(Blogging from the train, which is OK except for spotty wifi and my paragraph edits aren’t working, so this post won’t look exactly right.)
“It’s never too late to become empowered” she said.
(Blogging from the train, which is OK except for spotty wifi and my paragraph edits aren’t working, so this post won’t look exactly right.)
“It’s never too late to become empowered” she said.
We honor all who served and made the ultimate sacrifice, but let’s never forget our merchant mariners.
California…December 1941: Submarine Sinks U.S. Ship; Fires on Rescue Boats
I’m sure by now you’ve heard about the pipeline oil spill in Santa Barbara.
That’s where I’m headed tomorrow by Amtrak train to meet my son/DIL for a few days of camping and hiking along the California coast while my tugboat man tows an eight-hundred-foot barge across the high seas.
Did you know that all tugboats (and I’m sure other vessels) have an Oil Spill Response Plan?
That’s part of hub’s job, to respond to oil spills and actively contain them. He’s nowhere near Santa Barbara, so he’s not part of that cleanup, but he’s been involved in cleaning other spills.
The U.S. Merchant Marine has rarely received its due recognition in helping the Allies win World War II, although mariners were the first to go, last to return and suffered the highest casualty rate of any group that served.
One in twenty-six mariners was killed in World War II; by comparison, one in 34 Marines was killed.
The first American victim of Axis aggression was not at Pearl Harbor, but a Merchant Marine ship two years earlier.
By the time of the Pearl Harbor attack, 243 mariners had already died from Axis attacks on the ships that shuttled materiel to U.S. allies already at war.
The Merchant Marine suffered its own Pearl Harbor at the Italian port of Bari, Dec. 2, 1943, when a German air attack sank 17 Allied merchant ships with a loss of more than 1,000 lives. The attack released a cargo of 100 tons of mustard gas bombs.
The conflict claimed 8,300 mariner lives at sea and wounded 12,000. At least 1,100 of those wounded succumbed to their injuries.
One in eight mariners experienced the loss of his ship, and more than 1,500 Merchant Marine ships were sunk during the war.
In 1942, on average, 33 Allied ships went down every week.
Until the middle of 1942, German submarines were sinking merchant ships faster than the Allies could build them.
Many of the crews who perished in these sinkings were blown to death or incinerated. Thirty-one ships simply vanished without a trace.
These casualties were kept secret to avoid providing the enemy with information and to keep supplies flowing to soldiers. A soldier at the front required 15 tons of supplies. Most of those supplies moved on ships.
Who were these 250,000 seamen who kept these supplies moving?
The volunteers ranged in age from 16 to 78. Many, like Tom Crosbie of Saybrook Township, dropped out of high school to serve their nation. They were often rejected from other branches of service because of a physical defect – one eye, heart disease, a missing limb.
It was the only racially integrated service during the war.
The end of the war was not the end of their service; 54 ships, including one on which Tom Crosbie was serving, hit mines after Japan and Germany surrendered. President Roosevelt, upon signing the GI Bill in June 1944, suggested “similar opportunities” would be provided to mariners.
That hope died when Roosevelt passed the following spring.
Mariners were denied everything from unemployment to medical care for disabilities. It took years of court battles for the mariners to finally receive partial veteran status in 1988, too late for many of those who had served.
They continue to seek full, official recognition for themselves and their spouses.
Warning: This series won’t be your glossy Chamber of Commerce tourism fluff piece to encourage more visitors.
Instead, It’s the candid observations of someone who’s lived here for thirty years.
Join me step-by-step as I walk around neighborhoods old and new all the way to the beach and back.
I’m seeing my not-so-little town through fresh eyes.
Today’s topic is Signs and Rules.
Do this. Don’t do that.
Carlsbad is chock full of sings and rules.
Here’s a sign with bad grammar.
And excuse me for asking the obvious, but WHY plant blueberries in a front yard on a busy corner lot where dozens of kids walk back and forth to school and in a ‘hood where almost everyone has more than one dog — when you have a HUGE backyard?
(That’s a rhetorical question.)
Next, are we going to see a misspelled manifesto to crows and blue jays about not picking and eating the ripe berries?
A lot of poop and dog-related signs.
And what happens if they disobey the rules?
And here, humans are outlawed, while it seems as if implied consent is proffered to dogs and every other species.
I ignored the sign, ‘cos nobody tells Princess what to do.
That sign ain’t the boss of ME.
This tiki expresses exactly how I feel about being told what to do.
Or what NOT to do.
