I do. Have a secret.
Not gonna tell.
Not yet.
But you’ll be the first to know.
Well, not the first, but high up on my list.
Maybe not super high on the list, but you definitely won’t be the LAST to know.
You can guess, but I’ll never tell until I do.
P.S. A good secret, nothing bad, neg, dark, sad.
Happy Wednesday!
I needed a few things at the crafts shop; glue sticks, jute, ModPodge, stuff like that.
Let’s clarify right from the beginning — I live in what could be described as a sorta snooty beach town — home prices in the $700,000 to million dollar plus — a fair amount of discretionary spending — lots of ladies who go to the gym, spa, lunch, shop.
The crafts store I went to is in a smaller strip mall. I parked my car between a Lexus and a Mercedes (see?), grabbed a reusable bag from the trunk, and headed into the store.
It was a busy Sunday; by the way a lot of the (mostly) ladies were attired, it’s obvious they had come directly from church — this is SoCal so nobody doesn’t wear flipflops unless they have to, and there were more flowery frocks than Lululemons.
As I’m walking toward the store, DIRECTLY to the left of the automatic double glass doors — in plain sight — was a man sprawled out on the sidewalk. You couldn’t tell if he was sleeping. Or if he was dead. He had no blanket, no pillow, nothing except a well-worn paper bag near his feet.
JUST LYING ON THE SIDEWALK.
I looked around and there were no less than three other women walking toward the crafts mecca along with me.
NO ONE even glanced in his direction, but it’s not like you could avoid seeing him.
He was RIGHT there.
They had to make a CONSCIOUS decision to ignore him.
I made eye contact with one woman who looked away, uncomfortably.
It was obvious that she did NOT want to engage in a conversation.
I went in the store, walked over the first employee I saw, and asked if he knew anything about the man that was either dead or alive outside his store.
He said, “Oh yeah, someone mentioned him.”
I said, “Well, has anyone checked to see if he’s OK, if he needs help, IF HE HAS A PULSE??”
He said, “Would you like me to call the manager”?
I said, “Yes, you do that.”
As I’m tapping my foot impatiently, waiting for the manager to appear and deal with ME, it was hard NOT to feel all the other women awkwardly look away from the SITUATION.
When the manager arrived, she said, “Are you the one who wants to know about that man?”
I said, “Yes, I’m the one. If you knew there was a human lying on the ground – he could be sick, he could be dead, he could be homeless — why did you not call someone to help him?”
(Watching out of the corner of my eye as other women avoided the aisle where we were standing.)
“Well, do you want me to call someone?”
I don’t f***ing believe this.
My blood pressure was rising — as was my voice.
“YES, PLEASE CALL SOMEONE TO SEE IF HE NEEDS HELP — OR I WILL, DO WE NOT LIVE IN A SUPPOSEDLY CIVILIZED COUNTRY? HOW CAN YOU ALL (as I point to the group of women who are listening) SIMPLY WALK BY AND NOT CARE?”
“YOU ARE ALL DISGUSTING.”
“He’s someone’s son or brother or father. What if he were YOUR son or brother or father?”
Yes, I said that.
If you want to know why I didn’t go up to him myself, its because I actually thought he was dead, and didn’t want to disturb a potential crime scene, and if he was sick, well, it’s not my job to offer medical assistance.
The manager called the police who arrived immediately, and it appeared that the man was indeed homeless, but was having some sort of medical condition and needed to be transported to a hospital — not life threatening, but he definitely didn’t need to suffer on the sidewalk.
As I stood in line waiting to purchase my glue sticks and other non-essentials, a woman thanked me for “doing something” and said she was planning to say something if I had not.
Well, people, I can’t be everywhere, so don’t wait for me.
SPEAK UP.
Whether it’s a sick and dirty homeless man or a mistreated animal or an abused child.
Be civilized. Be compassionate.
SAY SOMETHING.
DO SOMETHING.
Don’t just talk about it.
Don’t be a hypocrite.
DO SOMETHING, OK?
California is beautiful.
Everyone should go on a road trip vacay and drive down (or up) the coast through the central coast along Highway One.
It’s spectacular.
The scenery is amazing and the views are breathtaking, BUT driving around Big Sur, the twistywindytwolanehighway is SCARY, more so if you’ve previously experienced a near death event.
One one side, there’s the vertigo-inducing views of the Pacific Ocean beneath a precipitous embankment, and on the other side, close enough so that if you open a window and reach out, you could almost touch the mountain.
“Mom, why is your lip bleeding?”
“Because I’m biting it to keep from screaming.”
“SLOW DOWN. SLOWDOWNSLOWDOWN!”
“See the red lights on the car in front of us? That is your very obvious CLUE that you need to react and SLOW DOWN.”
