running along one side our little lake is a very busy street. This goose was strutting out into traffic, headed for a sizable puddle of standing water. There must have been something tasty looking in that stale water, because the goose would not be denied, full speed ahead…until a car went zooming by, and the goose was blown back by the jet wash.

“Get back here!” my friend shouted to the unsteady goose, as though her maternal tone would make it mind its manners.

“Get back here you goose! You silly, silly goose! You’re a silly goose! Yes you are, why are you such a silly goose?”

Oddly, the goose must have known he was in the presence of One Who Knows Birds, because it did just as she asked. It looked at her warily, then that silly high stepping goose strutted its way back over to the curb, ungracefully waddled up, and went about its way munching at the green grass.

“That’s a good goose,” my friend said as we continued our walk.

I smiled to myself. Now, just who is the real silly goose? The one trying to find food for its existence, or the human hollering at a bird?

Hmmm?





Since today is actually Thursday, then it must be time for Theme Thursday. Today’s prompt is: Silly


Sunday, Police Action Sunday

Yesterday I drove to the small downtown section of a small town to meet with a group of photographers. It was our scheduled monthly get together.

I pulled into a parking spot and as I put ‘er in park, I noticed a police car parked right behind me.

As I opened my door to exit the vehicle, I noticed a uniformed police officer approaching me.

Me: “Hello, officer.”

PO: (stoic) “Hello.”

Me: “What can I do for you?”

PO: “You can’t make that left turn you just made.”

ME: *puzzled look* Then I consider being a cutup and saying, “Oh, but I can! I just did! Wanna see me do it again?” But I rein in my inner smart alec.

PO: (looking at my puzzled look) “You made a turn across the lane to get into this parking spot. You can’t do that.”

Me: “Really? Oh shit.” (<- yes, I actually said oh shit to a cop. Not the brightest bulb that Albuquerque Public Schools has ever turned out.) PO: "Yes, really. It's painted there on the pavement (he points) and there's a sign on most of the light poles down the street. (he points again)" Me: (now sheepish because I really hadn't noticed) "Oh. Ok. Do you need to see my license?" PO: "No, that's ok. I'm just warning you. Don't do it again." Me: (quavering) "Thank you, sir. I appreciate it. Have a good evening." PO: (walking back to his car) "You too, ma'am." Me: (inside voice) shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit Once I got done quaking in my rain boots, I realized...that police officer did me a solid favor. See, my last encounter with the black and whites was less than 18 months ago. Why does that matter? In California, every eighteen months you can take an online driver's ed class which masks a point on your license. You only get one every 18 months. So if I got a ticket I was plum outta luck in terms of my insurance. I was a little down and dour that day while headed to my meeting, but the rare kindness of the police officer brought a little decency to my gray and rainy day. Plus, I recalled one of the few bits of advice I carry with me from driver's ed classes. A police officer came to speak to us. He said, "Always be courteous to a police officer. ALWAYS. It might make the difference between getting a ticket and getting off with a warning." Thank YOU, McGinnis School of Driving.





Photo by Nick Cowie and used royalty free from stock.xchng.


And Then I Get Out Of The Wayback Machine

I got a little down this past weekend. It might have been coming off one of the busiest weeks in recent memory. Twelve hour work days can bring a girl down.

It could have been the emails flying around about the upcoming memorial for my friend. It hurts my heart.

Perhaps it was simply about the dark gray skies and soaking rain that laid down like a cold, wet blanket over the Bay Area.

Yeah. It was all of that. But there’s one more.

Back in February, when I was visiting my Fair New Mexico, my best good friend told me some really good news.

“Friend, there’s a Lake Valley coming up! Joe Delk got the permits!”

Well, this made me grin so hard, the sides of my mouth met around the back of my head.

Ah Lake Valley. Now there’s a memory.

The town of Lake Valley, once a booming silver mine, is now a ghost town. Out there in the middle of gosh darn nowhere (a little to the left of I-25, a little to the right of Silver City), there are a few buildings still standing.

One of them is an old schoolhouse. For a lot of years, cowboys, ranchers, locals and college kids got together at that Lake Valley schoolhouse for a good old-fashioned country dance.

When I say a lot of years, I mean my best friend’s grandma remembers coming out to Lake Valley to dance, and she and I do too.

People came from miles around to tailgate, share beer and stories, and dance on the uneven wood boards of that rickety old schoolhouse.

The last Lake Valley dance happened back in the late eighties. The BLM has taken over the land and buildings and it’s been mighty hard to get in there ever since.

But to hear that Joe Delk, leader of local band The Delks, had somehow persuaded the BLM to go along? Well hell, I bought my ticket PDQ. I wouldn’t miss it for the world!

March 19th was when it was set to go down.

About a week before I started packing my bags, I got the news. Sadly, it was not to be. Evidently the BLM wanted a whole lot of restrictions that just wouldn’t work. So Joe cancelled the dance.

When I heard the news, I felt low.

And so…on this past rainy Saturday, I looked out my window and I texted my best friend. “This would have been Lake Valley weekend.”

“Yeah,” she replied. Then she sighed.

And I sighed.

But it was not to be.

I guess Lake Valley gets to live on only in our memories.

Maybe I should write a story about it one day. It’s a intriguing bit of New Mexico history that shouldn’t be forgotten.

Ah well. Monday rolled around and the rain came down and work was waiting and I stepped out of the wayback machine and back into my life.

But somewhere in my dreams, I scoot across the uneven floors, careful not to trip on a nail, while the band plays “Put Your Little Foot”…..and we dance.



That’s the schoolhouse. Now imagine it at night. Very dark out there…



Photo from Jimmy Emerson‘s Flickr photostream.