Color me Autumn

Courtesy Merriam Webster Dictionary

My parents often like to say how lucky I am to live where I do, and I do agree, but if there is one thing that I wish we had in California it is Autumn.   California has three seasons:  Fire, Earthquake and Mud.   Okay, I am slightly joking, but when I see places awash with snow or Autumn leaves (that I don't have to rake up myself) I wish it happened where I live.   There's something endemic about October and November that says that they should be cool or cold.   Instead they've been blisteringly warm for as long as I can remember.   Invariably Halloween is a chilly 90 degrees at night, whereas when I was a kid I remember it being much cooler.  Perhaps that is just wishful memory.

I find myself thinking of places like Nikko where there seemed to be a sea of Autumn, where it felt like a true fall surrounded me.   Such places were invigorating, not only because they were in a country I loved but because they were something I don't get to experience much anymore if at all.   I think that as humans we are meant to see and experience the seasons, or at least some of us are.  There are plenty who can live in the deserts forever and not be bothered by the starkness or the heat.   I'm not one of them, but I have experienced such places too and felt something unique about that environment that spoke to me as a human being.

Maybe it is just man and nature.  With Covid plans for travel have gone awry and I've been stuck in a loop of the same things day in and out.   Work often feels like the same thing I did for 15 years.   It is easy to feel alone when you have no peers to talk to everyday, no real escape.  Growing up, I could make my own worlds and people to talk to, but its been a struggle to be creative for a few years now.   The one spark I had was through an extended vacation, and that is difficult to do now.  

So I find myself blue in Autumn, yearning for warm colors and cool breezes to lift me up and carry me away.

9/11/2021

\    Sometimes emotions run raw when we think back to events in our life.  There are seminal moments that mark a generation that future generations might not be able to comprehend.  For my grandparents, Pearl Harbor was such an event, but for me Pearl Harbor was just history.  I knew about it, I respected the history I was told and the outcome of the attack on the United States at that time.   Growing up I never thought I would see such an event in my own lifetime.  

Trouble in paradise

 

It seems like every day I wake up to some terrible news filtering in from the world.  Cable networks are full of it, a constant and consistent drum beat of terrible events and terrible situations near and far.  It's gotten to the point that I stop listening to the news because I either hear diatribes or dire news.   But all is certainly not lost, at least, that is the hope.

I am reminded of a visit to Lake Tahoe about Thanksgiving last year.  At the time I was grappling with some issues related to my job.  Covid was in full swing and years of lack of movement or promotion had piled one atop another like leaden blankets that threatened to suffocate me.  The CO19 wasn't helping anything, and the same rote of cleaning rooms that were already clean was driving me nuts, so my family and I absconded to Tahoe as we often do.

The city we stay in was virtually empty, which was nice, and the weather was warmer than I was hoping (I wanted to see some snow and fall colors but this is California.)   I decided to take a walk along the south shore and came upon the above sign.   It was on the side of the Casino on a marquee and proudly proclaimed "Welcome back to paradise."     The s in paradise had gone kilter.  

I remember considering how nice the weather was, how lucky I was to be there even considering everything going on, "What a perfect analogy for how I feel.  Trouble in paradise."  It made me laugh and I took the picture because how could I not?   It was just one of those funny little lifetime situations that's quirky enough to snap you out of your funk, while still maintaining the breadth of the situation.  

So today, as I awake at 4 AM with troubled thoughts swirling in from a nighttime of bad news, I think of this sign and hope that maybe today will be better.

Travels in Japan - Fushimi Inari, A Cheeseburger and Mobile Wifi

  

There's few places on Earth that I've visited that have left such an indelible impression as Fushimi Inari.  I've covered my thoughts on this shrine dedicated to Worldly Wealth, Foxes and Rice (Mainly Foxes) before on my blog, so there's not much more to re-iterate on second visit.   Or is there?  Looking back I realized I began this endeavor cataloguing my second visit to Japan on April 2, 2016.   Between then and now there've been any number of snafu's from Google + nixing my original blog because I dared double post one day to Google + being deleted by Google itself, to job changes, other trips, Covid, etc.   It's been a long wild ride, and yet here I am looking back on something almost 5 years ago.

I look at these pictures, half a world away, and despite it all, I am transported back then, back to my second visit.  I was anxious to go back, partly because my camera at the time was on the fritz and half of my pictures did not turn out well at all.   Thank goodness they did this time.  There were other reasons too, I wanted to revisit my friends the foxes, and they were still there waiting patiently in their hundreds.   It is interesting to see each one, and while many bear a similarity, one can find a dynamic difference between each one.  