“Sssllllooowwwwdddooowwwnnnn…” says the crazy backseat driver.
“Heeheehee.” That’s Angel Boy chuckling at my terror.
“How about leaving a little more distance between you and the car in front of us?”
“Would that be too much to ask?”
My right thigh was becoming numb as I constantly phantom-braked during that entire death defying journey.
I clutched the dash so tightly, I thought they’d have to pry my fingers off of it.
In the back seat, DIL was listening to music and texting, observing this exchange between mother and son.
(I think she was laughing, too.)
My son lives his entire life by multi-tasking every single moment of every single day.
Even while driving, he’s eating, talking to his GPS, and carrying on two conversations.
His new name is Doctor Distracto, because the ONE thing he needed to concentrate on — DRIVING — what should have been his primary focus — was third or fourth on the list of what garnered his attention.
“Geez, pay attention to the traffic, would you?”
“STOOPPPPP!”
I was hyperventilating, fanning my face, telling him, “Do you want to give me a heart attack?”
Remember that film I liked, Guilt Trip, with Barbara Streisand and Seth Rogan?
(Read my review HERE of the best Jew-mom film EVER.)
This was OUR version of a road trip.
It was actually pretty funny. In reality, my son is a good driver in spite of being an absent minded professor.
When it was all over and we were once again on wide, straight roads, I apologized for my bout of insanity and praised his patience and even tempered disposition.
I highly recommend camping with one’s adult child and spouse.
I haven’t heard about too many other people who’ve done this. Let me know if you have and maybe we could start a club.
Popping a squat side-by-side on the trail with one’s DIL makes for a great bonding moment.
They had thoughtfully packed two tents, a huge family-sized Hobitat, and a smaller one in case I wanted to sleep in my own tent, and not with them.
I chose the “mother-in-law” unit because I didn’t want to disturb anyone or crawl over them if I had to get up and to to the bathroom at 3 a.m.
Two highlights of our road trip were day hikes to Jade Cove and Julia Pfeiffer State Park.
I’ve always wanted to explore Jade Cove but I had no idea that it was going to become the challenge of a lifetime.
I had no idea that the only way to get down to where the jade could be found was by rope. THIS was where the EMPOWERMENT really kicked in.
NO WAY was I gonna do that.
Nope. Never. Not in a million years.
It should have been an absolute dealbreaker, but my desire for jade and serptentine treasures made me think I MIGHT be able to take the risk.
It would have been such a shame to come all this way and give in to my fears.
My son patiently coaxed me and DIL all the way and made sure we safely descended the nearly vertical bluffs, while he scrambled down like a mountain goat.
I AM EMPOWERED.
(My hair looks HORRIBLE, but I’m grinning from ear to ear.)
The Jade Cove Trail is a simple flat path that loops out to the coast with a steep but short path down to the water where you can hunt for jade (please follow local regulations about collecting rocks.)
From the top.
Animal print kelp?Treasures from Jade Cove!
After that, we drove to Julia Pfieffer State Park for a day hike. This state park is named after Julia Pfeiffer Burns, a well respected pioneer woman in the Big Sur country. The park stretches from the Big Sur coastline into nearby 3,000-foot ridges. It features redwood, tan oak, madrone, chaparral, and an 80-foot waterfall that drops from granite cliffs into the ocean from the Overlook Trail. A panoramic view of the ocean and miles of rugged coastline is available from the higher elevations along the trails east of Highway 1.
Overlook Trail and the cove with famous turquoise water.
McWay Falls, one of only two coastal waterfalls in California, where McWay Creek falls 80 feet over a granite cliff onto a sandy beach, or at high tide directly into the Pacific Ocean.
McWay Creek
Majestic redwoods Squint your eyes and you can see Angel Boy and DIL at the base of the gigantic redwoods.
Bottom line: Empowerment is empowering. At any age.
Read the rest of my Empowerment Series here:
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
After the mostly tranquil train ride (except for one poorly parented relentlessly screamingfordonuts toddler who seemed not to be bothered by her screeching while staring at their smartphones), I was met at the train station in sunny Santa Barbara by Professor Angel Boy and we stopped for lunch at an organic foods cafe.
We made an unscheduled detour because he wanted to check out the surf at Morro Bay, and because it’s always really all about him, that’s what we did.
Driving up the coast to Morro Bay.
I’m not much of a seagull lover, but this guy was too photogenic to ignore.After a brief surf session, we continued to Montana de Oro State Park, six miles southwest of Morro Bay and seven miles south of Los Osos on Pecho Road.
It’s fairly rural and rustic, but SO beautiful. We set up camp and were able to manage a late afternoon hike.
With the sun low in the sky; clouds and fog actively moving over the tops of the mountains, it was serene and enervating at the same time.