Usually I take a small backpack or cross body bag to carry essentials but leave my hands free to take photos; this time, thanks to Flipbelt sending me a sample to try, I wasn’t weighted down — I hardly know it was there.
There’s room for my keys, phone, ID, lip balm, and a few dollars. Simply put the items in and flip the belt over. FlipBelt is designed to carry on-the-go essentials without tying up your hands. Made of a moisture-wicking, spandex-lycra blend, FlipBelt slides right on and sits snug on your hip. No bulk. No bounce. FlipBelt is also machine washable and machine dryable.
It’s an ideal accessory for outdoor summer workouts, and will be great for biking and traveling, too, Flipbelt retails for $28.99, and comes in nine cool colors including black. (I chose black so it would go with everything.)
For this review, there was no compensation; I was sent product to sample and review. The honest opinions are my own.
**And thanks to Kim who read my mind, I’m including this song about signs that all of us olds heard a zillion times:
“Murdered baby was kidnapped for woman’s false pregnancy.”
It made me curious that, since the initial reporting of this tragedy, there hadn’t been any updates; apparently all the work to solve this crime was done without publicity.
This is a TV show, not real life. It involves a bizarre story that’s right out of a horror novel.
It’s hard to imagine a mind so sick and diabolical to conjure up a plan such as this:
Four people have been arrested for the kidnapping and murder of baby Eliza. One of those arrested, Giseleangelique Rene D’Millan, 47, of Thousand Oaks, California – concocted a plan to win her boyfriend back that resulted in the kidnapping and murder of baby Eliza Delacruz and the shootings of three of the newborn’s relatives.
Last year, she lied to her boyfriend, telling him she was pregnant with his twins. Detectives believe the lie soon morphed into a desperate criminal quest of finding babies around the same age to kidnap and keep and represent as her own.
WTF is wrong with this world?
(In case you missed this story, here it is again.)
This is Eliza Delacruz. Or rather, this WAS Eliza Delacruz.
On Sunday, a transient found the body of this ten-pound girl in a plastic bag stuffed in a dumpster behind an Imperial Beach strip mall, one hundred-twenty miles from the girl’s home.
Only twenty-one days.
Only 30,240 minutes.
Eliza Delacruz was only able to take about twenty breaths a minute times twenty-four hours times twenty-one days.
No more pretty dresses adorned in sparkles with a matching bow for her hair.
No more goodnight kisses.
It’s beyond senseless…beyond comprehension.
A beautiful three-week old infant girl, who, up until the moment she was torn from her mother’s arms and kidnapped, had been living for nine months in a safe womb, growing and maturing until she was born into a world she will never know.
Can you even imagine the pain her mother and father must feel?
I remember how my breasts ached if I didn’t nurse my son every couple of hours or so — Eliza’s mom’s body will respond to hormonal messages but there’s no baby to nurture and feed — nothing but the constant pain of a broken heart.
What hope is there for this world if someone could do this to an infant?
How can I be continually surprised at the dreadful cruelties perpetrated on animals when human life can be tossed in the trash?
I’m disgusted, disheartened, distressed, and depressed.
Are we so blasé about the deaths and murders and abuses and cruelties we’re bombarded with on a daily basis that this horrific story hasn’t stopped us in our tracks?
Have we become so desensitized to pain that we just say to ourselves, “tsk, tsk, so sad” — and move on?
This should be an event so overwhelmingly tragic that nothing else should matter.
But we turn the page of the newspaper, click to another channel, scroll down to read about another crime or shooting or rape and one horror pours into another horror on top of another horror and you know what?
We’re drowning under the weight of the terribleness of this world we inhabit.
From Long Beach to Imperial Beach, the killer probably drove down the coastline, maybe even some of us passed him on Highway 5 or Highway 101 and we were totally unaware.
Los Angeles County supervisors offered a $25,000 reward Tuesday to help catch an attacker who shot and wounded three members of a family and kidnapped a 3-week-old girl who was later found dead in a trash bin near the Mexican border.
The award for information leading to a capture and conviction comes a day after police said they had no leads and no motive for the Saturday attack in Long Beach that wounded the parents and uncle of Eliza Delacruz.
Detectives had only a vague description of a man who may be black or Hispanic and were trying to discover whether surveillance cameras in Imperial Beach may have captured any images.
The time and cause of the girl’s death had not been determined.
The girl’s father was released from the hospital but her mother and uncle remained in critical condition.
At a Monday news conference, Police Chief Robert Luna said the lack of direction in the investigation was frustrating.
“Somebody had to have seen or heard something,” he said.
