Whitney's Corner

          
Kalaloch is a very special place for me.  My trips there are points in a lifetime that I can measure the rest from.








(Click here, or on any of the images above to see more images of our trip.  Once there, click on the first image, and you can then move through the rest of the images one by one.)

J. and I finished off the summer this year by camping at Klaloch, WA. for four wonderful days.   Located on the coast, it’s a magical place that is always changing yet remains exactly the same.

 

 I have camped there several times in my lifetime, since my family went there when I was a little kid.  I can mark the chapters in my life by my trips to Kalaloch.  Running gleefully into the waves and playing in them as a child with my brothers.  The trip with my cousin’s where we buried my uncle in the sand.  I can still hear his laughter from that trip.    Later on as a teenager, still going with my family, but treated more as an “adult”.  I had all of the answers then, yet had not yet lived long enough to have all those answers proved wrong.

 

More family friends on other trips, watching the adults get tipsy on the wine at night.   Heartfelt talks with Mom, Dad always watching, making sure people were enjoying themselves, making sure people were safe.  Teaching me how to live, and how to enjoy some of that life.

 

This time, at 50 it was fun walking around the campground, pointing to the different sites I have camped at with the different people at different times in my life, and remembering.  There was the trip after graduation from high school and before the Army with my friends.  Couldn’t remember which campsite that was.  In fact, I couldn’t remember much at all about that trip, other than the fact that there was an awful lot of beer that was drank during it,  and a vague memory of one or two encounter with the Park Rangers. 

 

There was the site that I camped at with the four guys that I brought from my recovery group when I quit drinking, none of whom had ever camped before. God, that was a long, long trip.  There was also the site we camped at where my toddler son ran over my foot with the van after he figured out how to put it in neutral on a hill.        

 

Now, at a point in my life that I once heard described as the youth of old age, I added more wonderful, happy memories with J. 

 

As I looked down the beach at Klaloch at a scene I have seen over several decades now, I realized something.  I have lived a lifetime, a full lifetime, and I have finally found my happiness.  I have everything I really do want right now, and it feels right.   I am happy.  I thought about the other times, I was never quite there before.  Yet even then, some the happiest times in my life were spent here.      

50?!?

Today, something inexplicable and kind of incredible has happened.  I am amused at how confounded I am over it.  Somehow, against all odds, I have actually managed to put enough life behind me to have turned 50 years old.   

I am confounded because I never, ever expected to get here.   I smoked, drank and drugged my way through a lot of years in amounts that stacked the odds highly against my seeing this May 18^th come along.  My heart, liver or lungs would surely fail me before the half century mark came.  If not, some sort of horrible accident, overdose or altercation with any number of really bad crazy people I have been involved with over time would do me in.   

I was surprised to see 30 come and go.  40 kind of amazed me.  But 50?!? 

I honestly don’t know where to try to steer my life from here.  I like my life a lot right now, and certainly like where it seems to be going, but I never really made long term goals or thought about my possible future as a senior citizen because it just never occurred to me that I would get there.   

Years ago, I had a roommate who was in the living room of our apartment when my morning alarm went off.  I stumbled out of bed, walked past him to the fridge, and grabbed my regular morning breakfast.   A six pack of beer, my cigarettes, my pipe and some weed.  As I headed back to my room, he asked, “Why do you take a six pack back to your room every morning?”  I growled back, “Why get up 5 more times?”  An couple of hours later, I would be ready to get ready for work.  I lived like that for years. 

I thought about that today as I ate my oatmeal with honey and skim milk, and tried not to drink too much coffee.   

I have thought a lot about my life, who I was and who I am today over the past several weeks as my birthday neared. 

Who am I after living a half of a century?  In a lot of ways, I have become exactly the type man I swore I never would be.  In a lot of other ways, I have become someone completely different than I expected to become.  I am not someone that can say he has no regrets, I have plenty.  I am happy with my life now, and trying to live my life in a way that I won’t have any more regrets has a lot to do with that happiness.    

I don’t smoke, I don’t drink, and I don’t do drugs.  That’s not out of some moral character or stand.  It’s because I simply did all of those things right down to the very last second and limit that I could possibly get away with.  Now, I even eat healthy.  These days, I watch my cholesterol intake with the same intense concentration that I used to spend on monitoring the liquor supply at a party.   My son refers to me as “The New Daddy”.   

I have less answers, and more questions today than I did when I was 20.  Most of the answers I had back then have been proven wrong, anyway.  I have a lot more tolerance for idiots and ass-holes today than I did when I was younger.  However, these days I am much more inclined to explain in my own special way, how I feel about these people the instant they cross my tolerance line.

There have been many important people in my life that for one reason or another did not make it to see this day in their lives.  I have been thinking a lot about them recently too.   I hope that I live the rest of my life like they would have if they had a chance.  If I just do that, this next leg ought to be pretty damned good.

         Michael Garcia, 1961 - 2009

I have spent the last half hour trying to figure out what to write here that could possibly do justice to the tragically short life of my friend,  Michael Garcia.  He passed away in his sleep last Saturday, too soon to make any sense at all.  

Michael had more class, more grace, gave more of himself to others, and simply cared more than any other ten people I can think about right now.  He knew homelessness, he knew addiction, and he knew physical and mental health problems intimately, because he lived with them all at one time or another.  He battled them, came through to the other side, and immediately put what he had gone through in his life to work for other people's good.