Crossing a small creek.
Lichen.
Pretty yellow flowers.
Ah-MAY-zing view.A mole peeking out of his hole.
Quail are everywhere and for a while, their melodic conversations were the only sounds we heard. These guys were walking around directly outside my tent.
Later that evening, after a relaxing fire and glass of wine, we heard the unmistakable scream/growl of a bobcat across the canyon.
At that moment, life was perfection.
Little did we know that in a few short hours, in sharp contrast to this beauty and tranquility, we would endure the WORST EVER camping experience of our lives.
As we settled down to a good night’s sleep under a star-filled sky, a group of approximately twenty college students set up their camp nearby and proceeded to drink and yell and party LOUDLY until 4:30 a.m. in spite of the 10pm-7am quiet time rules.
Apparently, nobody, including us, got up to inform the camp host or the rangers of this HELL we had to endure, but we all complained to him the next day.
Just awful.
However, at approximately 3:30 a.m. just as we were dozing, or trying to, during the bacchanal, three fat raccoons furiously attempted to tear apart the locked food cabinet next to our picnic table. My son had to get up and shoo them away, and as he put the food in the car, one of them tried to sneak in.
Amazing.
It was an eventful night.
Right after THAT little adventure, a bobcat screamed so close we thought it was within feet of where we were sleeping, and figured that he had an altercation with those raccoons.
No one slept much after that, because we wanted to stay awake in case we could see him walk by.
No luck with the bobcat sighting, but as I unzipped my tent in the morning, see who was looking at me? A beautiful gray fox! These aren’t the best pics because I was in such a hurry to snap them before he ran off.
What an astonishing gift to sort of make up for the rude frat boys.
So far, quite an adventure, don’t you agree?
Part Three: A Ten-Mile Hike
It started raining in the middle of the night, so hard it woke me up.
Rain, wind, five inches of snow in our local mountains — is this May or is it December?
I was worried about my little hummingbird and her full nest.
How would they weather the storm?
First thing this morning, I looked out the kitchen window and there she is, swaying back and forth on the hummingbird wind chimes under the eaves, safe and dry.
See the rain coming down? What a smart mom to choose a home that’s protected from the elements and allows her to survey the entire back yard.
Humans can learn a lot about good parenting from other species.
There is no more important job than caring for her young.
Soon enough, they’ll hatch and grow and fly away, leaving her with that empty nest she worked so hard to build.
Maybe that’s what her tiny little hummingbird mind ponders as she sits there hour after hour.
And I know exactly how she feels.
SIGH.
When we first moved here in 1985, our street was a dead end (literally).
My son and I would walk our dogs to where the pavement ended and there we abruptly entered a wonderland of nature: along narrow paths with overhanging vegetation; sage, coyote bush, sumac — and wildlife; coyotes, bobcats, deer– even a mountain lion was spotted now and again.
In other words…heaven.
It was a sad day when the bulldozers appeared and in a matter of minutes completely raped the hills, scraping the native flora down to bare earth, uprooting mature trees, and displacing dozens, if not hundreds, of animals.
It’s unrecognizable now–if you hadn’t lived here as long as we have, you’d never know the rich beauty that once existed.
It’s regretful that the city leaders didn’t and don’t seem to care about respecting, protecting, and preserving native flora and fauna.
Instead of conserving and sustaining our unique beauty, they’ve allowed Carlsbad to become an Orange County clone — heavy on the ubiquitous business parks and subdivisions totally disconnected to the land.
They’ve mostly destroyed the unique personality and beauty of our little coastal town.
In my opinion.
Historically, Carlsbad/Agua Hedionda Lagoon was the former home to two Native American groups, the Luiseños and the Diegueños or Kumeyaay.
Did you know that Agua Hedionda means “stinking waters”?
(It does and it does.)
Although the Spaniards (and other settlers) decimated the Native American connection to this area, over the years I’ve heard about nearby sacred burial grounds that might still be intact, and that’s a good thing.
In spite of the destruction of habitat, there are still a few surviving animals attempting to coexist.
In the evening, we hear the song of the coyote, not as often as we used to, but it makes us happy. Check out this audio. So close!
I’ve seen fresh bobcat tracks, too, but no actual visual sighting.
On a recent walk, I stepped out of my front door, walked across the street, and was immediately greeted by this amazing sight, a Great Blue Heron nearly as tall as me.
After I snapped a dozen photos, I continued walking, and spotted a White Egret.
It was a day for wildlife; these are not good pics for some reason, but a couple of different rabbits made an appearance.
On a front lawn.
Overlooking Agua Hedionda. 
I believe this is a Cooper’s Hawk; don’t think it’s a Red Tailed Hawk.