Another reason to visit is the location itself.  The colors are striking, red (or vemillion) on white, with a few other spare colors between.  These are shinto colors, colors of something sacred, and nestled here and there one finds little foxes like our friend below.  

One might laugh at the so called superstitions of other religions, and then one realizes ones own beliefs in oneself or greater power are no lesser or greater than these.   I boldly touched a statue after explaining that this is not usually done due to a superstition and proceeded to fall down a few sets of stairs.   Not recommended.  

When it comes to foxes, invariably there are five standard similarities.  They all usually have a red bib, they all usually bear a key or a jewel, they all sit on pedestals, and they all look just about ready to eat you alive.  Their eyes are distinctly fearsome, even when they seem playful like the one below, and the best ones are poised as if in mid movement, again like the one below.  In fact, this particular statue and fountain is my favorite of all the foxes of Inari.   It sits at a spring I don't know the name of, with a sprig of fresh bamboo always in its mouth.   It almost looks like its ready to slide ride on into the pool below.  

Another interesting thing about the mountain, besides the innumerable torii gates which I've talked about before are what I call Torii Villages.  These are little nooks and crannies where stone torii, shrines and wooden torii are clustered in such numbers as to look like the skyline of the Tokyo cityscape.  You might almost call them fox villages.

Like before, I wanted to visit the kind folks who had made me a torii gate and festooned it with blessings once before and thankfully they were still there and still open.  I don't expect they remembered me at all, considering the thousands of villagers everyday, but they are such good kind people and I was very grateful for the gentleman's work and the lady's presence. 

One thing I did change was visit another shop that had little wooden carved foxes in fanciful display, doing various normal human tasks.  My favorite was the second one below, which I brought home and features a fox and its little friend waving and welcoming someone.   I thought of my two fox characters in my book when I saw this and figured it was fate I stumbled on them.  

There are other, smaller foxes if one knows where to look, peeking behind pillars and posts, standing a silent vigil by the thousands.

Most visitors will stand arrested by the Torii, but half the battle of enjoying them is waiting a chance to snap a picture.  Out of maybe 100 pictures, I have four that show the full magnificence of these Torii hallways stretching out for what seems time immortal.  

Light plays important part of Fushimi, and I once spoke about the dangers of nighttime there.  By day the lamps rest on the Torii as a reminder of the evening to come.   After a full day, my family was tired and hungry, so we had a tradition to enjoy.   

I don't know if there's something about an American style cheeseburger with fries in japan that makes it so rewarding to get one, but My God, after Japanese food and a lot of walking this burger at Kyoto Station or Osaka Station (I cannot remember which one) was delicious.   The last time we were in Kyoto we did McDonalds, and getting a burger has become something of a tradition.  My Dad also took this time to share a picture of the little wifi mobile hotspot we used.  These are a lifesafer in Japan, allowing us to get wifi for finding our way on the road.   I cannot stress enough how important and useful these are to the traveler in Japan, especially when you're not 100 percent on where your going.  That 99 percent might be good, but its the 1 percent chance that can make a difference.

Returning to our hotel in Osaka overlooking the Castle, we found an enormous crowd gathered to enter the local venue.  I did a little investigation and these are all women, all gathered to see a local pop group.  What was weird was they were there when we left, and we came back and all the while I only saw them taking pictures with cardboard cutouts of their boy band idols.  I don't know or have any idea if they actually had a concert.   It was just another slice of Japan that I could watch from a window and gratefully admire without actually participating in.

"Over the Garden Wall" a Modern Day American Fairy Tale

 

Years ago, while perusing the evasive pursuit of good television that so often evades me I came upon an animated television show on Cartoon Network.  At first, the style and the story were -not- my cup of tea, I couldn't understand who or what was going on.  The show called "Over the Garden Wall' featured two boys in a strange wonderland of very odd creatures and situations.  The show debuted in the fall, almost right around the time of Halloween, and I remember thinking, "why on earth would someone want to watch a show where one of the main characters wears a teapot on his head for no apparent reason, and talks to a rock, and the other dresses like a garden gnome," and clicked off the channel.

A week later a friend I knew online was gushing about the show, how I had to watch it.  I told her that I couldn't understand why someone would watch something so weird and she said to be patient and watch it through.  So I did, and to this day this animated set of shorts is one of my favorite fall pleasures and I am not alone, there are hundreds and perhaps tens of thousands who bush about this mini-series.

