Blog Posts - L.J. Zinkand

The Conception

9/3/2019

I celebrated the new millennium aboard the Conception. Leapt over the side of the boat into pitch black water off the Channel Islands at midnight on January 1, 2000, along with eleven other scuba divers. With multi-colored glow lights clipped to our gear, and underwater flashlights, we looked like a slowly descending Christmas tree as we followed the boat’s anchor line to the bottom, about 55 feet down. There was a round, white light mounted in the bottom of Conception’s hull to find our way back. We wouldn’t be going far. All I could see was what appeared in the path of my flashlight and the lights of the other divers. I swam close to my dive buddy, careful not to lose sight of the soft glow from the bottom of the boat. Spiny California lobsters snoozed in small caves, and Nudibranchs fluttered on nearby rocks. A bright orange Garibaldi loomed out of the darkness, startling me as it peered into my mask with its characteristic furrowed brow. A Soupfin shark slept on the sea bottom like a 1950s Cadillac parked by a rock. We swam past kelp beds, careful not to get caught in the swaying fronds. We eventually circled back and gathered at the anchor, shielding our flashlights and waving our arms to make the tiny bioluminescent plankton swirl in glittering underwater clouds.
We made our way up the anchor line slowly, listening to the soft hum of the Conception’s generator as we took our decompression stops. Reaching the surface, we climbed onto the dive platform and the crew, all dive masters themselves, took our fins and helped us up the ladder, asking, “Have a nice dive?”

The following morning some of the crew would cook us tasty breakfasts made to order as we scanned the shores across the channel and checked our cell phones for signs of the Y2K upheaval that never happened. They cheerfully filled our tanks after each dive and kept the boat neat and tidy. When we saw a school of Barracuda, they made sure the Heart song, “Barracuda,” was playing on the sound system when we came back up.

We would eventually make our way down the stairs to the warm, dry sleeping quarters at night – curtained bunk beds with comfy mattresses, pillows, blankets, and reading lights. I fell asleep each night listening to waves lapping gently against the hull.

I can barely wrap my mind around this unimaginable tragedy.
My only consoling thought is that those lost aboard the Conception experienced the pure joy and beauty of scuba diving during their final days on Earth, and I'm praying that their terror and confusion faded quickly as they moved on to other realms.

I offer my deepest condolences to their families and friends.

Nudibranch

Garibaldi

Kelp Forest

Stirring the Pot

8/15/2019

My latest Letter to the Editor:
On a recent trip north, we encountered what appeared to be a Trump supporter in the breakfast room of our hotel. The morning news was on, carrying the president’s “teleprompter” response to the El Paso and Dayton shootings.
The woman at the table next to us turned and chortled, “He sure is stirring the pot, isn’t he?” We looked at her blankly and went on eating. We’ve accepted that we’re no match for those buying into the ideologies spewed by Fox, Russian-influenced affiliates on social media, and Ol’ Dead-Eyes presidential advisor Stephen Miller.
“It looks like he’s lost a little weight, too,” the woman added, somewhat proudly.
A number of sharp responses sprang to mind, from “Adderall does that,” to “Good grief, lady, don’t you know a crime family when you see one?” And my personal favorite, “You know what floats to the top when you stir a swamp, right?”
But I kept quiet, we half-smiled politely, and she eventually left. Some things just aren’t worth it. Not in a hotel breakfast room.

LJ Zinkand
Medford, OR

To clarify further, when this woman spoke up in the breakfast room, I could almost hear my late mother whisper in my ear, “Be careful – she might be trying to start a fight.”
When the woman stood up and sidled past our table, the crucifix she wore swung broadly in my face, bringing to mind a Sunday school teacher who once told me that God counted every hair on my head. “Does He come back and count again after I’ve brushed my hair?” I’d asked innocently.
A scolding finger wagged in my face and I was reprimanded for “asking stupid questions.”
As an adult, I occasionally wonder if God were that busy counting everyone’s hair, then it stands to reason that He might not have had time to protect us from the likes of despots and terrorists. If He weren’t so busy counting hairs He might even have the time to keep us from endlessly fighting over religion.

These Trump supporters, whom we lovingly refer to as “Trumpanzees,” seem so adamant about their position that they’re willing to throw just about everything we value under a bus to keep this guy in office.
“Is it okay with you that he’s replaced his cabinet with lobbyists from the Oil and Gas industry and rolled back regulations for clean water and air?”
“The economy is doing so well!” they answer.
“Does it bother you that he’s a sexual predator and a cheat who's told more than 10,000 documented lies?” we ask.

