Merry Christmas

Just another waterfall

Taken at Wallace Falls State Park, Goldbar, Washington. I wish I could add sound.


Nikon D60, f/22, 20 sec., ISO 100, 46mm on a Nikkor 18-55 AF-S, Manual Exposure

Mustang Sally

A while back there was a discussion about top motorcycle and car songs. Someone threw out Born To Be Wild (Steppenwolf), I Feel Good (James Brown) and a few more. Growing up in the 50s & 60s, I got my fill of them all on KNOE AM radio 540 out of Monroe, Louisiana and loved them all. I still love Otis Redding's Sitting On The Dock Of The Bay.

Anyway, back to the tale. The question got me thinking back to 1999, when I had some modicum of success and was completely pumped with excitement I was on my way back into Baton Rouge and had cut through St Gabriel on highway 30. Still excited over a personal victory, I slipped in a disc of oldies but goodies and had Wilson Pickett cranked to the max, singing Mustang Sally. With the windows down, a long straight road ahead of me and the pedal to the metal (I was driving a 4 door Honda), my mind was violently jerked back into reality when I looked up to see an Iberville Parish deputy lighting up my rear view mirrors with the blue light specials. Officer Friendly noted that I was doing 77 in a 55 mph zone.

That experience cost me 125 dollars that I didn't need to spend nor could really afford. So, I guess I can say that success and rock & roll combined can be expensive if you're not careful. Also, I'm ever grateful that my wife didn't give me excessive grief for the experience.

Too many cars, too many people

...and not enough daylight.

Here it is in mid December with another 3 months to go before we see spring in most places. I can see how people in über urban areas could become depressed and go postal. It seems like the sun rarely shines and day after day, it's traffic congestion in Biblical proportions. Psychiatrists should flourish in these days. It's not even officially winter yet and I'm already wanting springtime.

I'm so ready for a weekend home with lots of family around, eating gumbo, cornbread and potato salad.

Today could be a good day. The frozen scrambled eggs for breakfast in the hotel were almost believable this morning. It's a sign.

Santa stays at the Hampton

Ho, ho, ho!


I now know where Santa stays when he and Mrs. Clause travel. This morning I had the pleasure of having breakfast in the same room with Santa at the Hampton Inn in Lynnwood, Washington.

You should have heard the conversation between him and the kids as he tried to explain the whereabouts of his reindeer. Fancy footwork (double talk) there, Santa.

Party's over

I love my holidays and hate missing them but those days are far from relaxing. By the time you scurry to and fro from one set of relatives/in-laws/friends to another, you've exhausted yourself and left yourself feeling guilty that you didn't have enough quality time with each of them.

In my 5 days of holiday rush, I managed to sleep in my own bed twice, put over 500 miles on the car and feel as if I'm worn to a frazzle. I have sleep deprivation, gout and tight pants to show for it.

This morning, I woke at 2:00 AM, drove myself to the New Orleans airport for a 6:15 AM flight and prepared myself for what may be just a short visit to Seattle.

So, even though I'm yearning for more time at home, I'm finding airports, cardboard sandwiches, weak coffee, hotels and rental cars are my best way to fit back into that slot of normalcy. As strange as it may be, waiting in the airport is a relief.

Thanksgiving 2010

It certainly seems that current events have had a field day with the American lexicon as of late. Since the ballyhoo over airport screening, X-ray machines and the never ending argument over the effectiveness of our security, words like pat-down, touching my junk, etc. are now part of every day language. It seems like that was the topic each time the subject of flying home for the holidays came up in recent weeks.

Well, I for one opted for the X-Ray machine in lieu of the pat-down. So when I arrived at the Seattle airport early Wednesday morning, the TSA agents were ready for me and the throngs of passengers boarding up for a long weekend off at far away places. My first encounter was a young slender black woman who took my boarding pass and passport (I think sometimes I present the passport to give the appearance of a sophisticated traveler which I really am not) at the beginning of security screening. She gave me a once over, looked at the boarding pass and stuck a jeweler's loupe in her eye socket and bent down within an inch or so of the passport to find irregularities that might prove me to be some kind of terrorist. Satisfied that I was a legitimate traveler and my not be a threat to society, she handed the papers back and thanked me.

Next came the line where we all began to remove our shotguns, swords, money, chain-saws, shoes and explosives from our pockets along with the ritualistic removing-your-laptop-from-your-briefcase maneuver and deposit them in a Rubbermaid like bin. As we slid the containers that held the afore-mentioned objects along the stainless steel table and rollers , a middle aged woman met me with a toothy grin and inquired as to where I was going on holiday. I went along with it and gushed out like Gomer Pyle that I'd be flying into New Orleans. I viewed that as a pre-screening to (1) find out if I was nervous talking about my destination and (2) to loosen me up for the next part. She played her part and I played mine and we both grinned.