There was indeed a reason that the boys dressed as they did and I was an idiot not to recognize that the new show came out on Halloween for a reason.  I won't spoil that reason here, but as I watched I realized that the story was something of a modern American Fairy Tales, and a dark fairy at that, inspired by the likes of "Sleepy Hollow" and "Rip Van Winkle."   

The show has a fantastic ensemble cast including Elijah Wood as one of the main characters, and Christopher Lloyd as the character of "The Woodsman".  It also has one of the best soundtracks I have heard for media bridging blues, folk, classical, gospel, even good old R&B.   Almost every song had me invested into it as much as I got into the story of the show itself.

The story is a classic heroes' journey, two brothers find themselves in a strange otherworld on Halloween Night and try to find their way home with the help of a local girl transformed into a bluebird.  The genius of the show shines through in little bits, like the part where the aforementioned teapot is something the younger brother uses to try to make himself look like an elephant (with the spout becoming a trunk).  This is something I could imagine an actual kid to do, and his innocence and purity contrasts the more dour and serious older brother.  

The brothers meet some very interesting allies, creatures that seem right out of a fairy tale from talking animals to odd humans who think nothing strange of the weird situations that surround them. Much of the story seems to take place at different times of history, and it is distinctly American in set pieces that include a paddleboat, Yankee tavern, etc. There's marks of Mark Twain here too in the characters of talking and singing frogs, and it wouldn't be out of place to expect Tom Sawyer to appear at some point to take part in the story.   Indeed this almost feels like a Twain story, especially some of the darker parts.

Most episodes are self-contained, with the brothers influencing events to better the lives of the people they meet, while at the same time we see their own lives changing.   We see the older brother is troubled, and we see the younger brother trying to help him.  Its a sweet relationship, very realistic and relatable for a "kids show."  One can find many themes in this coming-of-age story: love and loss, death and life, depression and hope, bonds of family, betrayal and forgiveness and the innocence of childhood against the troubles of the world.

Everything is up in the air, and like Alice in Wonderland there is beauty in the bizarre.   Of course, such a dark fairy tale isn't such without a good villain and this show has it in the form of "The Beast."  We never see the beast, not fully, save for a huge looming figure with horns and blazing eyes.  It's insidious presence is whispered here and there, and there's even a song at one point warning the boys about him.  What we do get of the beast is mostly at the end, and his interactions with Christopher Lloyd's character.

The insidious nature of the relationship of Beast and Woodsman is something best not spoiled, but sufficed to say, the Beast has a particular interest in the lost souls like the two boys who wander into his wood.  The boys are lost in more ways than just physically, and there are strong tones about death, loss and the beauty of the fleeting moments of life scattered throughout the season.  The sweetest moments come when you see the power of the two brother's bond in the climax.  

I would recommend those who enjoy a good story, good songs to watch this series close to Halloween.   Sure the show is weird, very weird.  Sure its dark, and sometimes scary, but both these aspects are no more or less so than the classic tales I mentioned before.  Each episode is only about 10 minutes and with ten episodes, it equals out to one long movie.  You will not be disappointed.

(Picture courtesy of Wikipedia Commons.)

Why I Miss Google +

 There was a time I looked forward to blogging, to getting my thoughts and ideas out there and seeing the interactions with people.  I looked forward to the chance to share and read what others shared.   That was not so long ago, on Google Plus.    

I've shared my thoughts on Google and its problems before.  Other than its troubling political leanings (at least in my opinion) Google made a very curious decision to cancel its sharing platform.   Google Plus was a great way to find communities, but now that's long gone, and I find it much harder to find equal thoughts and footing.  I have ebbed onto other things, such as MeWe, and stayed away from certain things such as Tumblr simply because of its reputation.     Facebook gets hacked every other day with no consequence.  The list of viable alternatives is very limited.

For me writing is as much about the anticipation of reaction as much as the action of writing itself.  I can spin a world of ruin or creation with just a few lines.   Google caused other problems in the past too, nixing a blog of mine with a false flag of spam because of a mistake and of course, Google had no way to contact and appeal my concern.   Sound's a lot like what I hear about youtube ... oh wait, its owned by the same company.

A friend of mine called this new era the start of the true Corporate overculture.  You can see this sort of idea in Blade Runner's envisioned future with huge and faceless corporations overseeing the consumer masses even as they grow more poor and desperate.   Meanwhile, the overlords get richer and more disassociated from humanity.   Of course, I also realize the irony of this statement and making it on a Google Platform Blog.   