He never got angry at the people who do not care, like I have.  I remember one time at a public meeting that we both spoke at.  I was so angry that night, I shook.  My message was not heard because of how I felt. 

Michael followed me.  In his quiet voice, he told the city officials that were responsible for the horrible treatment of homeless personal friends of his that he was simply embarrassed to be part of our community.  He then spoke of the pain of being homeless, and how their actions compounded that pain.  I felt it.  So did everyone listening.  When Michael spoke, he gave his heart, simply and eloquently, without anger or hate.  In this, he was my teacher.

He loved the ridiculous ironies created by the human experience. 

He seemed to have this unending gift of compassion and strength that he could give to others so easily.  During one of the camp-outs at City Hall that I helped organize, he stayed up with me all night to help make sure that the people involved were safe.  The next morning, all I had experienced overwhelmed me, and I had to get away from everyone because I did not want anyone to see my emotions come out.  Michael knew.  He followed me, and put his arm around me.  Then, in that quiet voice of his, he once again gave of himself,  healing and re-energizing me with that loving gift that he gave so often.  His truth and his spirit.

We are all cheated by his early death.  He was just coming into his own.  He was just finding peace, happiness, balance and harmony in his own life.  We lost a leader in how to live truly right.   I lost a brother, and I am just one of hundreds touched by Michael that has to be feeling the same way right now.

I am angry today, which is exactly one of those ridiculous human ironies Michael would have enjoyed pointing out to me. 





   

This was one of my most favorite days on our trip.  We covered an awful lot of ground, and saw some incredible scenery. 

It was on this day of the trip that I was introduced to some of the Anasazi ruins that I found out later are everywhere in this area.  Some of what we saw was in the more famous touristy sites, and other places we visited were very much off of the beaten path, hard to find and challenging to get to.  Our 20 year old Jeep did great for us on it all! 

(You can click on the pictures to see a larger image)


The Jeep well off the beaten path, with Comb Ridge as a back drop and an impassable wash in front. 

Our trip started on a paved driving loop in Natural Bridges National Monument very near where we camped the night before.  Although it was kind of a "touristy" part of our trip, it was a beautiful and relaxing way to spend the late morning.  We stopped along the road to look at the various rock formations and the way that the morning sun and shadows painted them. 

(Click on images for larger picture)


Natural Bridges National Monument, Utah


Natural Bridges National Monument, Utah

It was at one of the lookouts on the road loop that we saw the first Anasazi ruins of the trip and the first ones that I had ever seen.  They were high on a cliff across a canyon on the other side, tucked in a recess in the wall.  It was an amazing feeling to imagine families living and working in this place hundreds of years ago.  At one point while we were marveling at the structures across from us, an eagle flew through the canyon, casting his shadow across the face of the rocks we were looking at.  It was all so still, so quiet.


Horsecollar Ruins, National Bridges Monument, Utah


Horsecollar Ruins, Natural Bridges Monument, Utah

The Anasazi lived in this area for hundreds and hundreds of years, up until around 1275, when all of a sudden they all kind of disappeared.  They started as nomadic bands that grouped together and began building community dwellings throughout the southwest desert area.  They are well known for the cliff dwellings they lived in such as this, and their beautiful baskets and pottery. 

Less known is that the Anasazi were comprised of many different sub groups that are distinguished by time, region and cultural practices. Or, that the cliff dwellings they are known for make up only a small sampling of where and how they lived.  Or, that their numbers at one time were in the tens of thousands, far exceeding the current populations that are in these areas today.  They were at first nomadic, then developed into sophisticated  farmers. 

Their history was handed down orally, not written.  Some modern cultures claim that they are descendants of the Anasazi.  Why the majority of the Anasazi all suddenly just left at once is a bit of a mystery, but there is evidence that points to a 25 year drought around that time. Other evidence suggests that the Anasazi may have had problems with nomadic raiding tribes, which would not be surprising if a drought made the Anasazi food stores more valuable to others.

These next pictures are close ups of the ruins in the pictures above.


Horsecollar Ruins, Natural Bridges National Monument, Utah


Horsecollar Ruins, Natural Bridges National Monument, Utah


Horsecollar Ruins, Natural Bridges National Monument, Utah

It was a great morning, but the best was by far yet to come......



After spending the morning at Natural Bridges National Monument, we headed out to another place in the Cedar Mesa area that J. had been in before, and wanted me to see.  One of the really great things about having J. as a tour guide is that she did not really set up where we were headed, she just guided us to places and then allowed me to be amazed at where she took us to without preamble.

She headed us down a dirt road that was at times pretty rough. We passed through areas that once again reminded me that this is still working land, as it has been for hundreds of years. 

(Click on pictures for larger images)


Cattle are allowed to "free range" this area.  These corrals dot the landscape.  So does the profuse amounts of cow poop!


More evidence of man's influence in this area.

Prehistoric man, Anasazi, nomadic tribes, European immigrants farming, ranching and hunting their way out west, miners and oilmen, this area has always been working land for humans.   

The diversity of plant life was astounding, ranging from the most fragile looking flowers which seemed oddly out of place in this desert environment, to the hardy cactus like plants one would expect.


