Rest In Peace, Jim
Jim Haldane
10/26/2011
10/15/2011
High Times In San Jose
Each Friday, I have to check out of my little bungalow in Carmel. Hotels, motels, bed and breakfasts or anything more luxurious than a pup tent is usually booked months and sometimes a year in advance. Sometimes it's events over at Luna Seca or perhaps an art or film festival but at any rate, rooms are at a premium there on the weekends.
So, with the Carmel room situation at hand, I usually leave the office Friday afternoon, zip up the road to San Jose, grab a hotel room at the Hampton Inn, exchange the rental car and generally hold up there until Sunday when I return back to the Carmel and the Monterey Bay.
Friday evening, when I went out to eat, I found an inordinate amount of police (mostly motorcycle cops) hanging around the shopping center near the hotel. Thinking it seemed a bit weird seeing lots of Cop bikers in different uniforms, I speculated on the reason but never came up with a definitive answer.
As an added benefit, the people in the room on one side of me played salsa music well into the night and the couple on the other side had a domestic dispute accented with yelling, crying and door slamming, all of which was in Spanish rendering it completely unintelligible to me.
This morning, as I filled up the car just before going to the airport, I noticed the streets filled with bikers and even more cops. As I turned onto Kurtner toward the freeway, I could see lots of biker types entering a funeral home and cemetery nearby. At that point, I guessed it was some kind of biker funeral.
As it turns out, the Hells Angels president had been mortally wounded over at a casino in Sparks, Nevada last month and they were finally getting around to having his funeral. Let me see a hand of those who do not see trouble coming here. Yep, it sure did. Before that thing was over there had been another shooting at the funeral resulting in another Angel getting his one way ticket punched. Who couldn't see that coming?
I could have gone up to San Francisco or Oakland but hearing the news of Occupy Wall Street demonstrations and Bart protests, I thought it best not to go into the inner city. I just didn't need to get arrested as an innocent bystander. Maybe a few years ago, I'd have been compelled to check it out but not today. Besides, traffic was horrible in the area.
With that, I'm glad I had elected to visit the Pumpkin Festival at Half Moon Bay and get caught in a couple of hours worth of a traffic jam. Tonight, I'll reflect on my better choices and try not to make a spectacle of myself as I watch the half dozen or so Hells Angels toying with their Harleys down in the Hotel parking lot. While I see no one openly carrying fire arms, some wear knives in scabbards looking as big as a Roman Short sword.
Tomorrow, I'll be anxious to head back to Carmel where the most dangerous thing there is getting run over by someone's dog on the beach.
So, with the Carmel room situation at hand, I usually leave the office Friday afternoon, zip up the road to San Jose, grab a hotel room at the Hampton Inn, exchange the rental car and generally hold up there until Sunday when I return back to the Carmel and the Monterey Bay.
As an added benefit, the people in the room on one side of me played salsa music well into the night and the couple on the other side had a domestic dispute accented with yelling, crying and door slamming, all of which was in Spanish rendering it completely unintelligible to me.
This morning, as I filled up the car just before going to the airport, I noticed the streets filled with bikers and even more cops. As I turned onto Kurtner toward the freeway, I could see lots of biker types entering a funeral home and cemetery nearby. At that point, I guessed it was some kind of biker funeral.
As it turns out, the Hells Angels president had been mortally wounded over at a casino in Sparks, Nevada last month and they were finally getting around to having his funeral. Let me see a hand of those who do not see trouble coming here. Yep, it sure did. Before that thing was over there had been another shooting at the funeral resulting in another Angel getting his one way ticket punched. Who couldn't see that coming?
Tomorrow, I'll be anxious to head back to Carmel where the most dangerous thing there is getting run over by someone's dog on the beach.
10/12/2011
10/02/2011
Mission San Carlos Borromeo del Rio Carmelo
Carmel is noted for a lack of streetlights, traffic signals and curbed residential streets. At one time, the town had some pretty unusual laws. One being that it is against the law to wear shoes with heals greater than two inches in height without a permit. The streets are so uneven, the city was simply trying to avoid lawsuits from those twisting ankles. I understand the law is rarely if ever enforced
now but if you're nervous about it, permits are granted free of charge. At one time, it was illegal to sell or eat ice cream on public streets but that and other strange regulations were overturned when Clint Eastwood and his town council took office back in the 1980s.
A few blocks south of center of town, there is a very distinctive old mission that was founded Father JunÃpero Serra in 1770. When the padre passed away in 1784, he was buried in it. I had passed Mission San Carlos Borromeo del Rio Carmelo several times and one of my co-workers had told me a little of the history of it. Each time I pass by, I'm fascinated by the dome and at night, with the right conditions, you can see the rising moon floating above it.
As I began taking pictures this morning, the parish faithful slowly began to arrive, so I did not approach the interior of the structure, saving that venture for a later and more appropriate time.
9/18/2011
Carmel-by-the-sea, California
I'm finally getting around to updating my travels over the past few months. After spending a very hot summer in Shreveport, La with temperature in the triple digits for days on end, it was nice to work in New Roads, LA. Although it was a 60 mile drive one way each day, it was wonderful sleeping in my own bed for 3½ weeks.