Now here’s where their responses vary a bit. Most often, the men begin cursing, calling me things like “Classless bitch,” and “Crazy Cat Lady,” (which is patently false, as we only have five and the unofficial count for CCLs begins at six).
The women, at this point, usually morph into Sunday School teacher mode, which involves the old finger-wagging, “make you wrong” mentality. When pressed further with actual facts, they invariably throw their arms in the air and sputter, “I don’t have time for this!” or “I don’t discuss politics!”

So really, who needs this in a hotel breakfast room, especially the morning after a great concert with Berlin, OMD and The B-52s?

This just in!
Barely 20 minutes after posting this I saw a late model Honda edging slowly up our driveway. They parked and three women got out. One was carrying a Bible. "Hit the decks!" I cried, dropping to the floor in the bedroom. "Jehovah's Witnesses are afoot!" They came up the front walk and knocked a few times before giving up, pressing a small pamphlet in the crack of the door entitled, "Who Really Runs The World?"
Apparently...

She's at it again!

7/3/2019

The party who ran away
Way to go, Republicans, now that you’ve clearly shown yourselves to be the party of shootin’, pollutin’ and Putin.
State legislators can add one more feather to your caps, and a legacy you can share with your children and grandchildren when they ask why you couldn’t uphold one of the most deeply cherished tenets of democracy: The Party Who Ran Away and Hid.
L.J. Zinkand
Medford

https://mailtribune.com/opinion/letters-to-editor/letters-july-3-07-02-2019

"Ya know, in the world of freelance writing where rejection is a way of life, it's always nice to be printed.

Married Ten Years!

6/6/2019

Goofy as ever, at "A Toast For Tails, May 2019."

Ten years ago I thought it was funny that one could use the words "Leanne" and "married" in the same sentence. By age 50, after several failed relationships, I'd considered myself a dedicated hermitess, having spent more time alone than most everyone I knew. "I'll probably learn more about myself by being alone, than in a relationship," I thought bravely.
Ha!
HaHa!
HaHaHaHaHaHa!

We've faced a number of obstacles and challenges, yet here we are, and not without a shyte-ton of work, each one marveling at our partner who, unlike many souls walking the earth, isn't the slightest bit interested in competing with the other.
Mutual appreciation for things goofy and wacky also helps.

We sought counseling when our difficulties seemed insurmountable. Thanks to our therapist who studied at the Gottman Institute, we learned about the "Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse" as regards relationships: Criticism, Defensiveness, Contempt and Stonewalling. Like most people, we had a hearty dose of 'em all, but were willing to work on banishing them. Of course, one of us still blows it now and then and we erupt into a short-lived argument followed by heartfelt apologies and often, dinner out!

When we first reconnected (we were make-out buddies in the drama department of our high school on Long Island, then lost touch for 36 years), I had little appreciation for country music, or the entire state of Texas. Thanks to Wayne, I've been to Austin a number of times, and although I still legitimately turn my nose up at mainstream pop country, I've developed quite a liking for the twang and swing varieties. Plus it's like visiting a whole 'nother country.

Extra points for us: We renovated our house, room by room, while living in it. During that time we survived mental illness, family drama, a few kooky contractors and one huge injury. But we carried on, warts and all. Luckily, we have design, taste, and check-writing skills that compliment each other.

For our 10th Anniversary this year we decided to take a small road trip to the Historic Carousel and Museum in Albany, Oregon, relax in the hotel's indoor pool and spa, and eat the kind foods we rarely do. While we were gob-smacked over the beauty of the carousel and the diversity of animals, alas, we forgot to photograph ourselves...

My Friend Dana

6/2/2019

Twenty years ago today my friend and mentor, Dana Conant, left the planet in a spectacular shower of silver shards, courtesy of a freak hailstorm on Route 36, not far from Susanville, California. Not completely without logic, as both of us liked the color silver, we both drove silver cars, and her graphic design company, Quicksilver Productions, was where we became instant friends the day I began working for her, exactly one year before she left. A year later I would be wallowing in grief, trying to revive and rename the business in Mount Shasta that she left for me.

Luckily, there were plenty of generous souls who helped me carry on, and I named my new company Silverlining Designs. It’s been an amazing time in which I’ve managed to keep some of the same clients for twenty years. This picture lives on the windowsill of my office. Still my mentor, she’s the inspiration, providing the imagined laugh when I need one, and silently reminding me which fonts would be the best for a project.

