Guarding Us Still

We watched The Guardian last night on the big screen and as much as I really hate that crap of sergent raising up the boy and making him into a man, ala An Officer and a Gentleman, I really liked this movie.

My Grandpa Roy was a lifer in the Coast Guard. As a surfman and then a boatswain mate first class he battled the water his whole life. He knew how to come into any of the harbors up and down the Oregon and Washington coast by the whistles and bells of the bouy and by the stars. Many a captain stepped off the helm to let Roy Woods bring that ship in.

To see the waves that those small boats battle to save lives chills me to the bone. All of us children were taught to swim at a very young age. Coasties swim, a swabby don't know how. My father was Navy. Hahaha! It was probably 15 years before the two of them grew to like one another. By the time my parents' divorced the bond had grown to love. My dad still doesn't know how to swim, all of us kids could swim across the Walluski and when the tide was going out that was a mean feat. We all have a healthy respect for the rivers and especially the mouth of Columbia and the sea. One of my dearest friends lies at the bottom of river, somewhere. Hey, Brian, here's to you!

My cousin, Jimmy, and cousin-in-law, EJ, spent eight hours in the Bering Sea, waiting for the coast guard to find them when their fishing vessel went down. Shouldn't have ever gone out, except for the owner's greed. For years afterwards they couldn't even sit in a tub of bathwater without sweat dripping off of them in memory of that time. My grandfather would talk for hours to them about that awful night, hoping to pull them out of their day/night terrors.

He was a talker, my grandfather! The stories he would tell. He ran bootleg in Aberdeen back in the 20s. His father died when he was nine and he was raised by a bunch of older brothers who showed him the side of their hand, when they had time. So, he was on his on as often as not and he could make a lot of money runnng booze through the redlight district. Police never bothered the 12 year old boy, who was so small he looked like he was eight. Grandma would get so angry at him for telling us those stories. "Watch it, buster," she would warn, "you'll get yourself into a heap of trouble for what you were up to!" She didn't believe the statute of limitations ever ran out, and they both were afraid the retirement money would disappear. Made more money after they retired then they ever did while working. He retired when he was 68, mandatory. He died when he was 96! He always chuckled that "they" didn't know what they had gotten themselves into giving him lifetime retirement with insurance! Grandma had 12 heart pacemakers put in!

He deserved the money and the benies. After taking the helm so many times to guide the ships into a safe harbor, after receiving the Gold Lifesaving Medal, he retired from the CG as a cheif, giving him a few extra dollars in the pay envelope. Yet, a few years later when he retired a second time from the Astoria School District (as head custodian of the new Junior High School) that designation was stripped from him when the title was reclassified for those who had captained a 52' boat or larger, only. Grandpa said the CG knew what it was doing and a patriot didn't fight something like that. What was a few extra hundred? How he got the rebels for grandchildren, I'll never understand!

In this town it is good to know the signs of a coastie. Your friend/family member might be dating one, or maybe your loved one's thinking of joining? Have fun with this.

Seperate But Together

I read the local blogs and feel that I am a friend of the family, knowing so much personal information about them. They share a lot of family stories, inviting you into their lives. As an aside: personally, I don’t see NorthCoastOregon.com as a blog. Its sort of our own local Indy Media that Tryan took the initiative to find a way to bring to us after Portland’s Indy Media took away the coastal voice and just lumped everything that wasn’t Portland under "oregon and cascadia" and even then more than half the articles are still metro crap. NCO really filled that void Indy Media left gapping open.

I find that this blog isn’t just my story. It is the story of my family and my friends which can cover quite a lot of ground. I have been married twice and have stayed good friends with my first set of in-laws. We just celebrated Thanksgiving together, with them coming over to our home. They are a pretty large family. My own family, immediate and aunts, uncles and cousins and their families extends to about 1/16 of the county. My husband’s family covers another 1/16 of the county. Together, we are related to about an eighth of the people who were born and raised here. We tell the children that they really shouldn’t date anyone locally unless they have lived here less than 10 years. More than that and you still have a chance of them being someone’s exe’s children and that could just end up being awkward. I think its just plain old, well, for lack of another word, trailer trashy to be marrying your cousin’s ex. I think once someone’s been in and out of a family, its done. No one else in the family can marry them. Thanks for playing, Bob, take your door prize and go to the next game.

At what point do I guard someone else’s privacy? My favorite times have been with one of my loved ones, family or friend. What is my right to expose that moment? This is my quandary. I don’t want to betray a confidence that may be implied.

I think, for some, that might be why the blogs are anonymous. For others who write about just a specific thing (like a hobby or maybe a political or news blog) they might not be so personal. I feel, though, like what I have to bring to the table is my life. It just happens to be wrapped around, snake through, be entwined with, so many others. Sometimes, it feels like gossip.

