Bugs Beaches Snakes

Today was the day I went back to Scripps to see the doctor about the microbes that have decided to squat in my lungs. These big medical centers are quite the places--complicated buildings, huge parking lots, everyone seeming to know where they're going but me. It got easier to navigate after I figured out that the ground floor is designated Floor Number Three--not ground floor, not #1 but 3rd floor. Okay--I can deal with that. Apparently when they expanded they decided to go down so they added 2 floors beneath what was the OLD first floor. Information is on level 3 which is ground level, lung docs are on the 2nd floor which one thinks is up until one is told to go down to the 2nd floor and the cafeteria is on the ground floor--basement to most people.
I'm not sure how long I was in the Institute but the parking bill was $5.00 and $3 would buy you 3 hours. I noticed how many people there were ill. I suppose it goes with being in a hospital (clinic?) but there were a lot of sick people. The name of my spawn of satan bug is mycobacterium avium intercellular. Here is its mug shot. This is the enemy. We are preparing the troop surge.
It has nothing to do with birds. If I say it enought it sounds like I've started attending the Tridentine Mass and I expect someone to answer.

priest---Mycobacterium avium intercellulare

people--Et cum spiritu tuo

Enough about germs and illness. My goal was to conserve enough energy to go shopping at a real shopping mall. La Jolla is not a place where people are too concerned with low-bucking it but I did find a Ross. It has been weeks since I've been outside my bedside world and I was pumped!!! The number of different languages being spoken in this Ross was amazing. I'm only used to hearing Spanish whenever I venture out but this was a new take on global shopping. However, almost everything in the store came from China so I suppose that was our common thread.

I got quite a start when I came dragging out of the store. Perhaps because all my energy was gone I was more psychically vulnerable but looming over the entire parking lot was this foreboding Mormon temple. I instinctively crossed myself and hurried to the car. Seldom has a structure given me such case of the heebie-jeebies--and the building is bright white! I could not live in its shadow or anywhere where I would have to look at it. I did manage to squeeze off a few quick shots of it. The photos do not begin to capture either the immensity of the building or the menacing spirit.

That evening Mr. Toccata and I picked up the BEST pizza we've ever had from B.J.'s Pizza. We drove over to Torrey Pines beach to enjoy the pizza and watch the sun go down--not quite the same as being at the Sean Hannity Freedom Concert which was the original plan made in another lifetime--but still, very nice.

Away from the beach a sea gull is just an overgrown pooping pigeon. But, at the beach the sea gull becomes an icon for the various people sharing the sand. However--to the gulls' credit, I did not see any pregnant gulls walking around 5 weeks past delivery wearing skimpy bikinis. Some people aspire to tacky; others have it thrust upon them.

Everything changes at the beach as the sun begins to go down. It happens so quickly! One minute the ocean is glowing yellow/pink/red. Then that orange ball just sinks into the marine layer and plunk! the sun is gone and it's dark.

Well, not quite dark--just light enough to see a small rattlesnake on a beach rock only a few feet from where I'd been enjoying the sunset. I hate snakes and I really hate rattlesnakes. But my curiosity got the better of me. Apparently the snake must have been pretty cold because it didn't move or rattle even though I was only two feet away from it at the most. It didn't even seem to react to the flashes going off in its face.

What is the world coming to when rattlesnakes invade the beaches of San Diego? Sharks in the water; poisonous reptiles lurking amongst the beach rocks? There were many signs of portending doom today.

Out into the World

Driving through Los Angeles is traumatic under normal circumstances but positively a violation of the Geneva Convention after being housebound for three weeks. Heading south on 99 the knuckles began to whiten. The merge onto the I-5 for the Grapevine was gut-clenching. But merging into a freeway with 6-7 lanes in each direction was beyond my coping skills. Fortunately hubby was helpful in his suggestions: "We're going 2 miles an hour! Get a valium out of the nightcase!!!!" Excellent advice. But humans were not meant to be in such packed numbers going at such rates of speed--when they move at any speed at all.