Flowers in the desert 


Cactus, Cedar Mesa, Utah

The vast canyon vistas were not the only beauty to be enjoyed, as this picture of a recently watered wash shows.


Bottom of a wash which had recently had water running through it.

After several miles, we got as far as we could go in the Jeep, then got out and hiked for about a mile more.  J. led me around a corner to a view that caused my heart to skip a few beats.  We were at the lip of a canyon called Arch Canyon.  This for me was not just the most beautiful thing I saw on this trip, it was one of the most beautiful things I have seen in my life.


Arch Canyon, Utah


Arch Canyon, Utah

There really is no way to describe this canyon, and the effect it had on my being.  All I know is that this was a personal spiritual moment for me.  J. just led me up there, and then walked away a bit without saying a word.  There was a beautiful and complete silence that gave my ears peace.  The warmth seemed to invade deep inside of me, and I became a bit dizzy from the visual sensations which overwhelmed my senses.  I had to actually think about breathing.  

After several minutes, I walked over to where J. was sitting on a rock looking out.  As I was facing the view shown in the last picture above, J. simply said, "Now, look at those cliffs over there, and let your eyes kind of relax". 

I did as she said, and then saw them.  First one, then another, then many dotting the crevices in the cliffs.  More ruins!  The realization hit me, people lived their entire lives in this pocket of beauty!   


Anasazi Ruins, Arch Canyon, Utah


Anasazi Ruins, Arch Canyon, Utah


Anasazi Ruins, Arch Canyon, Utah

This place has changed me.  I felt as we left that I had left something inside of me there which is now a part of that canyon, and I had been given something from this place of great value in return.  Out of all of the places we visited during our trip, this canyon is the place that I want to return to. 

I did this short video clip to try to show the dimensions of the canyon compared to some of the ruins you see above. 



Our next stop was to see some petroglyphs that J. knew about which were on a cliff wall near Blanding, Utah.  My imagination went wild when looking at this "graffiti" as I wondered when it was put there and who did it.   Ancient artisians from the Anasazi people, or more modern pranksters?  Looking at the wall, it was easy to imagine a bit of both....


Petroglyphs near Blanding, Utah

As we drove out of the area, we got a great view of Comb Ridge.  From satellite pictures, Comb Ridge looks like  a giant white scratch in the land.  From the ground, a spectacular white mountain-like range that stretches as far as the eye can see.


Comb Ridge, Utah

As if this were not enough for the day, we decided to make one more stop as we drove to our next camping spot.  It was at a place called Butler Wash Ruins.  We hadn't planned on stopping there, but the trailhead to it was on the road we were on, and the hike didn't look too hard.  A sign said it was about a mile long.

That mile showed me just how fast the heat of the desert can get to you.  The ruin is in the white of Comb Ridge, uphill.  As the heat hit that white surface, it reflected upwards.  J. had a thermometer with her, which showed 115 degrees.  It drained us fast, and made me realize just how dangerous this area can be.

However, as we came to the lip of the canyon where the ruins were, the reward was worth the effort.   From the vista, one looked across a deep canyon at this-----


Butler Wash Ruins, Utah


Butler Wash Ruins, Utah


Butler Wash Ruins, Utah


Butler Wash Ruins, Utah

As the afternoon sun started to go down, we made a hasty drive to our next camp site, which actually brought us back to the dirt road leading into Arch Canyon.  About a mile into the road was a quiet little spot next to a wash that was simply made to camp in.  Secluded, quiet, and beautiful!   It was our intent to stay there for a couple of days.  As we drove in, the Jeep seemed to be missing a bit and running rough.  No problem, I thought.   I would take a look under the hood the next day as we relaxed in camp. 

I really wish I had not had that thought, as you will discover in Chapter 7.

Yesterday morning, I attended an event which launched the I-100 campaign here in Seattle.  The short explanation of I-100 is this.  It calls for the city to study alternatives to it's planned jail and study the need for it.  More importantly, it calls for a public vote on this jail if the city intends to move forward with it.

The speakers were all just plain incredible.  It took me hours to come down off of the endorphin rush some of them created in me. 

I am not going to write out a long explanation here on why building this jail at this time is completely ludicrous.  

I am going to ask you to look into it, and at least give this issue  the fair hearing it deserves by finding and signing initiative 100 so that it can be put on ballot.  Why should you do this?  Yesterday during the launch, one question was brought up repeatedly by those speaking in their own way.

We know for a fact that when we provide an education to people, we provide a way out of poverty and a way out of risk of leading lives that result in incarceration.  Study after statistic after study after statistic has proven this without any shadow of a doubt.  Why then, at a time that our community is paying to tear down schools and our state is cutting off higher education enrollment, are we being asked to borrow money to build a new jail?

By the city's own estimations, the operating costs alone to house over 400 people accused of misdemeanors will run over $300.00 per bed per night!  (This figure does NOT include factoring in the money it will take to build this monster.) 

Much cheaper alternatives to incarceration for these low level crimes have proven to be far more successful at reducing recidivism rates,  and the money saved could pay for a hell of a lot of educating people instead of jailing them later.

What do you want to invest in?  Hope, nourishment, and futures, or failed attempts at controlling the result of not investing in these things?

Let's give this Initiative the airing it deserves.  The costs are simply too high not to get this one right.