Oh well, break's over. Well it's not that bad because I've landed in Carmel-by-the-sea, California. This very unique place is well known for attracting the rich and famous - and of course, me. Carmel is a very dog friendly town and have been told that sometimes borders on the ridiculous side. I noticed a George Rodrigue (he's from Lafayette, LA) gallery with Tiffany pictures in the window. Old time movie actress, Doris Day pretty much started all the fuss.
I even managed to eat at the next table to Clint Eastwood a couple of nights ago. No, I didn't hound him for a handshake, autograph or a cheesy photo. No one else seemed to make a big deal out of it so I figured I'd go along with it. Actually, it was at his Mission Ranch Restaurant. I heard he would show up there on occasions but it caught me completely off guard when he pulled up a chair with a group of friends next to the table with me and my two dinner companions.
Feeling that I might not be here for a while, I've invited my wife up next weekend to stay a while so it was appropriate that I scout out places I wanted to show her. This afternoon, I drove south on Highway 1 along the sometimes foggy coast. Occasionally, pulling over to take in the sights of wildflowers, hearing sea lions bark and snapping a few pictures while I watched a California Condor glide the up draft and eventually perch on a ridge high above me.
Driving further south onto Big Sur, I drove under some big Redwoods and with the sunroof open, smelled the ever present Eucalyptus trees. One of the highlights was recognizing the Bixby Creek Bridge that we have all seen in commercials and movies. Completed in 1932, it spans over a deep gorge and is an imposing part of the landscape.
Further south, I enjoyed getting out and walking down a trail at the Julia Pheiffer Burns State Park to a very controlled stroll that overlooked the McWay Falls. I say controlled because you must stay on the trail and going down to the beach just doesn't happen.
Figuring I should get back to my hotel in Carmel, I arrived near sundown to see the sun casting a warm glow on a gingerbread style house behind the inn. While not all the houses in Carmel look like this, the "cottage" look is what makes the place their own.
I even managed to eat at the next table to Clint Eastwood a couple of nights ago. No, I didn't hound him for a handshake, autograph or a cheesy photo. No one else seemed to make a big deal out of it so I figured I'd go along with it. Actually, it was at his Mission Ranch Restaurant. I heard he would show up there on occasions but it caught me completely off guard when he pulled up a chair with a group of friends next to the table with me and my two dinner companions.
8/21/2011
Line In the Sand....um..grass!
...or How Petty Can I Be?
Perhaps the summer has been too long and hot or it could be that I've been working near or from home the past couple of months.......but....my new neighbor is getting next too me.
We've been in these modest digs for 6 years now which makes us some of the "old timers" of this zero lot-line neighborhood. The guy on one side is an original too and we get along. Sometimes when he's out on vacation, I've been known to edge and mow his yard. He's the sort of guy that will sometimes run the weed eater around the side of his house adjacent to my property.
The home on our other side has suffered a troubled past. It's been on the market twice and the latest resident has signed a lease-purchase agreement with the second owner. That means it will probably be vacant within a year.
Maybe I'm being a little petty here - well yes, very petty - but our new neighbor is the kind that simply will not edge around his own home much less along side our house which is technically on his dirt. There are two foot high weeds growing up around his deck and between the houses. Increasingly so, he has moved his mowing space further and further away from the property line which throws the responsibility of mowing around the cluster of meter boxes and street light pole to me. All summer long, I edged around those boxes, kept it clear for meter readers and went the extra mile treating fire ants in his front yard.
Call it what you like but I see it as him drawing a line in the sand...well...maybe the St Augustine, expecting me to continue doing what he should be doing. So, not to be outdone, when I mowed this past time, I left a 6 inch strip between where he stopped and where I stopped. Next time around, I will move it another foot back toward the line until I've re-established the true property line in the grass. Oddly enough, it's not stealing anything tangible but it is stealing my time and violating unwritten patterns of responsibility for hopeful property owners. My time, equipment and sweat is just as valuable as a man at least 20 years my junior.
Perhaps the summer has been too long and hot or it could be that I've been working near or from home the past couple of months.......but....my new neighbor is getting next too me.
We've been in these modest digs for 6 years now which makes us some of the "old timers" of this zero lot-line neighborhood. The guy on one side is an original too and we get along. Sometimes when he's out on vacation, I've been known to edge and mow his yard. He's the sort of guy that will sometimes run the weed eater around the side of his house adjacent to my property.
The home on our other side has suffered a troubled past. It's been on the market twice and the latest resident has signed a lease-purchase agreement with the second owner. That means it will probably be vacant within a year.
Maybe I'm being a little petty here - well yes, very petty - but our new neighbor is the kind that simply will not edge around his own home much less along side our house which is technically on his dirt. There are two foot high weeds growing up around his deck and between the houses. Increasingly so, he has moved his mowing space further and further away from the property line which throws the responsibility of mowing around the cluster of meter boxes and street light pole to me. All summer long, I edged around those boxes, kept it clear for meter readers and went the extra mile treating fire ants in his front yard.
Call it what you like but I see it as him drawing a line in the sand...well...maybe the St Augustine, expecting me to continue doing what he should be doing. So, not to be outdone, when I mowed this past time, I left a 6 inch strip between where he stopped and where I stopped. Next time around, I will move it another foot back toward the line until I've re-established the true property line in the grass. Oddly enough, it's not stealing anything tangible but it is stealing my time and violating unwritten patterns of responsibility for hopeful property owners. My time, equipment and sweat is just as valuable as a man at least 20 years my junior.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
