Spent the last few days with my preggy DIL and the original Angel Boy.
Today we went to Golden Gate Park and the Botanical Gardens.
It was a glorious blue sky day!
Because he doesn’t have a REBLOG button that I could find, The Matticus Kingdom gave me express permission to copy and paste.
The subject is important. The words, raw and beautiful, drip tears of outrage.
Here’s his post and if you don’t already, follow him!
The walls and black scars, full of screaming metal, crept across the land,
A progressively greedy excess without permission, balance or order,
And the ancestral paths of the pack were cut and buried asunder,
Forcing them to wander further away from the shifting sand,
To provide their families with food and sheltered dens,
Under the disdainful, entitled, glare of fearful men.
We are supposed to be knowledgeable and civilized,
And should be mindful of our encroachment,
Change our behavior and sentiment,
To achieve the ultimate prize,
And coexist peacefully,
As it should be.
Instead, we condone shooting coyotes with paintballs…
Is that really who we have become?
This is a great article in the San Diego Free Press about the corruption going on my little beach town. We are #CarlsbadStrong
Carlsbad Referendum Signatures Stun Caruso, City Council Pals
By Richard Riehl
It must have been quite a shock for L.A.’s Caruso-affiliated executives to see the stack of signed petitions delivered to the Carlsbad city clerk’s office last Thursday. The 9,000 signers of the referendum petition are calling for a public vote on the developer’s plan for a lagoon-view shopping center, as promised in the title of the initiative, Measure to be Submitted Directly to the Voters.
When the Carlsbad city Council unanimously approved his plan on August 25, Caruso had already spent nearly $3 million on signature gatherers and a blizzard of glossy, full-color mailers to persuade 20,000 Carlsbadians that his plan to build a shopping mall was all about saving the Strawberry Fields.
The day after the council voted, a grassroots group, Citizens for North County, announced its plan to launch a referendum drive. Caruso had to redouble his marketing campaign. But this time his mailers, accompanied by daily prime time TV ads, featured headshot photos of and quotes from all five city Council members, as well as the owner of the Strawberry Fields. Each repeated the lie that signing the referendum would destroy the Strawberry Fields, despite the promise of Prop D to preserve them, passed by voters in 2006. The Caruso mailer included a detachable, postage-paid card to return to the city clerk for signers of the referendum to have their names withdrawn.
About 700 signers chose to do so. Caruso relied on the confusion caused by his two dishonest campaigns to “Save the Strawberry Fields,” the first by signing an initiative, the second by refusing to sign a referendum, to keep residents from signing anything. Heads he wins, tails we lose.
While the strange bedfellows of big-money and elected officials urged us to turn down our right to vote, the citizen-led referendum drive soldiered on, relying on social media to generate hundreds of volunteers to station themselves in city parks and other public places to collect 9,000 signatures in 30 days on a paltry $9,000 budget. That’s 300 signatures a day at a dollar apiece.
It took 90 days for Caruso’s professional signature gatherers to snag 20,000 signatures. With a $3 million budget, that amounts to only 222 signatures a day at $150 each.
I couldn’t help but wonder why the city Council not only refused to put the Caruso plan up for a vote in a special election, but even to delay their decision for 30 days to enable residents to be more fully informed. The August 25 meeting was packed with dissenters. You’d think elected officials would be more responsive to their constituents.
That made me curious about campaign contributions, so I went to the city’s website, where I found, among Mayor Matt Hall’s financial supporters, the name of James Ukegawa, the man you see posing in the Strawberry Fields on Caruso’s mailers and in his TV ads. He’s identified as a “Carlsbad Strawberry Company Farmer” on the mayor’s filing form, stamped by the city clerk on July 30, 2014. Ukegawa’s $5,000 contribution is dated June 7, 2014.
The “Strawberry Company Farmer” is identified on Michael Schumacher’s campaign finance filing as the “Owner of Aviara Farms.” He made two contributions to Schumacher’s campaign, one for $2,500 on September 12, 2014, the other for $1,760 on October 29, 2014.
Mayor Hall and Council member Schumacher had $9,260 good reasons between them to support their favorite constituent.
As I perused the many other contributions to the campaigns of these two candidates, I noted the number of out of town real estate companies, building and construction firms, and for some unknown reason, the special generosity of the executives of the Rancho Santa Fe Grand Pacific Resorts. I’ll leave that mystery to an investigative reporter, if there are any left after the collapse of print journalism.