Would I go back and trade a successful twenty years for the chance to work with her again? You bet.

Runnin’ With The Big Dogs

4/11/2019

Received my first piece of hate mail today! I’ve had more than a half-dozen letters printed in the Mail Tribune this past few years with little to no response. Frankly, I was beginning to feel a little left out. Then on Tuesday, the paper published my recent letter:

A few questions
I’m responding to right-wing complaints that we liberals should accept the fact that Trump won, and “get over it,” rather than express concern over the handling of the Mueller report by Attorney General Barr. While I understand that some of the more staunchly conservative voters would no sooner change their minds about us than the guy on the Garrison’s TV commercial* might possibly show us a piece of his furniture, I’d like to pose to them a few rhetorical questions:
Why did they condemn Obama throughout his eight-year presidency, calling him names such as “Lyin’ African,” and continue to support Trump’s “birther” campaign? An erstwhile Facebook friend even posted a picture of her Chihuahua relieving itself on a picture of Obama one day, to the delight of her conservative friends. When I complained to her, I was met with enough profane insults to cause Alex Jones to shake his head in disbelief. And let’s not forget the woman in West Virginia who eventually hosed herself with a despicable racial slur about Michelle Obama. (Go look it up. I refuse to quote her.)
Does this not constitute the very name-calling and whining they accuse us of?
L.J. Zinkand
Medford

When I got home yesterday, this was in the mail. I knew exactly what it was when I saw my name scrawled on the envelope with no return address:

Yep—it's a Christian-themed hate letter! Ya just can’t make this stuff up. Even though it comes across as basic schoolyard nanny boo-boo, I must have touched a nerve. Someone actually took the time to look up my address, pick out a card and paste those pictures from the internet into it—and they spent a whole Forever stamp on me! The icing on the cake was that they responded exactly in the manner described in my letter.
I’m touched. I really am… I’m runnin’ with the big dogs now!

* There's a local TV commercial here where the guy just talks about his furniture and never shows a single piece. It reminded me of how people on the RR tend to accept things with little regard for the facts.

Shifting Gears

4/6/2019

It’s been a while, I know, but there have been lots of new things germinating over the past few months.
To catch up though, we spent Christmas in Austin, like we usually do. My trajectory was a bit bumpy, and suffice it to say that I am thoroughly finished with getting taxis, or anyone else, to come out to our somewhat rural property to take us to the airport early in the morning. All things considered, it’s just easier to drive there and park in the long term lot.
Upon arriving in Austin my time promptly got t-boned by my biggest client, so I spent part my vacation working and being burned out because of too much work. This client, Black Bear Diners, is now winding down for me, although I am truly grateful for their support. They picked me up when they were a fledgling company in Mount Shasta, stayed with me for twenty fun and largely unsupervised years, (I refer to it as “the perfect middle-child job”), became so wildly successful that I could no longer keep up with the workload, and saw me safely to the border of Full Retirement Age.

Meanwhile, we had a great time in Austin. I finally made it to one of Dale Watson’s Chicken Shit Bingo events. (Don’t worry, the chickens are well cared-for.) We saw lots more great music and friends, and then went down to visit with friends near San Antonio. We visited the McNay Museum, where our friend Mary has become a docent. It’s brilliant and I need to go back because we didn’t have time to see everything.

My Happy Place

Of course, there was plenty of skiing at Mt. Ashland. In fact, this year was right epic as regards snow.

I’ve also finished the first draft of Meteor Falls and am hard at work on revisions and designing the cover.
This is a mere tease of it.

Silverlining Designs will be adding a new division, something which I can only hint at for now. I will give a full disclosure on an upcoming blog entry when I’ve made it through the prototype phase. I will, however, leave you with this summary:
The fun never stops.

The Escape Room

12/12/2018

This was our very first experience in an escape room. I’d won a pair of tickets in The Lantern story-telling contest at the Black Sheep in Ashland, so Wayne and I decided to apply them to our Happy December 1st play date. Since we both spend time in Texas, we felt drawn to the Ramblin’ Rogue Saloon game. Naturally, I did a little preliminary research about escape rooms, so I knew to expect puzzles and code deciphering.