If I ruled the world (or at least my little part of it), I’d make sure that any planned development would respect all wildlife and make appropriate plans to not only preserve habitat, but encourage MORE animals to coexist with us.
Especially predators. We need predators. We need coyotes and bobcats and mountain lions and hawks and falcons for balance. Without them, we’re inundated with their food source; rabbits, rats, and squirrels.
Can’t we all just get along?
Read Exploring Carlsbad, Part One: Signs
Anyone participating in World Naked Gardening Day?
No?
Well, I’m not either, that’s for sure.
I’m moving furniture, shampooing carpets, channeling Cinderella, and obsessing over the only full nest at Casa de Enchanted Seashells.
My little yummy hummy mummy is doing what most animals do naturally — be an attentive and protective mother.
enchantedseashells.com
In the late afternoon sunlight, I removed the screen in the dining room window and leaned all the way out to capture the iridescence.
enchantedseashells.com
Have you ever seen a hummingbird stay almost perfectly still for more than two minutes?
I set up the tripod and took some video of her nest sitting, blinking her little eyes, and swaying in the breeze.
There’s a bit of shake (sorry) but the tripod was in a precarious position on top of a bench in order to get the best angle.
When she first started building the nest, I waited until she flew away in order to reinforce the chimes with twine to make sure they’d support the extra weight and not fall down,
YouTube video:
(And congrats to Princess Kate for giving birth to a royal little girl! )
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.
Purchased or homemade…
I couldn’t find the common area this sign referenced; I assume the dog owners who live in the complex have been made aware of the pet-acceptable locations.
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:
And just in time for Mother’s Day, a hummingbird built her nest right outside our kitchen window on the deck, on HUMMINGBIRD WIND CHIMES.
Isn’t this the craziest thing?
Do you think my little hummingbird KNOWS where she is?
It’s magical, watching her build her nest out of spider webs and feathers. I touched it and it feels like a handwoven sweater, soft but strong.
Can’t stop taking pics; look at that beautiful color.
Mommy hummy in flight.
Isn’t this amazing?
Mom doesn’t mind when I walk back and forth or get up close and personal for pics, but she’s so protective of her nest when another bird flies into her personal space.
An egg!! There are supposed to be two; waiting for the next one!
Hummingbird sitting on hummingbird nest on hummingbird chimes.
Could anything be more adorable?
STOP SCRUNCHIE SHAMING!
I’ve had just about enough of this abuse.
I confess.
I’m here to out myself. but I’m still hiding behind dark shades (Chanel, of course).
I’m an addict.
I’ve tried to change.
I really have.
Not a day goes by that I don’t wish and hope and pray that I could be strong enough to resist temptation, but I’m weak.
I NEED it to tame my mane.
I mean, LOOK at me, would ya? My hair has a mind of its own.
When I was growing up in pink toe shoes and tutus and my hair was properly braided and beribboned every morning, how could I possibly foresee what the future would bring?
There was no crystal ball to warn me of the impending appearance of those colorful fabric-wrapped elastic bands that would be my crack.
I lack strength; I’m powerless.
(This is tougher than I thought it would be.)
I won’t — I can’t– hide my addiction one more minute.
The truth is that I wear a SCRUNCHIE every. single. day.
I can’t get through the day without one. Or two.
AND YES, I WEAR IT ON MY WRIST LIKE A BRACELET.
Just to keep it close and handy.
In fact, I have one on my wrist right now, AS I’M TYPING THIS POST.
Don’t even THINK about trying to wrestle it away from me.
Red or blue or purple; I carry extras in my handbags JUST IN CASE I LOSE ONE.
Us girls with SUPER curly and thick hair need a big fattie scrunchie to tame our wild beasty locks.
You know what?
I’ve had friends who’ve staged spontaneous interventions to help me confront my love for the scrunchie.
I’ve had friends pull them out of my hand and toss them in the trash.
Friends have gifted me all sorts of other hair bands and a variety of products to secure my crazy hair.
I’ve been bribed with lunch and unlimited wine if I don’t show up wearing a scrunchie.
“It ruins your outfit” they say.
“You look like a reject from the nineties”, they say.
Apparently, it’s embarrassing to be seen with a scrunchie-wearer.
I. DON’T. CARE. WHAT. ANYONE. THINKS.
I LOVE my scrunchies.
HAHAHA…the dreaded SIDE SCRUNCHIE!
No other form of securing my tresses will satisfy me:
I feel so much better having confessed my secret addiction.
It’s a huge load off my chest. I feel light and free.
So deal with it, world.
From this day forward, I’m out, I’m loud, and I’m a PROUD scrunchie-wearer!
My stash.
Just be glad it’s not a banana clip. Hee hee.
Enchanted Seashells | Princess Rosebud 