The baby’s parents and uncle have spoken with police, but it was too early to know if the family was withholding clues, Luna said.
Detectives do not believe the crime was a random act, and the FBI is assisting in the investigation, Luna said.
The chief said nothing is being ruled out at this point, including that the gunman has fled to Mexico, or that family members or a drug cartel are involved.
In Imperial Beach, mourners erected a makeshift memorial of candles and flowers outside a pizza shop at the mall.
Aaron Cruz, who lives next door to the victims’ two-story stucco house, said the baby’s father is a veterinary technician who worked six days a week and was thrilled to be a dad.
Cruz, who described himself as the man’s best friend, said the family often hosted large barbecues on their front lawn after moving in a few years ago.
The baby’s parents and uncle lived there with another uncle and the baby’s grandparents, but no one else was there when the shooting happened, Cruz said.
Information sourced from KTLA/LATimes
Not SEX. SEXtant.
It all makes sense, I promise.
First of all, Princess Rosebud and her Tugboat Man have been married for twenty-one years, a really, REALLY long time.
Sometimes it seems like only yesterday, and at other times, it seems like a life sentence.
That’s 7,665 days, 183,960 hours, 11,037,600 minutes, and more than 662 million seconds, or, in my case ‘cos he’s gone about fifty percent of the time, we’ve only been married for about 10.5 years!
The traditional twenty-first anniversary gift is brass and that made it easy, ‘cos mariners are always shining brass, right?
I found a small, working sextant so that no matter how far from home he might be, he can always navigate his way back to my heart.
What’s a sextant, you ask?
A sextant is a weird looking thing — who invented this, anyway? –instrument with a graduated arc of 60° and a sighting mechanism, used for measuring the angular distances between objects and especially for taking altitudes in navigation, also known as Celestial Navigation.
In other words, blah, blah, blah, ‘cos I have absolutely no idea how to use it, but it’s shiny and has a couple of mirrors, so all is good.
If you want to know ANYTHING maritime-related, he’s your guy. Well, not really YOUR guy, he’s MY guy, but you get the picture…
Even in this age of GPS and radar, professional mariners need to fulfill a licensing requirement by exhibiting a certain level of proficiency in the use of a sextant.
Celestial navigation is the art and science of finding your way by the sun, moon, stars, and planets, and, in one form or another, is one of the oldest practices in human history.
A star to steer by…
The wheelhouse of hub’s vessels have a sextant on board and he uses it daily when he’s out in the open ocean. Mostly as a way to keep his knowledge fresh, but when I asked him why, he told me he does it because it’s entertaining and rewarding; a great mind game to stay sharp and focused.
Looks like a torture device to me.
During our twenty-one plus years, my tugboat man has been the one to make all the arrangements from our engagement to our tenth anniversary at the Archbishop’s Mansion in San Francisco — which was AMAZING and I’m talking about a spectacular dinner at John’s Grill, (one of the locations author Dashiell Hammett used in The Maltese Falcon), and when we returned from dinner, our room was filled with candles and stargazer lilies (guys, take notes) — this time I wanted to surprise him.
I had planned a romantic stay at the hotel where we spent our wedding night — to recreate the whole scene with champagne and a great dinner at a little restaurant on the beach — but no one at the establishment responded to my two emails, two Facebook queries, and a telephone call to book a reservation.
I left a message with a nameless person who answered the phone; he promised someone would call me back and no one did.
Les Artistes Inn in Del Mar had recently opened in 1994 and the owners took pics of us in our wedding finery for their brochure — our wedding night was a lovely and magical time and now they ruined our special evening. RUINED IT!
I ended up making veg sushi and we drank with lots of sake. The next day we went for a walk and had a picnic where we were married at Magee Park in Carlsbad.
Nice, but not the same.
The best part of it all is that hub was HERE, ‘cos he’s leaving for six weeks in just a few days. For that I’m grateful, but I didn’t get the opportunity for my grand gesture, and since he’s the MOST WONDERFUL HUSBAND in the world, I’m sad.
One year ago, we jetted down to the western tip of Baja California, Mexico so tugboat man could surf a giant winter swell.
This is where I was presented with the gift that kept on giving: XOXO From Mexico and went batshit crazy when a stupid girl put the moves on my hub. HERE: Bitch, Stay Away From My Husband Part One and HERE: Part Two: Bitch, Stay Away From My Husband
(Because I was so traumatized, I have yet to write about our encounter with Machete Man…THAT was one of the scariest episodes of
our my lives.)