One time, after an evening visiting with some close friends and their children, we were driving home and my son was sitting there rather sulkily, not joining any of the car songs. I asked him what was the matter? "You told that story, again!" he exclaimed in a pained voice. "Oh, but its such a cute story. I love telling it and we were with friends. There’s no reason for that story to embarrass you after all of these years." I rattled off excuses, rather irritated that we were having this conversation. "But its MY story," he replied, softly but firmly. He was about twelve and rather small for his age, but oh so serious and suddenly I flashed back to a time of hearing my aunt tell a story about me and how embarrassed and angry I was. It’s his story, he had claimed it, rightfully, to decide who would tell it and where it would be told. His to decide if it was to be told at all. At what point did that happen?

It is time for me to learn how to tell the story that is mine while leaving the story that is their’s to them. In the meantime, I hope they remember it is a learning PROCESS. Little by little, day by day! Remember, everyone is laughing with you, not at you!

We don't need no education?

So, after taking the Guy’s weekend seminar, Blogging for Dummies, I have decided to give posting daily a try. What I might do is write up a week’s worth a head of time and then try to remember to post them. The man really is a phenomenal writer and since he has alluded to writing under his "real" name in publications I can’t wait to meet him at our blogging get together and see what else he has written.

I really admire the local posting community that I’ve been reading. For the most part they are people who write well. Sure, a red pencil could come out, however, the red ink has always ticked me off. It seems to silence soooo many people and so many items that are red lined are completely arbitrary. One English Prof wants punctuation whenever the writer pauses. Another doesn’t want a comma unless you can prove its needed but feels a paragraph isn’t complete unless it has one semi-colon. Sure, there are rules but as we all know there are exceptions to the rules. And the kid that goes to the PA’s study group is going to get graded more lenient.

I am of the mind that grades just don’t matter. I was almost always on the Dean’s list so I do not say this because of being on the receiving end of poor grades. Quite the opposite. I was on the receiving end of, often, undeserved good grades. In high school I skated. It is one of the main reasons my kids never went. High school in the USA is where young adults go to be babysat for 40 hours a week while they plot revenge on the society who sentenced them there and then we promptly forget it as middle aged adults with high school age kids. TEACHER! Leave those kids alone!

I don’t care if they’re punctuating correctly. I do like them to publish more often. If I’m investing time into getting to know them I don’t like to suddenly be denied the knowledge of what they are thinking about. On the flip side of that the idea that someone might be annoyed that I haven’t written something new in a week or two flips me out. I have too many obligations as it is. Who cares if some nameless, faceless person is annoyed with me? Uh-oh, what if … [imagination runs wild] it’s a potential client or friend or I could have done some good or now I left a bad impression?GASP!

LOL! It’s a blog. I haven’t written anything important or earth shattering. Sure, I am annoyed when someone I read hasn’t published but it hasn’t made me want physical challenge or to not do business with them, etc… I am going to try to publish daily. If I don’t, read a back issue of the Guy’s, or MO3s, or …. Go read what they’re writing about you know who over on one of the forums.

BLOGGER GET TOGETHER!

Blogger get together for everyone who is blogging in Clatsop County and nearby. What do you all say to Sunday, February 4, Blue Scorcher Bakery, 2 PM?

At the last one, some showed and didn't know one another so maybe everyone wear something red? Or, everyone carry a book (which one)? Or, what's a better way to know who we are?

NO, this is not me! It's the photo I took from the Daily A's article about Blue Scorcher. It sounds like a great place. If people want to offer another venue, we can chat about it.

RSVP on the comments. If the 4th doesn't work for a majority of people then we can change it.

Missing Haifa

We have some friends who will be leaving to go on their Baha'i Pilgrimage at the end of February. At the end of February it will be one year since Bart and I were on our Pilgrimage and how I yearn to be there, now.

I loved the snow here. I love my family here and adore my grandchildren. We enjoy our Baha'i community. Bart likes his work and I like school. Our hearts ache with hunger for the middle east.

When we hear the call to prayer resonating from a television program tears sting my eyelids and I see the cobblestones of Akka's streets. People scurry this way and that as people seem to boil out of buildings into streets already teeming with masses of humanity. Side streets so very tiny you hardly can believe it is a street until you see a tiny Citroen barrelling down it with a motorcycle passing it on the side! Pedestrian right of way? Never heard of it!

The very best pressed honey nut brittle was outside of the Al Jazzaar Mosque. We spent a whole day walking those blessed streets of Akka, cobblestone by cobblestone, the one time prison city by the sea. Bart bought a bedoin headress there and looks quite tribal Arabic when he is in full beard. The sun beat down so hot that day that children were jumping from the ramparts into the sea for money from the tourists. I laughed and Bart gave them handfuls of change they may or may not have been worth dollars, I cannot remember now. The children obviously thought the I should have squealed and told them to stop because the jump did look spectacular (I'll dig out the photos) but I knew they wouldn't be doing it if they hadn't a hundred (or thousand) times before. Bart peaked over the side and commented that it was still quite a feat!

