|
In the Medford Mail Tribune Letters to the Editor, Sept. 17:
Happy to agree Thank you, Carl F. Worden, for your letter of Sept. 8 regarding open carry. I’m so happy we agree on something! Nothing screams “I’m compensating” louder than a guy packing heat in a grocery store or a restaurant. Plus, my dad taught me how to shoot a .22 when I was 10, so not all us liberals want to overturn the 2nd Amendment — it’s the assault rifle thing that’s a bit extreme. I bet our factions might agree on other things, too. Perhaps we could put our heads together to set term limits for Congress, or work to end their lifetime salaries and Cadillac healthcare once they leave office. It’s worth a try. LJ Zinkand Medford Ever since I could talk, I've used my Mom's colloquialism of "us kids," or in this case, "us liberals." People have corrected me, but like the expression "you guys," I can't seem to shake it. I have, however, stopped calling our refrigerator the "icebox."
0 Comments
 This marks the 5-year anniversary of The Great Fall of 2014.
Long story short, today I picked up my newly sharpened chains from Crater Chain Saw (which I refer to as “The Toy Store”) before heading to the gym for a fast and furious workout. ’Nuff said. Physically, I’m over it in a big way. But karma can be so opportunistic. My accident prompted a much-needed, deep cleanse of things about my life that weren’t really working, although I tried to remain painfully loyal for as long as I could. Do I appreciate it? Sure, I guess. Parts of it were really ugly. Made me feel a bit like Dorothy in Oz while strong opinions, armchair psychology and “You Need Tos” swirled around me like litter on a windy day. I was incapacitated. Wayne was apparently too compromised mentally, to care for me in a way others felt best (even though he cheerfully put on my compression stocking every morning, pushed my then-hefty body up the walkway after doctors’ visits, and assisted with the various contractors). Our kitchen was down to its studs. “Meh,” I shrugged, attaching insulation in the kitchen from my wheelchair. The paint job I completed from the wheelchair could use a few touch-ups, but it still holds up. I actually had fun doing these things while listening to The Moth Radio Hour and playing movie favorites like Contact and Trading Places. Back then our house was in more trouble than I was. I wouldn’t be deserting it, or my husband. Sometimes working through tragedy with a headstrong attitude helps, although it may just be a Taurean thing. Or having toughed out many storms on a boat in my youth. Or, if you’re into the Enneagram, a 6 thing. I've dabbled in this art for years and always identified as a 6 (the Loyalist). Five years later, all things considered, I've decided to shift myself from a 6 with a strong 7 wing to a 7 (enthusiastic, epicurean) with a strong 6 wing. Not sure if this would pass muster in actual Enneagram circles, but hey, it's my life. I can still be loyal on a case-by-case basis, but I’ve got too many fun projects in the works these days to make it a full time thing.  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 |
Here's where I expound on whatever I'm passionate about at the time. I welcome your comments, as long as you're not hateful, a terrorist, or attempting to pedal work-at-home offers.
Archives
March 2024
|
RSS Feed
Proudly powered by Weebly