The willingness to accept significant contributions from out of town businesses shows the hypocrisy of elected officials who blame “outside interests” for the success of a referendum drive. Click here to find the city’s web page disclosing campaign contributions.
The San Diego County Registrar of Voters has 30 days, not including weekends, to validate the referendum’s signatures to see if there are 6,523, the magic number that will force the city Council to either hold a special election or put Caruso’s plan on the ballot in the 2016 general election.
A few years ago, Carlsbad boasted of a $50 million reserve fund, I’m guessing it’s grown substantially since then. The city says the cost of a special election would be $500,000. Mayor Hall says it would be a waste of money. Considering what’s at stake, I’d say it’s a bargain.
After his 30-year career in public education, Richard Riehl began his second life as a freelance journalist, beginning as an op-ed columnist for San Diego’s former daily newspaper, North County Times. During the 2008 Presidential campaign he edited the Huffington Post’s daily, Roadkill: OffTheBus’s Ongoing RoundUp of the Awkward, the Ugly, and the Just Plain Weird. His articles have appeared in the San Diego Reader’s BlogDiego, Carlsbadistan-Taming The Wilds of Carlsbad-by-The-Sea, and the OsideNews.com. Check out his blog at The Riehl World (theriehlworld2.blogspot.com), email him at email@example.com, and follow him on Twitter, @RichardRiehl.
“How’d you like to pack up and go camping in the Lagunas?”
He didn’t need to ask me twice; I jumped up, packed my things while hub packed up all the camping stuff, and we were out the door almost before our coffee cooled off.
The Laguna Mountains are only about an hour away east from the ocean in San Diego.
Most people go there when we have snow — at 6000 feet, it’s the highest point in the county.
It’s possible to surf in the morning, cross-country ski (or hike) in the afternoon, and drop down into the shimmering desert to experience the best of everything SoCal has to offer.
Late May to mid-June is the time of year when color explodes in the mountains and it’s not too hot to enjoy a strenuous hike while the air cools down comfortably at night.
It’s easy to get here: east on Highway 8 to Sunrise Highway.
We went mid-week before schools were out for summer vacation and we had the mountain pretty much entirely to ourselves.
Fragrant pines, Engelmenn oaks, wildflowers; deep blue sky with a few white puffy clouds.
There aren’t enough adjectives to describe the spectacular views.
We hiked Desert View Trail and Big Laguna Trail, about ten miles or so.
It was truly heaven on earth, one of those experiences where whispering was the only way to communicate-we didn’t want to mar the ultimate reverence for nature.
These are only a sampling of the hundred-plus pics I snapped and none of them do justice to this paradise.
Sometimes we bring a set of old plates and silverware for meals but this time we tried an assortment of amazing new GREEN products that I was sent to sample and review.
In order to make our lives easier (and more guilt-free), Repurpose has created a new line of green, single-use tableware that’s entirely plant-based.
And unlike traditional plastic or even paper items, all Repurpose products are 100% compostable in an industrial composter in 90 days. But they still won’t melt in your hot soup, or warp with cold, wet ice cream!
Some of the other standout features of the Repurpose line are what the products do not contain; all Repurpose products are BPA-free, chlorine-free, petroleum-free and use only soy-based inks.
We loved these products! They’re sturdy and held up nicely for our beans and tortillas with guacamole and salsa, cups of wine to toast this heaven on Earth, and hub’s morning granola with flax milk.
I definitely recommend them for parties, picnics, BBQs (vegan, I hope), and camping excursions.
(I was provided product to sample and review; there was no compensation, and the opinions are my own.)
I’m STILL trying to finish up the EMPOWERING series about my recent camping trip and what it’s like to go on a road trip with an adult son and daughter-in-law (funny), but got news late last night that my erstwhile tugboat man MIGHT be flying home TOMORROW — what’s up with not giving any warning??? — and that changes everything in my world.
I don’t have flight information yet, but all signals point to a positive outcome.
Sheesh, he better not get called back again while we’re driving home from the airport. THAT wasn’t any fun at all. I know that’s the life of a merchant mariner, but it still sucks.
He says he misses me, and I’m sure he DOES, but there’s a HUGE south swell coming this weekend from Hurricane Blanca– we all know what he really misses is SURF.
Now that we’re down to watering only two days a week and no rain, the grass is already brown and all the other plants look stressed and thirsty.
SoCal gardens might not be as lush as those of yours who have enough rain, but there’s a bit of color to be found if you search for it.
Lily of the Nile
(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.