It the evenings, before listening to a member of the Universal House of Justice speak to the pilgrims, we would walk to a falafel shop and have the most scruptious falafels with fresh pita bread made before your eyes and the best tsatziki sauce and hummus. Fresh avacados with every meal and as much grapefruit and oranges as you could eat.

Of course, the main attractions for Baha'is, are the Shrines. I am someone who has not had an easy road with my "religion," yet my faith has remained pure and confident. I may not understand myself but there is within me a core that is so strong and sure that I am left in marvel at this feature. I know it through meditation. What some would call prayer, some introspection. I know faith. I know assurance. I know there is a Divine Being and I have never felt It more strongly than a few times while on Pilgrimage. Someday, if we should meet face to face and the moment is right I may be able to convey to you my experience. It is too private for a blog, or at least for me here and now.

The center of Haifa is called "Hadar" and it is where most of the commercial parts are located. They don't really cater to the tourist trade, here, but we found great places to eat and a market to bring food back to the hotel. We always thought we would have another day to do our shopping and ended up getting people postcards and things from the airport at 4:30 am on the morningn we left, we just ran out of time. Baha'is who do not work at the World Centre (or visiting family working there) can only stay in Israel for 2 additional days. Basically because it is for the best, worldwide, with the strain the way it is between religious denominations and Baha'is are forbidden to use their religion as a point of contention. Please, be careful of how that is said. Not the principle's of the religion, etc.. Another blog entry, maybe.

When we travelled about Haifa (and weren't on the tour bus) we often took a sheroot or a taxi. A sheroot is a taxi van that doesn't go where you want it to but rather has specific destinations with very few stops in between. Sometimes it seemed that they were independently run. But we went all the way to Akka from Haifa for about $5.50 so it was a HUGE bargain. A travel site has this to say about the underground transportation (which we took numerous times):

Moving between the top and bottom ... you can also go from the city to the Carmel [top] in only 8 minutes by taking the Carmelite. I'm talking about is a funicular subway, which is probably one of the few of its kind in the world. This fun and interesting way to get from one point to another was opened in 1959, and while it was closed for several years due to disrepair and lack of funds to fix it, it's now open again for your convenience and enjoyment. The Carmelite has six stations - the lowest one being "the city" and the top most being the Carmel. Since this is a subway, it goes totally underground. And because it climbs a hill, it's very step-like in its build, traveling at an average of an 8o angle. The tunnel is 2000 meters long, and climbs a total of 268 meters from the city to the Carmel and travels an average of only 28 kilometers per hour. Before the renovation, there were drivers on these but now they're totally automatic and computerized. Throughout the tunnel there is only one set of tracks except for a spot in the middle where there are two sets. It's at this point that the two trains (one going up and the other going down, of course) pass each other on their journey. If you're ever in Haifa, I recommend you go on the Carmelite just for the experience, even if you don't need to get from one spot to another via this type of transport.

The friends we met! Oh, I am half afraid to even try to name any in case they ever found this remote little site and thought I had forgotten them! I haven't, on most days I remember everyone's! We met up with 225(ish) people from about 100 countries/states. Only two others from Oregon that we had known from before this trip. That large group was broken down into smaller groups of 25 for morning or afternoon tours and then, when you weren't on a tour you arranged your time yourself with friends you met. When we weren't at Baha'u'llah's Shrine at Baji we were combing Mount Carmel with our new found friends Karin (from Cape Town, South Africa), Parissa (from Perth, Australia), dearest Bonnie and Serge (with the lovely hair from Quebec), Jack from Hawaii, our friends from Slovania (names just flew out of my head), as well as from the family from Spain! Ack, there was the young couple that scared us all so much when they put their passports in their knapsacks and their knapsacks in the luggage compartment under the bus which angered the 15 year old with the machine gun who stopped the bus and wanted to see ID!

Even that, machine gunned youngsters guarding the bus stops I forgot until just this moment, doesn't make me want to stay away. I crave the pictures coming to my mind's eye of that world. I can dredge up, at a moment's notice the vivid colors of the market place, from the burkha's the older women wore and the dresses of the younger ones to the cloths covering the stands and the flags flying overhead, to the gems worn intertwined in the silvers or goldwork of fine jewelry, ornate heargear or tableware. My ears ache to hear the cacaphony that comes from so many different languages being spoken in a sing-song voice, almost becoming a symphony of well tuned intruments deliberately playing out a secret concerto for the tourist with the discerning ear to hear.

We hope we have the opportunity to one day return.