My first cheerful moment came when we noticed a big shiney tanker truck directly in front of us. I think it might have been carrying milk but what caught my attention was the stark message clear across the back: JOHN 3: 16. Before I could grab the camera we had whizzed around him and hubby was not inclined to slow down to 30 mph in the truck lane until he caught up with us on the incline to the Grapevine.

However--the next great California vehicle I spotted I did manage to snap a pic! It did my heart good to realize there still were purple hippie busses traveling the freeways.

The self-assuredness of Orange County was a relief compared to the chaos of Los Angeles. But Los Angeles has always been like that--a tremendous hurry to get from where one is to where one is not. And repeat that mind set several times a day forever. Orange County exudes prosperity and people who have gotten through the traffic and are trying to forget it exists. Lots of banks in Orange County. Lots of new buildings. Cleaner air.



And then so quickly the blue of the Pacific Ocean was there on the passenger side of the car. I'm not sure people who haven't grown up in an ocean state can understand what a sense of relief and satisfaction it is to suddenly come upon the ocean again. The claustrophobia of the inland freeways is replaced by blue ocean rolling out forever. Of course the fact that we ONCE AGAIN were at a complete stand-still on the I-405 didn't seem as traumatic as it had an hour earlier. By simply turning off the navigator we were free to abandon the freeway for side streets and be "beach folk" for the last stretch of the trip. We pulled over at one viewpoint on sandstone cliffs above the Pacific and just enjoyed the view and the people.


So here for your viewing pleasure are some pics of the Pacific Ocean just outside of San Diego. There will be no attempt to add seagull music or ocean sounds! You will have to imagine them yourself.

I hope this gull remembers to uncross his legs before he attempts take-off!

Just one note--after so many days in bed looking out one window, my eye still sees "small" much more easily than it can see "large." I got from the car to the edge of the cliff and had to sit down. That was fine because I was treated to life in the brambles by a robin, squirrel and gull visitors. If I had been able to stand I would have missed this small micro-world.

From House to 'Hood

During these days of enforced boredom my eyes have become my primary sensory appetite. I need to see beauty. I need to see colors. The view from my window has become fairly predictable even though it is far from static.


Last week I needed to go out to have even more blood drawn at the Vampire Labs. On my way home I found myself reluctant to turn into the driveway so I just kept going. In what seemed a rash if not giddy decision I drove down to the lake near our house. Small things that not too long ago I would not have noticed seem to be catch my attention in screaming color and 'aliveness'!


Here are some of my favorite shots. If you would like music to enjoy the show, click on the link. Pick a "Byrd" from the nest--I think #9 is lovely--and you have free musical accompaniment. When the page opens, about half-way down, click on 'Byrd' and make your harpsichord selection. What other music would best accompany photos of birds???

http://www.sankey.ws/harpsichord.html#download







We are geese and we rule the pond!!






























Egrets only come with one adjective: elegant








































Typical California lake--no beach, barren hills and welcome water.

Me and Michelangelo

I purchased a birdseed feeder at Michael's Craft Store for a mere $4.00. An additional $2.00 bought me 4 colors of paint. My project was to paint a bird feeder for the feathered flock who give me such enjoyment while I to win the germ wars. Really--if Michelangelo could paint the entire Sistine Chapel on his back surely I could manage a very small bird feeder on mine!

I am not a talented person when it comes to painting anything. What colors should go where? These birds were too important to have anything haphazardly thrown together and hung in a tree.

Fortunately it's the digital camera age so I took a pic of the "raw" feeder and then tried out various color combinations by painting it in Photoshop. That used up the better part of a day--what with generous breaks for resting and thinking.

What about something more complicated? What about a multi-colored roof? A few clicks with 'select' and empty the paint bucket and voila! New roofs.(Was it ever rooves??)

This is awful--a wooden imitation of Big Yellow Bird in a party hat!

Just doesn't quite please the eye. I know! If a roof can be two colors, would three be even better?? This is a mere 3 click switch for Photoshop.

Okay--now we're getting closer. Patience all used up. Time to get the paint out and make a mess. One of these is bound to work out.

I finally decided on the least offensive color combinations and with a little--well, with a lot of scotch tape to mark off non-painted areas, 4 cheap paintbrushes that shed hairs all over everything and a Labradoodle who did not like being displaced on the bed, I began the Great Painting Project

It didn't take me long to realize that great hunks of the cheap paint brush hair needed trimming off every 5 dips or so. One color at a time, paint squeezed onto the back of a magazine, birdhouse held up above my head, and the painting began.