Before I became too sick to move more than a foot from the toilet (TMI?) we took a day off from surfing (him, not me) and drove to Todos Santos, home of the famous Eagles’ album cover featuring Hotel California.
As we drove out of Todos Santos, we got lost, which was something we had been doing on a regular basis. Street signs that make sense must be a precious commodity south of the border, because we had a tough time navigating. If you venture off the paved road for just one second, you enter potholed dirt paths that have no end and twist and wind their way to what I was certain would be our deaths.
This time, however, it was fortuitous, because we saw a sign leading us to the Sea Turtle Sanctuary.
Tortugueros Las Playitas A.C.
Environmental Conservation with Sea Turtle Focus
From their website:
“Our mission is to protect, conserve and replenish the fragile marine eco-systems of Baja California Sur, Mexico. In addition to our Sea Turtle population recovery program we place special interest on Habitat Protection, Environmental Education and Community Outreach in Todos Santos, Las Playitas and Agua Blanca.
One of our goals is help restore the Critically Endangered Pacific Leatherback population which is on the verge of extinction. Our Incubation Greenhouse stabilizes sand temperatures creating an ideal nest habitat, where hatch rates are maximized and gender ratios are balanced. We invite you to join us as a volunteer, event participant or sponsor and help balance the fragile marine eco systems of Baja.”
All the darling little turtle eggs were covered in palm fronds. It was as hot as a Bikram yoga class in the plastic covered hut. Babies!Squeeeeee! More babies! We weren’t able to stay until sundown to observe their release and watch them march toward their destiny. Hopefully, they all made it safely down to the sea and out in the world for long and happy lives. And then back we walked. Not one single seashell. NOT ONE.
How to get there:
There’s another side of California that you might not know about.
Sandwiched between the manicured lawns of upper middle-class residential subdivisions in SoCal, there’s a microcosm of humanity living in the shadows — migrant laborers from Mexico in makeshift camps.
In my own neighborhood, just minutes from the beach and overlooking chaparral-studded canyons, hidden behind purple sage and giant coyote bushes, we recently went for a hike and found evidence that suggests there are still active encampments.
Mostly these men are invisible, ignored by us as we speed up and down our streets, shopping, caring for our families, and only sometimes do we notice these shadow people standing on the roadside waiting to be picked up for day work or at the local liquor store buying twelve packs of beer and money orders.
Like the crows that fly in and out of our trees in a raucous cacophony, there’s an exodus out of the canyons at dawn and back at sunset.
Whatever side of the undocumented worker discussion you’re on, it’s a blight on our supposedly civilized society that in 2015, in this country of overabundance and excess, men and women live in the bushes without benefit of safe shelter or even running water.
When you scratch off the thin veneer of Pilates classes, weekly mani-pedis and facials, that fifty dollar bottle of pinot noir, and glance beyond Anthropologie and Sur la Table, in the hills behind The Forum, and probably most of the other open spaces that are clinging to life — that’s where you’ll find them.
It doesn’t seem quite fair for us to have so much while others are living in squalid conditions.
It’s sad, don’t you agree?
We especially liked the misspelling. There’s a certain poignancy.
There were several white rags hanging from trees along a certain path; we assumed it was to mark the way when it was dark.I think this is a creek, or it could be runoff from all of the developments.
Hard to see the turkey vulture among the clouds.
Do you know who and what lives beneath the surface in your neighborhood?
Being the princess that I am, I don’t like to drive in the rain. I like to be DRIVEN around in the rain, but my private chauffeur/tugboat man’s not here, so I decided to stay home and concentrate on indoor activities, something that as a California girl, I really hate!
Our office can always use a bit of organizing-such a perfect job for a rainy day. My tugboat man and I found the table discarded on our street; hauled it home, and refinished it (well, he did all the work). Perfect for the office sofa!
From the office window, my camera’s pointed down to the California native and drought tolerant part of our front lawn area, which I designed and planted with my own dainty hands. Gloomy and drippy day. Right across the street. You can see where I looked for Angel Boy playing at recess when he was in elementary school. Ever the protective mom…
The loss of a child cannot be fathomed.
Who could ever be prepared for their child to die before them?
There must be endless tears and sorrow and sadness and a forever and unrelenting pain.
For me, it’s a pure and simple matter.
If I never heard my son’s voice again or was never able to wrap my arms around him, I don’t know if I could take another breath.
…On Wednesday, November 13, 2013, Kirk Passmore, 32, a passionate big-wave surfing veteran and Hawaii resident, is presumed to have drowned and as of today his body has not been found.