I almost feel guilty for this next one

Rest in Peace Fuzzy

 Our joy in having a new puppy in our lives was tempered yesterday and today with the passing of Fuzzy.  Fuzzy was one of the feral cats that adopted Jean around a decade ago.  He was the youngest and tamest of the four that hang around here, and there was a reason for that.  Fuzzy was born under Jean’s bed, where his wild and feral mother decided her litter would be the safest.   

Fuzzy was always the kitten of the group.  He had a mane that would have made any lion proud.  Not the brightest of cats, his antics were often more dog like than cat.  He provided us with copious amounts of entertainment and affection.  He needed to be able to make his rounds outside, and could become quite demanding if we did not respond to him by opening the door at his call.  Mr. Friendly, the leader of the cats, protected him and doted on him ever since he was a kitten. 

There were moments when Fuzzy was very lucky that he was able to move and hide fast.  Most notably in the middle of the night when he would purposefully jump from the top of a bookshelf directly onto my sleeping and relaxed stomach, making sure that all 14 pounds of him were felt deeply by me. 

Fuzzy became lethargic and a bit unbalanced the night before last.  By yesterday morning, it was clear that something was very wrong with him.  He spent the day at the vets, who could not identify what was happening to him fast enough to catch up with the increasing symptoms.  He came home with us last night, where we did what we could for him.  We took him to the emergency room in the middle of the night to be put down when it became clear that it was time.  His illness was mercifully short.

I have only known Fuzzy for a couple of years, Jean has cared for him since the day of his birth around 10 years ago.   Today is a lot emptier without him. 

 

It has been one heck of  a couple of weeks for J. and I as we adjust our lives to living with our new puppy.  We have changed his name to Java, which fits us all really well. 

He has been very busy learning all about the world and growing big and strong very fast.  He has especially been learning the word "no" an awful lot, but seems very intent on wanting to learn where he is supposed to fit in and how he is supposed to act, so he doesn't seem to mind too much.  He is learning his doggie manners well and quickly, which is going to help out a lot when he is over 80 pounds of dog later on.

Most of all, he has been working very hard these past weeks doing his main job right now, which is to look cute as hell and give us smiles and laughs while he insures we will love him for a very very long time.

This picture was taken at about 10 weeks, right after we got him. 



These next two were at 11 weeks, taken by J. at the Horticulture Center, where he got his very first look at water birds.  He went straight into a pointer stance that would have made any hunter proud! 





This last one is at 12 weeks.  He is filling out quickly, and is getting quite muscular from all of the walks and exercise he is giving his humans!



This next one was taken today, when we took Java to the off leash dog park near our place.  It is HUGE, and there were dozens upon dozens of dogs of all sizes and dispositions there.  Java, J. and I were ALL a bit overwhelmed, and Java spent almost the entire hour just watching in my arms.  Then, just as we were getting ready to leave, Java spotted another puppy, just a couple weeks older than him, and he wanted down right now!  It did not take him long at all to figure out  fun at the doggie park!



All in all, he has been a total joy in spite of the costs, the sleepless nights, the hours of training and the chewing of everything in sight. 

Hope.  Dreams.  Obama!

While I am feeling characteristically patriotic as the unbelievable process of peaceful exchange of power happens once again in my country, my soul is doing an absolutely giddy happy dance over the man who that power is being transferred to. 

Change. 

Up until now, I would have said that the most profound event in America that I witnessed was watching men walk on the moon for the first time.  Tomorrow, that moment will be topped for me.  I believe that having Obama stand up and take office is that big.   Americans will live in a new society tomorrow, one which is more accepting and inclusive for every face in the world.  

Obama O8. 

I think I am going to like being an American a bit more tomorrow.

Meet Sampson!  Well, Sampson is the name that he came to us with, and so far we haven't come up with another more appropriate name, so Sampson it is, at least for now.  The first picture is within the first two minutes that J. had picked him up, the second was taken the first hour that we got him home.





Sampson adopted us a few hours ago.  Really.  That is what happened.

J. and I had decided quite awhile ago that we were going to end up getting a dog at some point.  We had our favorite breeds, and we had our requirements, most importantly that is was either an older dog brought up with cats or it was a puppy that the cats could train appropriately.  The last couple of weeks, the desire for a dog became stronger than usual. 

I stopped into our cat's vet and asked for a recommendation on where to look for  a puppy, and through that recommendation we ended up at the Puget Sound Goat and Dog Rescue home.  What a place.  Happy dogs everywhere!  Sampson was rescued from a shelter that was overflowing east of the mountains and was scheduled to be put down with his litter-mates until the rescue place picked them up.

This was the first stop we made, and we really did not intend on bringing home a dog today.  In fact, we were strongly leaning towards a three year old border collie spaniel mix living in Walla Walla.  However, it was all over when J. reached down and picked up Sampson.  He was in a pen with several other puppies who were all jumping and squirming and biting and being normal puppies.  When J. picked up Sampson, he just relaxed and settled into her, seeming to want to press as much of himself into her jacket as he could.   All that was moving was his little tail tip wagging back and forth under her arm.  

Every ounce of his body was just saying that he was ready.  He was ready to go, he was ready to be someone's dog.  We stepped outside with him for a bit, and I suggested to J. that we drive off so that we could talk about this.  She looked at me with a bit of amused, frustrated resignation and asked, "What is there to talk about?" 