First stage

Yeah--this is coming along. So what it's taken about 4 hours so far. The birds will love it.

Did Michelangelo feel the same thrill at nearing the end of a strenuous project?

AND AT LAST! The bird feeder is finished. Two coats of paint and a final coating of polyurethane produces the finished product of a day's work. This ought to keep them out of the back yard for a week!

The View from My Window

This is near the end of my second week in bed. I'm so grateful that we replaced the high-up small window next to the bed with the beautiful sliding glass doors. I didn't realize at the time of the remodel how much being able to look out the doors into the back yard would mean to me.

The bed has become Control Central. I have my laptop, trusty camera, cell phone, land line, radio, some magazines and a growing collection of old popsicle sticks. I spend my time in my favorite chat room with cyberfriends and watching the birds come right up to my window so I can take their pictures.

I've learned a lot about the birds. They nearly always come in pairs and it's generally the same birds everyday. I've learned that they don't want me to move or change ANYTHING where they come to use the birdbath. Even adding a bird feeder caused them to stay away for four days!

I've learned that the two dogs who had never shown the least interest in the backyard birds have now decided they are trespassers of the worst type and need to be chased away as soon as they see me slipping the lens cover off the camera.

I've learned that dogs can sin! They taught themselves this annoying hunt and chase behavior and then come slinking back into the bedroom with these pitiful, guilty-looking(not really guilty though) expressions and body language.

I've watched these birds scowl, preen, splash, eat and eat more. They fight with each other at the least provocation. They are territorial as any toddlers and skittish as the poodle on the Fourth of July. In short, they have been the major visitors in my world for the last few weeks while I wait to see the doctor in San Diego and begin treatment.

Now, for your viewing pleasure the backyard visitors that keep me so amused and interested in their nervous lives.

The Jays seem to run the show. They bully, scowl and run off the other birds. The Mourning Doves are the most gentle and elegant. They are always together and nothing seems to ruffle them.Their baths are a furious splashing and beating of the water.

Palm Update

While I was enjoying the "new fronding" of the Sego palms, I didn't realize that so many of the huge Queen Anne palms were slowly succumbing to a rot most foul. I just happened to look out my window at a Queen Anne in the back yard and wondered why the palm trunk seemed to be shrinking. Not just shrinking--the palm's 'waist' was disappearing on one side. Even closer inspection revealed that the normally brown trunk was now white! This was obviously not going to be good news for these palms.

First of all, palm trees are actually grass. Right. But that's what Mr. Tree Expert said. Of course I called a tree expert! We don't call our house Las Palmas for nothing! So I picked the tree expert with the most impressive letters after his name out of the phone book. Mr. Palm Tree Expert showed up the next day and rivaled any doctor for glum looks, scribbling notes, shaking his head and "tching tching."

The news was grim. The bad freeze we had last winter had seriously weakened the insides of the tall Queens. Then, to further seal their fate, the other person living here who shall remain nameless, called the first name in the phone book to have the Queens trimmed. These shameless, sadistic, incompetent trimmers of palms used SPIKES on their shoes to climb the trunks and shave them. The cruelty of it all. The neglect! But the holes left by the spiked shoes let malevolent microbes into the poor palms and many of them are headed for the palm chipper. If you look at the trunks closely, you can see the holes left by the palm assassins.

Mr. Palm Tree Expert didn't look at me quite like a person would look at an habitual child abuser but it was close. And the cost to have ONE Queen Anne palm removed(including stump)?? THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS EACH!!! (But, for you, such a deal--2 palms removed for $450.00.) Never mind that there are at least four of the Queens that need to be removed.

I grieve for these beautiful graceful plants. Some of them are over 50 feet high! We're doing triage on the palms to decide which ones come out first. Obviously the palms that are due to fall directly on my side of the bed are going to the big Palm Paradise in the sky first!

So, a word to all of you with palms--if someone shows up to trim your palms and they are wearing cilice footwear, send them packing.