When we arrived, our host, Hannah, dressed in 1880s style, cheerfully explained the process. We were being blamed for a crime we didn’t commit, to be locked in a small jail cell and discover clues that would lead us out and eventually clear our names before the U.S. Marshal came to take us to the gallows!
The saloon is carefully decorated – so well that it felt like we were in a museum.
“We’re too polite!” we kept saying, somewhat ambivalent about rifling through other people's belongings. But ransack, you must!
"Pretend you're looking for chocolate," I suggested to Wayne, as it's difficult to actually keep any in the house. He ferrets the stuff out no matter where I try to hide it.

The clues that emerge are a compelling mélange of codes, problem solving, and the delight that comes with figuring things out together. Hannah, as the bartender, softly suggested clues when we got stuck. I can see where a few more “eyes” might have been helpful and in this process, although the experience was refreshingly engaging with just the two of us.

Smoked In

9/15/2018

Backyard denizen. They like to hang out here in the summer.

With fires surrounding our entire valley, this summer seemed like a bizarro version of cabin fever. The dystopian kind. The air in town was tinted brown on some days, often coupled with a creepy, thrashing wind. People went about with N-95 masks, myself included for several days. Even though Hayleyanne’s Hideaway is up in the hills a bit, this was the first summer we’ve ever had to run air conditioning steadily for an entire month.

So we stayed indoors a lot. I ripped up my office and painted it True Peach. It’s still in the finishing stages, as I am planning for the first time ever in this location, to display a good portion of my fabulous chicken collection.

I wasn’t completely idle as regards writing during this time. I’m (finally) getting close to the first draft of Meteor Falls, honing my skills writing letters to the editor of our local paper. I’ve compiled a number of them, so here are a few of my favorites as collected from the Medford Mail Tribune archives:

May 10, 2017
Adjust tinfoil hats
After reading the Point/Counterpoint article in Sunday, April 30 paper, I respectfully suggest that authors Haskins and Burnett have their tinfoil hats readjusted.
“The number of workers employed full-time has risen by 1.3 million since Trump was elected in November” bears some review. What happened between Nov. 9, 2016 and Jan. 20, 2017 cannot be attributed to the current sitting president. Also, bear in mind that the holiday season accounts for temporary jobs being added to the workforce. Trump had little to do with that, either.
Trump’s recent, somewhat fanciful claim that he “created 600,000 jobs” since taking office can also be dismissed by a few simple facts from the U.S. Labor Department: A total of 219,000 jobs were created in February and 98,000 in March. That makes a total of 317,000 new jobs.
L.J. Zinkand
Medford

July 19, 2017
Trump supporters puzzling
After reading Bill Hartley’s letter of July 15, I would like to suggest that he and his fellow Trump supporters re-acquaint themselves with some basic concepts most Americans share:

Democracy
The Bill of Rights
The Constitution

I find it puzzling that Trump’s supporters can continue to bolster his well-documented lies, multiple cases of adultery and his willingness to reduce taxes for the wealthiest over decent health care, all while pointing a finger of hatred at the rest of us. I also have to wonder how the rights of the unborn can so greatly outweigh those of his fellow citizens.
L.J. Zinkand
Medford

October 30, 2017
Please stop bickering
Yes, sexual predators are creepy and need to be confronted. And I respect the recent national conversation that has ensued. What I find annoying is the attempt to politicize it. One thing to remember is this: Politicians do not always behave the way we want them to, whether they’re Democrat or Republican.
So could we please stop arguing about which one of them did what? This endless bickering does not serve in any way other than to divide us.
Do you have children? Grandchildren? What’s really important to you? The environment they will inhabit as adults? Making sure everyone’s educated enough to be a contributing member of our society? Working together to maintain a strong, intelligent, prosperous country? Or are we bound to descend into interminable disagreement and chaos? We have a choice.
L.J. Zinkand
Medford

December 16, 2017
Had us going
Regarding Doug Dusenberry’s letter of Saturday, Dec. 9, our household wants to thank him for his attempt at comic relief. Gosh — he really had us going for a moment there. At first we thought he was threatening many of us in a public forum.
L.J. Zinkand
Medford

February 20, 2018
Yes, we'll rant
In response to Marilyn Hermant’s letter of Feb. 8, yes, we will continue to rant as long as there is a racist in the White House, thank you very much.
Many of us listened, with a fair degree of distaste, to your heroic leader conducting his endlessly absurd “birther” campaign during the Obama years. And if anyone happened to have missed any State of the Union speeches during that time, with many Republicans behaving like sourpusses, we can supply a number of them.
L.J. Zinkand
Medford
Note: In line 3, my original letter read, "...to your heroic leader..." Somehow, the "y" was removed, so I reinserted it.