I realize I use Google pathways to search, and Google email for work and other things.   There's a simplicity in the easiest and largest way to do a thing.   I can decry what they've done wrong, and yet I can also long for one thing they got right.   For a chance to reach out, have a community, a chance to interact, react and grow.   Maybe something will develop in the future, improving my opinion again.

Image courtesy of Wikipedia Commons:  https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/e/e9/Google%2B_logo.svg/250px-Google%2B_logo.svg.png

Misadventures in Scouting - A Stone's Throw

When your in Boy Scouts you get to go to a lot of remarkable places if your lucky.  I've been up and down the California Coast, from Death Valley to Alcatraz, from my own backyard in summer to the coldest winter wonderlands.  One of the highlights of most Boy Scout retinues is the summer trip where the troop or group will gather together the funds to go to a summer camp.   There are several great camps in California, and many not so great ones.  I have several stories from a not so great one, but today's story takes place at a great one, in fact one of the most famous in California.

Situated several miles off the Southern California Coast, Catalina is one of the most famous islands of what is called Channel Islands National Park.  It was a haven of the rich and wealthy in the boom years of Hollywood and today its an escape from the horizontal sprawl and concrete plain that is Los Angeles.   To get there is a rather bumpy boat ride, a dire prospect for someone so prone to sea-sickness as I am.  Dramamine is a must, but once you arrive on Catalina you find harborage in Avalon, the largest city (and the only one) on the island.  

Our destination was Emerald Bay, a Boy Scout Camp famous in California for its proximity to the ocean and a distinctly nautical (pirate) theme.   This is not to say you can expect Captain Hook here, but the camp is right on the ocean with its own beach along with hiking trails along bluffs overlooking the pacific ocean.  With good food, great activities and a chance to mingle with fellow scouts, its a fantastic camp, probably the second best camp I ever went to.   

One of the highlights is a chance to camp overnight on a beach with barbecue and stories   Its quite the thing because you hike to this secluded bay which is covered in these pebbles and spend all day playing around in the ocean.  By the time night comes, you don't even notice the billions of rocks that become a warm wonderful cradle for you as you fall asleep.  

Of course, with rocks comes the inevitable urge to throw rocks into the ocean which is where our story comes from.   For the sake of humor, we will call our subject Mark Heffburg.  Mark was an interesting guy, one whom I will tell another story of in the future.   He was not possessed of the greatest humor, though his Dad was one of our scoutmasters growing up and had a great one.  He was a bit uptight, but he had interesting viewpoints which cut through our childish fun.

There I was, tossing stones into the oceans and Mark decided to chime in with the way Mark always did by saying, "Well gee that rock spent a million years getting up here, now its back where it started."

At the time I remember thinking, "Seriously?" but honestly he was right.  Those stones I was throwing had taken who knows how long to reach there and here I was tossing them right back into the ocean without a care in the world.   Now and forever when I see stones on the beach, or someone throwing stones I think of Mark's comment at Emerald Bay.   Perhaps in another million years someone will pick up the same stone and throw it right back.

(Image Courtesy of Shutterstock: https://ak.picdn.net/shutterstock/videos/21662668/thumb/1.jpg)

The New Prohibition

 

Author's Note:  The following is a work of fiction and not meant to represent anyone person or thing.  It is meant to spit in the eye of 2020.

_________________________________________________________________________________

It was a day just like any other in America, 2021.   I had my usual proclivities; yoga at home, making sure my kids Zoom wasn't frozen and they weren't screwing around, and staying at least 20 feet away from Karen who goes around without her mask as she walks her annoying little dog.   The pantry was full of at least fifteen years worth of toilet paper that I got back in '20 when the big one hit Costco.  I still remember making the run, five miles uphill with a shopping cart in both directions, the TP piled so high you'd think it reach the stratosphere.  Those were the dark days.    Things weren't much better now.   

Every time someone slightly coughs you'd better expect everyone to duck and cover, tuck their head between their legs so far you'd think they were kissing their own butt goodbye.  No shave September was a bust, and if I was lucky a dame would have an extra pack of N95's from China in my favorite colors down at the hardware store in six months.  It's gotten to the point I don't remember my own wife's face anymore, but don't tell her I said that.