I have wanted this for a very long time, and I am so happy that he is here.  I can tell J. is too.  (Duh!) 

We have spent the past few hours getting to know each other, and I think he is going to keep us!

(edit 1/5/08) - One more pic, after a very hectic 24 hours meeting and greeting many important beings, both human and not.  This one during a visit at my Aunt's place.

We left the campsite located next to the fence line of Arches National Park in the early afternoon after spending a couple of days there.  It took way too long to get packed up, and I realized very quickly that if J. and I are going to be making trips like this, I needed to pack a whole lot less stuff.   Maybe we could get along without every pot and pan from our kitchen after all.

We tied our garbage to the top of the car, along with everything I could find that we really did not need and could throw out too.  We were going to head back into Moab to resupply our food and water, and get rid of our trash. 

On the way out the dirt road we drove in on, there was a road that led to these neat cliffs and rocks.  We decided to head over there and explore.  



The eons have done some incredible carving into the rocks, leaving these free form natural sculptures that are breathtaking and incredible.  This next set of four pictures show what I mean.  They are also kind of a fun set, because after you look at the first three, the fourth picture will show you the problem of showing scale when photographing  this area.









After playing around in this area for awhile, we got back into the Jeep and headed out of the long dirt road to the Highway back into Moab.   I did not like being in Moab any more the second time than I did the first.  

Having said that, I have to admit that I did like the bookstore J. had me visit.  The bookstore owner was a personal friend of author Ed Abby (The Monkey Wrench Gang) and had a whole lot of really neat books and maps about the area.    J. explained to me that this bookstore was a bit of an "institution" at Moab.  Not like  the more touristy ones down the street.

Watching J. and her pleasure in being in that store was pleasure enough for me for the whole day.  I also got a kick out of seeing how many books that were on those shelves were already owned by her. 

We untied the garbage from the top of the Jeep, and got rid of it.  I was already impatient to get back out into the desert and away from people, and as we drove toward the store on the other side of town, we debated whether we could skip resupplying or not.  We had enough food and had refilled our water already.  We decided to stop, and I swung into the parking lot and parked the car.   

Thank GOD we did decide to stop.  As I got out of the Jeep and looked at the top of it, there was my camera case sitting up there!  I had set it on top of the jeep when I untied the garbage, and forgot I left it up there!!   It had miraculously stayed up there for the drive through town, but there was no WAY it would have made it through dozens of highway miles to our next camp. 

I would have never known what happened, either.  That is what would have been the worse,  just having it at one point, and then not at the next.  Honestly, I think that losing that camera that way would have been the one thing that could have ruined the rest of the trip like nothing else.

We left Moab with me much relieved that we stopped in the afternoon.  We passed Wilson Arch, one of the most photographed pieces of land in the world.  It's no wonder.  It is beautiful, and it is right off of the road.  This picture was taken out of my car window. 



From there, we headed off to a road which took us to a place called Needles Outlook.  This was the first place where I was made aware of the absolutely huge expanse of incredible scenery we were going to be living in over the next couple of weeks. 

As far as the eyes could see, canyons, valleys, mountains, incredible rock formations, layers of color painted through millenia across the land.  As I looked across the panorama in front of me, I went into an almost trancelike state as if the land had cast some sort of spell on me.

I stood on that outlook, trying to sense and feel the ages of time that it took to create what was in front of me.  It was a futile effort.  I am human.  My experience does not allow for the understanding of time like this.




 The patch of green is next to the Colorado River


Can you see the roads in this picture?




Close up of a rock formation on the valley floor





We made a couple of other stops, but for the most part the rest of our trip was heading to our next camping area.  We drove through Comb Ridge into the Cedar Mesa area, the light doing incredible things to the rocks as we were driving through, but getting too dark to photograph.  It actually got too dark for us to get to where we were planning on camping.  We ended up at a "civilized" campground in the Natural Bridges National Monument area, setting up under the stars.  Not the type of place we wanted to be camping in, but relieved it was there.  We got the last camping spot in the park. 

Happy Thanksgiving.

As has been the case for the past few years, today is a very reflective day for me.  I am so thankful for so many gifts that have come my way over my life.

Today, I am thinking about two people.  One is no longer with us, and the other I saw today.

Brenden Foster was 11 years old, and he passed away this week after battling cancer.  The amazing thing about this kid is that on the way back from a Doctor's appointment where he was told he only had a couple weeks left to live, he passed Nickelsville.  He asked his Mom about it, and she explained that it was a place where homeless people lived.  Brenden told her he wished that there was something he could give them.  He figured they were hungry, and wanted to find a way to feed them.  It was in fact the last wish that this boy had.  

In order to make his wish come true, a  bunch of people got together and made 200 sandwiches.  They delivered them to Nickelsville.

His story is making it around the world.  Google his name, there are over 300,000 entries.  National news media have picked it up.   People all over the nation are doing things for others less fortunate in his name. 