May 27, 2018
Trump’s tweets
In the MT’s May 21 issue, Doug Dusenberry suggests not only that you publish our president’s tweets, but that you “try harder” and “dig deeper.”
Although we do not subscribe to cable TV or Twitter, we would have to bury our heads in sand to avoid Trump’s tweets. We see several of them a day on network news and on the internet. On Monday mornings it’s hard to avoid the torrent of puerile weekend “tweet storms” we’d rather not have to revisit in the paper.
But, as a faithful subscriber to the MT, I thought I’d put in my 2 cents and dig deeper on your behalf, to better understand the person who is currently acting as our President. What I found was a profusion of Trump endeavors prior to his presidency: Trump Airlines, Trump Vodka, Trump Mortgage, Trump Casinos, Trump Steak, Trump Magazine, and Trump University. All ended in failure, some with continuing litigation.
When I add to these the more than 3,000 documented lies he’s told our country since his inauguration, I have to ask Mr. Dusenberry, have I dug deep enough?
L.J. Zinkand
Medford

July 7, 2018
Lake of fire awaiting?
I’ve been noticing a tendency for some of our more deeply devoted Christian brethren to threaten us liberals with a “burning lake of fire” if we don’t conform to their ideology. In the small Lutheran church I attended as a child, I cannot remember feeling constrained by this kind of wrath. My most vivid memory is a banner that read “God is Love” hanging next to the altar. So I consulted a King James Version Bible and found that indeed, in Revelation 21:8, such a lake imperils the very worst of us (as in “whoremongers”… ahem-hem?).
Considering we have a leader with the apparent emotional maturity of an 8-year-old who excels in glorifying despots, alienating our closest allies, ginning up his base with falsehoods and emboldening hateful extremists, with no real plan to recover several thousands of missing children, I have to wonder if we’re already hovering dangerously over that burning lake of fire.
LJ Zinkand
Medford

Year of the Cart

7/15/2018

After 14 years of mowing our 2-acre front yard with a push mower, which often took between 12 to 14 hours, I opted for a riding mower a few years ago. A real John Deere tractor. Sure, I once rationalized using the push mower: Why pay for a gym membership when I can just mow the lawn and weed-whack? But, a couple of years ago, after The Great Fall of 2014 it became unpleasant to plod back and forth on the uneven terrain of our sloping yard, so I made the switch. My rationale shifted 180° to: Why push a lawnmower all day when I can go to the gym?

Don’t get me wrong - I love my wood-gathering chores, as I get to spend more time out on the property cleaning up our forest and stock-piling wood for the winter. I can still swing a pretty mean chain saw and mauling ax. It was the uphill pushing of wheelbarrows full of wood that was taking its toll on the both of us, actually.

So this year I ordered the official John Deere Utility Cart to go with my tractor. Assembly took about 2 hours. You wouldn’t believe how much fun it is to haul that firewood uphill with a tractor! I even bought myself a slope gauge. It’s another great tool added the homestead we fondly call Hayleyanne’s Hideaway.

I’ve also decided it’s time to stop struggling against aging. With any luck, it’s going to happen anyway. I just have to find a way to relax into it. As of last week, I received my first Shot-That-Blythe-Danner-Sells-On-TV. My bones need a little help and I’ll admit that I’ll do just about anything to stay active for as long as possible.

So there was that. Plus, the other day when arriving at the gym, there was a gaggle of young, 11-ish girls coming out the door. I held the door open for them just long enough to hear one girl remark, rather cheekily, “You’re old.”
Ah, young one, you’ve no idea with whom you’re dealing. But, mindful of unleashing a torrent of retaliatory snark lying dormant in the scar tissue of junior high school on Long Island, I decided a quick, derogatory snort was all that was required. After all, parents and staff were in the vicinity.
Later, as I pumped iron, noticing those body parts no longer as tight as they used to be and my pink-tinted, “arctic blonde” hair I decided, Well, yeah – of course I’m aging, and I may have to start taking things down a peg or two – but I’m still having a blast and I get lots of discounts on stuff!

It’s time to make this mellowing stage my ally and have some fun with it. A lawn cart definitely helps. And meanwhile, thank you, budding young snot-piggy from the gym, for pushing me through that final layer of denial.