Which brings me here today, this dark alleyway on the wrong side of town.   See, there's one major thing I need, something that'll get me and everyone else involved in trouble if the Feds catch on.  Since the plague, it's gotten rarer and rarer, more precious than gold.   That's why I'm here, behind the pet store with the rest of the garbage.

A steel door with a slit set into the dirty brick greets me.   The instructions were clear and I knock three times.  The slit opens and a wrinkled set of eyes greets me.  "Yeah waddya want?"  The woman's voice is rough, probably tinged from long hours trying to make end's meet. 

"I'm here for the stuff."  I hiss.   "Jimmy Two-times sent me."

"Jimmy Two-times?   That slacker no good grifter owes me for Tuesday."  She scoffs.  "Ya got the stuff?"

"I do," I say lifting up a recycled paper grocery bag I stole from the store.   Time was we had to pay ten cents for these things here in California.  Now everyone's too afraid of dying to notice or care about a stupid bag.  

"The good stuff," I continue, bringing out a bottle of clear liquid.  "Pure 99.9 percent antibacterial with aloe."

"Yeah, I got fourty of those,"  She says.  "What else?"

"I got an extra sleeve or two of toilet pa-" 

She cuts me off mid word, "Kid I got enough toilet paper to build the pyramids."   

I don't say anything.   "Well, I pay by card not cash.  But if your hard up, I got some dimes and-"

Those dark, narrow eyes widen.  Dimes are almost extinct now after all.   "Dimes?   I could use em.   Last week customer came in, didn't have a card, had to give him a hundred pennies."    There's a sound of a few dozen bolts, a latch, a heavy metal and metal sound.  A small Japanese lady with pink house slippers and her hair in curlers stands there about waist height to me.  

"Come in quickly.   Were you followed?"

"No, I made sure."    Its a back room of the groomers, lots of dog treats in boxes where they've been since March of 20 when the end came.   There wasn't any rapture, and the four horsemen might have been preferable to Groundhog day.

"This way,"  She says, going over to a door.   She knocks twice.   A knock comes back and the door opens.   A round African American woman with cokebottle glasses greets me. 

There's tables set up where the groomers used to be, but what's different from grooming a dog and a person in this day and age?   The curtains are drawn and everything's dark enough you'd think a roadflare would be lost.   Everything's perfectly clean though, neatly arranged, waiting for the dogs and owners to come back in.   The few customers inside are all at least 6 feet apart, masked.  The proprietors are all masked.   Not a month ago, this was fine, they were following procedure set out by our Dear Leaders.  The world was burning down, but this was fine.   

"Take a seat,"   she says.  I notice her nametag reads "Damia."  

"Thanks for letting me in Damia."  I say.

"Yeah, yeah no problem.  Now what's it going to be?  A little off the top or take it all?"

"Shear it, give me the New Zealand special."    I say.  She nods and gets to work, carefully lifting my mask.

"Got to hand it to you, glad to see that someone can still do this, pretty hard when the Feds keep moving the goal posts."   I start.   Then seeing her stare at me down through her glasses, I realize I'm supposed to be quiet now, hold my breath.  Don't want the creeping crud to possibly escape if I maybe, possibly have it.    I grumble to myself.  My last four tests all came back negative.   It's gotten to the point you can shove a palm tree up my nose and it might still tickle though.

Before long, the floor's littered so much of my brown hair you'd think I was a yeti. I feel about 20 pounds lighter.  At least now I can see without binoculars perched on my nose to get around my own dreads.  

"That'll be fourty-thirty nine,"  Damia says without skipping a beat.  I've gotten used to such prices to get a spot for a haircut.  I call it this whole ordeal French Laundry system back home, but I don't dare to make that joke here.   It's still too soon.

I nod and reach into one pocket to pull out my gloves, slipping them on.  Then into another to get the tongs I always use, gingerly fishing out my card from the wallet.   Damia takes it with the trepidation of someone trying to handle red-hot uranium.   Soon enough deed's done.  There's no need for a receipt, that's just another risk.  

"If someone asks, you tell 'em that we're planning to open 2025."   The owner tells me as she shows me the back door.   I nod, glad at least there wasn't a raid.   Last week I heard the bar down the street got fined fourteen-thousand dollars for letting a guy inside to check for termites.   They offered him a bottle of water and that was their first and last mistake.

As I head out the alley, mask on and hoodie up, no one will hopefully recognize me.  I slip in, six feet apart from the next person in line at Trader Joes down the street to wait and buy a barrel of milk for sixty bucks.