Now for the other person I have been thinking about today.   I have seen a him a few times over the past couple of weeks.  He is afraid.  In fact, he is terrified.  He has a hearing disability, and due to some other health things going on with him he has been living at a nursing home for the past several months.  He is now too well to stay there, and is being kicked out.  He will soon be living in the shelter system.  He cannot hear, and he has a tough time speaking.  Communication with him is very slow and difficult.  He will be a target because of this.   I know it, and he knows it.  It will be very difficult for a man who cannot speak to report when he has been victimized.  Predators know this, and there are a lot of predators out there where he is headed. 

There is no other place for him right now.  There are waiting lists of weeks to years for him to get anywhere safe.  By the time he gets there, we as a society will no doubt have a host of mental and physical health issues directly related to the trauma suffered because of where this man is headed to deal with.  We will have to pay for this.  The growing fear he feels as he gets closer to his date with homelessness can be seen in his expressive eyes, and can be felt just by being in his presence. 

Today, after speaking with me, he wished me a heartfelt Happy Thanksgiving.  

Today, on this Thanksgiving, I can't help but to feel that if there were a whole lot more Brenden Fosters on this Earth, there would be a whole lot less of men like the man I spoke to today. 

Brenden got it.  If they need help, help them.

If they are hungry, feed them.   If they are cold, warm them.  If they need shelter, shelter them.

Period. 

After that, we can worry about the little things in life.  Like personal terminal illness.

Due to a lot of things that have happened over the past several months, I have been having to adjust some personal beliefs.  I have come to a simple conclusion.

We are a communal species.  We became that way in order to better survive, to protect our species, and to thrive.  We have thrived as a result.  Now, we have decided that we can afford to cast off some of our undesirables. 

A basic human right in a country this rich should exist.  If you breathe, you are entitled to the right of private, secure, dignified space.  200 square feet of your own space.  A floor, walls and ceiling with a lockable door.  Food storage and preparation area, with private toilet and shower facilities.  

Each person.  Every person.  Period.  Yup, even the ass-holes, even those who have done bad things to others.  Anyone who is not incarcerated or in long term institutional care. 

Even Republicans.

Fed, sheltered, warm and secure, in one's own private space.  If you are human, then this minimum need should be provided.  It should be communally guaranteed as a right.

Want more, earn it.  But to say that a breathing human being that is a part of our communal society needs to earn these basic necessities is wrong.  It's the same as saying a breathing human being needs to earn their right to breathe.  

An 11 year old dying boy  got it.  Why can't the rest of us?

On this Thanksgiving day, I am grateful for the human dignity and grace that Brenden Foster brought to my species.  I am also grateful for the heartfelt human wish to me from a man who should have more on his mind than what he gave me today.  His wish that my Thanksgiving is Happy.



 

BWAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!



happy, HAPPY dance!!!!!!

J. and I headed up towards Index, and I almost caused an accident as I slammed on my brakes on Route 2 in order to turn into this gas station.

EVERYONE was SMILING as they pumped gas.  I was afraid the way everyone was smiling and looking at each other that there might be a spontaneous group hug!

A friend of ours bought a new camera, and J. and I took him down to the Urban Horticulture Center near the UW to help him figure out what all those buttons do.  We got there a bit late, just before the sun went down.  As we were walking, this Red Tailed Hawk flew right in front of us with its fresh dinner hanging from its sharp talons, then swooped up to a branch above us to pose for us while it ate.   



The mountain was not to be outdone by the hawk!  All in all, a very enjoyable walk.

UNBELIEVABLY, Mayor Nickels recently said on a TV interview that most of the people who are living in the homeless encampment called Nickelsville were not actually homeless, they were really homeless activists who in fact had homes!

I kid you not.  

Just to set the record straight, I know a whole lot of homeless activists, some with homes, some still homeless.  I don't know any homeless activists who have homes that would choose to live in a tent instead of going home at night.  Not one.  It's too hard to live that way.  

After trying hard in his past to get footage of Big Foot and Santa Clause flying behind reindeer with disappointing results, my good friend Tim Harris grabbed a video camera and went straight to Nickelsville to see if he could find some of those activists that  Mayor Nickels was talking about.   Here is the video of his results.



This next link is to a story about Nickelsville that did me in.  Heaven is about to get a bit richer, this world a whole lot poorer.  

Click here for KOMO News story about Nickelsille

As I mentioned in Chapter 3, J. and I stayed at our camp on BLM land near Arches National Park for two nights. That gave us a full day of exploration, and we took full advantage of it on two hikes. Our campsite itself was not much to look at, but it sat underneath this large hill, and there was another hill in front of us that kind of hid us from the view of the very few people we ran across. It also provided us with an incredible view of desert expanse with hills and rock formations near and far.




The desert sun was already hot as we took off for our first hike in the morning. Being a Northwest native, I was like a fish out of water in this environment, and was happy for the experience J. has had in the desert. We took off with lots of water and enough food to keep up our energy, which I soon found out gets sapped a lot faster than in the woods back home. You don't really realize just how hot it is, because it is so dry.

We hiked quit a way from camp, following a valley road, just enjoying the varied rock formations and croppings that we came across. These pictures show just a few.







(In regards to the next picture---No, I did not stack the rocks that way. Yes, this rock formation was naturally formed that way, probably over a few million years. And yes, it was HUGE!!!)



Eventually, we ran across this very steep road carved into a hillside going straight up. As we got closer, there were some old, rusty 55 gallon oil drums and other metal items at the base of the road. Unlike the more traveled and preserved National Park lands, BLM land has been worked by different industries over many decades. (The many, many dried out, near petrified cow pies that littered the land certainly attested to one of those industries!)