One minute he was alive, surfing an estimated 20-foot wave at Alligator Rock on Oahu’s North Shore, with an audience of other surfers and photographers.
He dropped into the steep face of the wave before falling over the front of his board and into the water.
It was the last time anyone saw him.
Although extensive searches have been conducted in the area, he’s been missing since the day of the accident and is presumed drowned.
It was all caught on video.
This is the video of his last wave. Somehow he never made it out alive.
His dad wanted the his final ride shared with as many people as possible.
Maybe you heard about this. Maybe you were watching the news on television and you paid scant attention to the story while you were on the computer or eating dinner.
Maybe you read it on the internet and saw the pictures or the video.
You probably thought to yourself or even said out loud, ” Wow, that’s really sad.”
Why am I writing about him?
Yes, it’s true that he was someone’s child, brother, friend.
But he was also one of my son’s friends.
They went to school together.
He’s the first of my son’s friends to die.
Kirk had the biggest smile and the reddest hair. Everyone called him “Fanta” or “Red”.
He was one of the many boys I’d chauffeur around, packed like sardines in the back seat, all gangly legs and arms, endlessly stuffing their mouths — bottomless pits of growing boy bodies– with the cookies and smoothies and other snacks cheerfully provided to everyone who came over.
A carful of boys talking about school, skateboarding; laughing, always smiling, always a thank you for the ride as he slammed the car door.
“See ya, Jason.”
A flash of bright red hair lit the way as he ran up the walkway to his house.
But no more.
I bet for most of these boys – and I still call these thirty-somethings BOYS because to me they will always and forever be “the boys” or “the guys” — my son’s friends from Kelly Elementary, Valley Junior High, and Carlsbad High School — this is their first experience with death and subsequent thoughts of their own mortality.
I feel so bad for his family and his friends who are mourning him with candlelight vigils, surf paddle-outs, tributes, and memorials.
To honor Kirk, they’re handling their pain with grace and beauty.
One of them, artist Bryan Snyder, created a memorial wall in our town. If you’re ever in Carlsbad, check it out.
Our deepest sympathies go out to Kirk’s family. Our hearts are heavy and we are so very, very sorry for their loss.
The Passmore family released the following statement:
Kirk was born February 11, 1981 in Orem, Utah. He grew up in Carlsbad, California and graduated from Carlsbad High School in 1999 where he was a member of the school’s surf team for four years. As a youth, he was active in pop warner football, little league baseball, and basketball but his love was in surfing.
He started coming to Hawaii when he was 14 and was an experienced and expert surfer. He was not new to big wave surfing, having surfed most of the well-known big wave locations, including Waimea Bay, Sunset Beach, Pipeline and outer reefs on the north shores of Hawaii. He was a familiar face at Todos Santos off Baja California. He also surfed Maverick’s in northern California and Puerto Escondido in Mainland Mexico. He spent 3 years in the southern coast of France. He moved to the north shore of Hawaii full-time in the spring of 2012.
Kirk was a part owner of Third Stone Surfboards in Waialua, Hawaii and a Manager at Bonzai Sushi in Haleiwa, Hawaii.
He is survived by his mother, Diane Passmore (Orem, Utah), father and step-mother, David and Karey Passmore (Sunset Beach, Hawaii), siblings, Alyson Adams (Highland, Utah); Merrily Roberts (Encinitas, California) and Matthew Passmore (serving an LDS mission in New York, New York).
The family wishes to thank the Coast Guard, the City and County of Honolulu lifeguards and Fire Department who continue the search.
This WordPress.com site is Pacific War era information
I write when the choice is to die if I don't
A Place For Little Thoughts To Grow: Writing on Gentle Parenting, Nature, and Seeking Happiness Even Through Divorce
El Mundo Visible es Sólo un Pretexto
Finding the Extraordinary in the Ordinary
Read. Ingest the words. Like little blue pills, they will affect you.
Self discovery after a second divorce and coping with depression
A place to express myself through writing. a way to make sense of it all. Life as I see it.
Welcome the the Author's Blog of T.M. Toombs
Life in the eyes of a chronic pain/illness parent
Pop Culture and Geekery with a Dash of Mischief
Tracing paths between city and wild
We are Stronger Together
Because nobody likes a lying saint
Puking up Poetry, One Verse at a Time
this life may get complicated
East meets South: Haiku, Musings, Recipes, Serendipity - oh my!
The official page of the artist created to host the project 'CUT OFF'.
Blogging on a variety of things that pluck at the hearts' emotions & more
Creative Photography and Graphic Design