Recently, the news in Seattle seemed to harp on it several times a day about the new X-ray scanning devices that had been installed. As my bags rolled through the X-ray machines, I stepped up to the walk through into the assume-the-position screening machine. After being questioned if I had any remaining objects (or dignity) in my pockets, the TSA guy motioned for me to come all the way in, place my feet on the yellow rectangles about 12 inches apart and to hold my hands above my head with my thumbs and fore fingers of one hand touching the same of the other. I stood there for a second or two and was instructed to turn and face him while he waited a minute or so until the geek had looked at my junk from a remote location. The radio squawked something and I was permitted to collect my junk.....er....belongings in the Rubbermaid bins and move on to the gates.

To some, even in my family, that is a small price to pay for security but I figure there's plenty of ways to create havoc, even with the very expensive technology. I also figure some former politicians and bureaucrats probably have made tons of millions recommending we do all these things. If we get off our politically correct high horse and start profiling like we should, we would be more effective and have a lot more cash left over to do the things that are really important. It isn't 8 year old girls, blue haired Presbyterian ladies or some hip-hop kid with his underwear showing who is trying to kill us. It isn't the frequent flier with enough sky-miles to go around the earth 3 times nor is it the gray haired businessman in the Brooks Brothers suit that's trying to kill us. We just need to wake up and look around.

Anyway, enough of my rant about security or the lack of it. I am happy to be home with people I love where we can gather together, eat too much and talk loudly on the day designated as the official Thanksgiving day. I'm happy that we can hug necks, kiss babies and strengthen the bonds that causes us to go through hell and high water just to do this once or twice per year.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Bleh...........Seattle

Bleh !.........This was another miserable Pacific wet coast weekend. I tried getting out Saturday in search of waterfalls but park after park were closed to cars and I did not feel obsessed enough to walk as much as 3 miles through the woods in the low thirties temperature to be attacked by Sasquatch or a bear. After traveling east on I-90 for about 40 miles, the sun blinked out for a while but didn't last long.

Sunday was even worse. 32° with a mix of rain and snow. I have no idea why anyone would want to live in this mess, especially in the winter. The only people out today seemed to be dog people, running behind them with a plastic bag picking up poop. Even the birds hated it.

It must better in the summer because there's a lot of people here that love it.

Bleh!

In Search of Bigfoot

I went out in search of Bigfoot today, even though it was rainy-ish. It was the type of wet that you could see falling but not enough to make the puddles splatter.

After online church this morning I drove up into the edge of the Cascades and got out to negotiate slippery rocks, mud and the off and on rain to see God's creation. Not only me but several others too. It sure seems like people up here should be dead of pneumonia as much as they get out in this mess without umbrellas. But, to their credit, they seem for the most part in great physical shape (as a whole).

This place reminds me of the settings for the old movie, Harry and the Hendersons where a family hits a Bigfoot/Sasquatch when returning from a camping trip.

So, here's some pictures of waterfalls I took today. I had to give it up early because part of the cheap tripod I had fell apart and fell into the creek but I did get these and that's a whole 'nother story.






OK, that's all folks!

Vancouver, B.C., ...eh?

Another weekend in the Pacific wet coast. Since Canada is just a hundred miles north of Lynnwood, WA where I'm staying, I hit the I-5 to check out Vancouver British Columbia, Canada.

After what seemed like half of forever getting out of the Seattle metroplex, I eventually began to skirt along the edge of the Cascade mountains, seeing little villages nestled beside small clear lakes and vineyards.

Getting into Canada was a snap. A Canadian border patrol agent of mid east origin asked me if I had any alcohol, tobacco or firearms. He also asked if I had been communicating with anyone over the internet. "No, sir." After adjusting my GPS and rental car settings to metric units, I was then on my way.

It took a little getting used to seeing my speedometer registering 100 and not going all that fast and speed limit signs posting 60 inside neighborhoods but after a while it didn't matter.

I found that the fall colors were still intact but the grass all over the place was still a verdant green. One traditional thing I saw was the logs floating on the Fraser River. It never occurred to me that they still used that method to get them to the sawmills.

Downtown Vancouver was a blend of old town and high rise buildings. Just like any other city, there was the usual collection of oddities, bums sleeping on grates and tourists snapping pictures. Vancouver has a thriving Asian population that expands well out of the traditional Chinatown.

Stopping at an ATM, I wondered if I could get Canadian money with my card, but that was a piece of cake. The bank was more than happy to charge me $1.50 for the experience. Incidentally, with the devaluing of the US dollar, the exchange rate is only a cent or two difference. I remember when it was as much as 1:1.75. Not wanting to return with unused foreign cash, I would later remember to spend all my Canadian money with the exception of a couple of quarters and a Loonie.

I listened to Canadian politics on the radio but didn't seem near as heated as our own. The radio also reminded me that long lines back into the US was inevitable and should expect waiting times as much as an hour. Heading east along the river in intermittent rain, I eventually decide to turn back south toward one of the crossings and face the long wait which only turned out to be 45 minutes. I have to say, security on the American side (cameras, electronic sensors, etc.) scrutinizes you a little more than the Canadians.

Even though it is anther country, the appearance and experience might as well have been another city in the state of Washington.