J. reminded me as we looked at the junk strewn about that this area once attracted men looking for their fortunes from the ground. Uranium mining was huge several decades back, and while a few struck it rich, the majority just led very hard lives barely able to survive. She suggested that the road may have been carved out by just such men long ago.

We climed up to the top. While the view was spectacular, I just could not imagine anything being worth the work it would have taken to build that road back then. Hiking out here for enjoyment was one thing. Doing what it took for men to mine out here back then was another entirely.



After enjoying the view, we rounded a bend and found this old, collapsed shack which the miners lived in at one time. It gave me a bit of an eerie feeling, walking about, viewing their food storage lockers and peering into what was left of where these men lived. Evidence of their daily lives was everywhere. I could actually sense it as someone would toss a food can out the door after eating the contents.





Things got even spookier as we walked past the camp. We found one of the mine entrances. In this picture, the entrance is behind the 55 gallon oil drum. There was a steel cable attached to the drum, the other end wrapped around a large rock near the entrance. The second picture was as close as I dared get to the entrance. Leaning over, I could not see any bottom to that hole. I threw a rock in, and it took FOREVER before a sound echoed back up. Straight down into darkness, these guys dug out rock hoping to find a type that would make them ill. They would load up those drums, and lift them out, one by one.





No way. I tried to imagine living like they did, out here, all alone. No way.

This next picture is another entrance we found up there. The guy in the picture was one of three we met up there who were off-roading their jeeps. He was a lot braver, or a lot stupider than the rest of us. I had to really lighten up this picture to show him, in real life he disappeared into darkness. He threw a rock to his right, where the mine turned, and it just bounced and bounced forever like the one I threw.



These next pictures (and the short movie) were taken during our second hike. On that one, we climbed up the immense hill behind our camp. It was a robust hike, and at times a bit scary as we reached near the top of the hills and cliffs behind us. The payoff was grand, however, as the view offered us the entire valley, the hills and formations in the distance, and the mountains beyond that. We sat up on that hill for quite some time, enjoying the Klondike Bluff, the Dark Angel rock formation in the distance, and the simple quiet that was one of the best blessings out there.

This first one is of J., near the very top of our climb. Can you find her? The next one is on the way up, looking down. Not bad for a couple of 50 year olds! The last one is our view of Klondike Bluff from the top of the hill.






(With apologies for lack of quality, The Movie)



After our hike, J. and I sat back at camp and enjoyed watching nature paint the desert with ever changing colors as the sun set, exposing once again the fabulous star filled sky for our eyes to enjoy through the open net top of our tent throughout the night. 

While I have been involved in supporting their efforts, I haven't written a lot about Nickelsville.  I have been more interested in reading what others have to say about it, the good, bad and hateful ugly, and trying to gauge the overall opinions and affects Nickelsville is having.  Hope the Mayor has been doing the same thing.  Maybe he will actually figure it out, people are getting it.   There is a shift out there in public awareness and public opinion, and it is not going in Hizzoner's favor.  Maybe, just maybe, he will shift gears.

Always the optimist.

Anyway, if I were to write about Nickelsville, I would try to write something as well as someone named Jeff Greer did on his blog in the two entries I linked to below.  I would have fallen far short.  Thank you Jeff, for capturing in few words what Nickelsville is and why it exists, in such an eloquent and pointed way.   

"The Story of Nickelsville (prologue)"  by Jeff Greer

"The Story of Nickelsville...continued" by Jeff Greer

After J. and I had driven down the Colorado River into Moab, we stopped at a store and stocked up on supplies.  I didn't like Moab too much.  The town has a lot of history to it, and a lot of that history is colorful.  First there was the cattle, then the uranium rush. 

Unfortunately, Moab has morphed into this kind of touristy stopover for the twenty-something crowd to see and be seen in.  Men with big, big off road trucks cruise up and down the main street, and after awhile you get the feeling that you can tell how badly a man has to compensate for, um, ...ahem, ....his lack of "equipment" by how high his four wheel rig has been lifted.  I could not get out of there fast enough. 

There is another odd thing about Moab.  The huge, giant, acre upon acre sized pile of radioactive rocks that sits just outside of the city limits.  It is  tailings from the uranium mining boom.  It is impressive, and more than just a little eerie.  I guess that they are going to move it, which is probably a good thing seeing as it sits on the edge of the Colorado river.  You know, the one that supplies drinking water for everyone in California.

An argument could be made that given who drinks that water, the best thing that could be done is to leave the pile there.  However, they are working on a plan to move it. 

We drove kind of toward where we had come from the previous night, ending up making almost a giant circle.  Our first real "roughing it" campsite lay just out of Arches National Park, in the NE corner.  It was on BLM land, so it was free, and away from most people.  It was also a lot more primitive.  The dirt road was pretty well graded except for the last mile.  This was really the first test of how the Jeep was going to hold up, and she did great! 

This first two pictures were from the road into our campsite.  The third was a guy who was very, very curious as to what we were up to as we set up camp.  Turns out that there were a whole lot of his buddies that lived around there too.  The rest of the pictures are of views from our campsite, as the light of the day slowly went away . It was getting pretty late, but we managed to get one small hike up the hill behind camp before it got dark.  

We were here for two nights, and really this is where our adventures began.  I was so blown away by the expanse, and the subtle beauty as the sun kept painting the landscape with different changing colors.  As you can see from the last picture, the moon was just a sliver.  This meant that we were treated to one of the most amazing star displays I have ever seen.  The milky way almost looked solid, and the stars were incredibly big and bright. 

Click on picture to view larger image.

I am sorry Las Vegas!



About 2 years ago, I posted this post on the Las Vegas Community of Live Journal, after reading this New York Times article,  titled "Las Vegas Makes It Illegal To Feed Homeless In Parks".  

I was outraged at that time to learn that a city would treat the homeless in such a way.  Living in a much more progressive city like Seattle, I felt quite high on my horse as I dissed Las Vegas on their own community board. 

My apologies.  My complete and utter apologies. 

You see, while I was busy dissing Las Vegas, Mayor Nickels of Seattle was just gearing up for his battle against the homeless.  He started with a quiet campaign to harrass and intimidate our homeless into further hiding or out of the city altogether through aggressive, illegal, and immoral sweeps of encampments, taking and disposing of personal and survival property without due process.  When he got caught, he fought off the groups that raised concerns at every turn. 

Then, our own Mayor started to crack down on people who fed the homeless, just like in Las Vegas!  (Click here for news article)

I should have apologized immediately, but I did not.  However, recent events have made me so shameful of my own city's actions, I have no choice but come out from under my rock and apologize now.

Recently, a group of homeless people and their supporters got fed up, and wanted to bring to light the Mayor's policies and actions against them.  They did this by starting a homeless encampment on city land and naming it "Nickelsville" after our fine Mayor Nickels.  The Mayor tried to shut it down immediately, but through some quick manuvering, Nickelsville still stands several weeks later. 

As I reported earlier in my blog, the city's most recent action against Nickelsville was to  post a Notice of Land Use Violation.  On this violation, the city threatens to fine the residents of Nickelsville $150.00 a day for every day that it stands.

Unbelievably, the notice also names other organizations and individuals that are not part of Nickelsville but has offered some sort of support.  Two of the organizations are ROOTS and the Interfaith Task Force on Homelessness, along with the ED's of these organizations, Sinan Demirel and David Bloom by name.

I e-mailed Mr. Sinan Demirel and Mr. David Bloom, asking why and how their organizations and themselves had been named on this Land Use Notification of Violation.  Mr. Demirel from ROOTS had this to say.

"It's a mystery to me.  We've not been involved in any way in setting up Nickelsville, never even attended a meeting.  We did, however, take food down to the original (W. Marginal Way) location on the first night.  In addition to ROOTS, three other organizations were named including, apparently, an organization in Vancouver, WA which I'm sure doesn't even know of the existence of Nickelsville!  While they're at it, they might as well implicate the whole concept of "sharing" as all we ever did was take them dinner..."

Mr. Bloom from Interfaith Task Force on Homelessness had this to say.

After J. and I left Idaho and got into Utah, the landscape started changing.  As we drove towards Salt Lake City, hills and then mountains came into view.  One weird thing about Salt Lake City that was pretty evident.  All of the billboards have only smiling white people on them.  I mean, ALL of them.  (Well, there was that one with a black guy on it, but it was Desmund Tutu.  We continued on to a place called Spanish Fork.  There were these two big mountains with a low point in them, and J. began to get excited when she saw them.  She told me that this is where it all started.

Not knowing what to expect, I was not prepared for what she meant.  This next set of pictures were some of the first I took as I spent the next 24 hours pretty awestruck.  My pictures simply cannot show the expanse of it all.  It started right after we passed through that pass.  Huge mountains with colorful layers being peeled back greeted every turn.  When we got off of the mountain, this cliff range that went for hundreds of miles rose up on our right side.  Immense, expansive cliffs that just went on forever and ever. 

We stopped that night and camped at a "civilized" camp site in a small town called Green River which sits under the Book Cliffs.  It was a big campground with mowed grass and showers.  Our plans had us going into more rugged areas starting the next night, and it was kind of nice starting off at this camp site.   We got cleaned up and headed out the next morning.  The first part of the traveling was to get to Moab, but we did it in a big circle that took us on an incredible scenic road following the Colorado River for a few dozen miles. 

Wow.  Again, pictures cannot come close to showing the immensity of it all.  The river itself was actually a bit disappointing.  Just a small meandering quiet river.  It is what it has done to the earth over a few million years that is absolutely awe inspiring.  Those tall canyon walls, mountainous sculptures, one after the other after the other as far as the eye could see.  I had to keep on reminding myself to exhale! 

There is a lot of history in this area, and J. was the perfect tour guide.   She knows a lot about the geology down there, and also about the human history.  She had been through all of these areas before, but did not excitedly prep me for what I would see and find.   It only made what I did find more grand.  With each turn, another vista of geological art would hit me. 

The first picture below is of a formation just past Soldier Pass, Utah, and the second picture is of one small section of the Book Cliffs before we got to Green River.  The rest of the pictures were taken down the road to Moab that followed the Colorado River.  Amazingly, by the time we got to Moab, the day was only half way done.

Click on pictures to view larger image