After my rambles yesterday, we sat at home trying to be cool and continue to observe energy conservation to avoid rolling brown or black outs (i don’t guess you can have a “white out” except in company of the not so polite of which i’ve been included for a large portion of my life). Between three and nine post meridiem on a rare day where the thermometer reached 101, Southwest corner residents were urged to keep the air conditioning up to 78: no problem for us as we only have a small portable one which we turned off, to minimize water usage because of the power required to run the pumps, keep the refrigerator and freezer doors closed (hmm, wonder who leaves them open?), turn off pool filters (again no problem: we don’t have a pool), and turning off all unnecessary lights off: guilty as we left several on to read and walk safely.

We never really got hot. Of course, we weren’t too cool either.

We were a bit worried about wildfires, and one lit off about three yesterday afternoon. Jatapul Valley is about twenty miles northeast from us. As i write, the “Valley Fire” has burned 4,000 acres with no containment yet, primarily due to the rough hill, mountain, and dry terrain makes access difficult, especially in heat reaching well over 100 degrees in that neck of the woods. Mount Miguel blocked my view from seeing flames reaching 80-feet high yesterday, but i saw plenty of smoke, dark menacing clouds rising above the crest of my Mount Miguel.

We are safe for now. The winds are blowing north to northeast, away from us. Our home is situated where a wildfire would have to be weird and huge to get to us. Nearly all of these conflagrations start in the east and move westward. It would take some powerful gymnastics for embers to leap from the east to our home due to all of the houses and infrastructure between us and a fire from that direction. We have open space, high desert vegetation (a culprit to abetting these fires) to the west but any fire would have to do some very strange things to get to our property. It could happen, but it’s not likely.

Today is a repeat of yesterday, supposedly cooling down will begin late this evening. Fire season is upon us.

A danger to put up with in the Southwest corner, and a lot of California.

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While in this keep-cool stage, Maureen found a Netflix movie last night. i was reading and writing but stopped to watch. The Way brothers directed the documentary, “The Battered Bastards of Baseball,” the story of how Bing Russell, an actor known mostly for his “Bonanza” role as Deputy Sheriff Clem Foster and the father of Kurt Russell, created the Portland Mavericks, the only independent baseball team in the country at the time (1970’s).

The story is captivating on its own. i kept shaking my head as it kept demonstrating the greed and pomposity of Major League baseball, something i’ve been ranting about for several years.

It is also heartwarming with a sad ending and then a good victory before the actual conclusion. i won’t divulge too much here because i think all of you should watch it. In addition to bolstering my complaints about MLB, it just flat made me feel good, it actually happened. It also is pretty much a commentary on how we operate today in our country.

However, i will point out the Sonoma Stompers (wine country, get the name?) are in the mold of the Mavericks. i sure wish i was watching them today with Alan Hicks and our score cards.

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To get some exercise and not melt on the road, i went for my run/walk a.k.a. fartlek (i love that name) early this morning. It was pleasant. But it also made me scratch my head.

The neighborhood watch bunch decided to run a contest for the area’s most beautiful yard. They have put up signs in the yards of “contenders” for the final award at the end of the month. We were already aghast when a home on our cul de sac sported a “contender” sign. We have always considered it garish and looking fake.

Then on my journey this morning, i took stock of the contenders. At least 90% of the contenders sport artificial turf: you know, fake grass. Those without the fake stuff boast plants not native to the area and certainly not in keeping with water conservation. There are no contenders with native plants or drought tolerant (called “xeriscape” around here) landscapes.

Now we happen to have drought tolerant landscape. i think it’s beautiful, naturally beautiful. i really don’t have any beef about fake grass, it is a good way to conserve water (and mowing). But to me, it still looks fake.

i’m just amazed that these judges think fake is beautiful. It seems to be the wave of taste today in many things.

Guess i don’t fit in, but if they had put a “contender” sign on our yard, it would not likely last more than a couple of minutes.

Curmudgeons rule, at least among some old folks.

And i is one.

There was this feeling of…how do i describe it adequately?

Stillness, maybe. Peace is in there also. It was out there, but i also could feel it inside me innards. That’s not quite it, but maybe you understand. It was one of those times i’m not quite sure if i just thought of it or someone from my life no longer around is really speaking to me.

Peace and calm. Yeh, that may be it.

It was about 5:45 this morning. i had quietly left our bedroom to allow her to continue to sleep around five. She doesn’t sleep as hard as i do, nor does she, or very few people i know ordinarily arise between 4:30 and 5:00: just an old man who went to sea for quite a while, i guess. She would sleep for another ninety minutes or so. Good.

i performed my morning ablutions, fed the cats, organized the kitchen, checked the weather, email, and text messages. Somewhere in there, i began to realize the sun was rising later. i went out to retrieve the newspaper.

It was about 5:45 as i noted earlier, or about five minutes past first light, one of my favorite moments of the day. The day was announcing it presence in a red-orange hue, a shawl over the shoulders of Mount Miguel, my daily reminder of the Navajos’ hogan front doors facing east to worship the sun rising. i looked up at the lightening sky and was surprised to find Venus hanging there east, southeast, high up against the light blue gray. i turned to my right to find Sirius and Rigel holding out against succumbing to the dawn. Turning more,  i saw the moon still claiming its presence and above it,  Mars joining the resistance against the last gasp of summer clamoring to claim its space, clamoring a fierce denial of decline with 100 degree heat projected by mid-day. A couple of days of that last gasp facing us like a bear pontificating futilely, not a great prospect for those who rejected air conditioning.

But the bear had not roared yet. There was a cool quiet breeze. The neighborhood, like Maureen, was asleep. This peace, this stillness came over me like a white organza cloth. With all of the turbulence disturbing my world, it was a wonder to feel the calm in the middle of the storm, like in the eye of the hurricane but somehow above it.

i decided someone was talking to me. i wished it would continue, knowing it would not, for i had things to do.

Like make the breakfast run. Every week or so, i make a run to Donny’s Café, down the hill. The main purpose is to get my whole bean coffee to gratify my snobbish French press coffee fix

Columbian is preferred but Donny’s blend is almost as good: his coffee for Café Moto is roasted fresh each morning. But not today. Today is for Maureen’s sesame seed bagel with cream cheese, Sarah’s everything bagel with cream cheese, and my lox and bagel (onion bagel preferred, everything the norm since somehow onion bagels are dwindling in supply, and the lox is not really, but fresh salmon and with tomato, avocado, and capers). Donny is one of my favorite folks in Bonita. A local, he left for a while to be  a professional bike racer in Spain before coming home and opening a kiosk outside his parents’ bicycle shop. When his parents sold the business, part of the deal was to create a small cafe on the back side of the building where Donny and his wife Rosie have been operating to a large and appreciative group of locals ever since. i first met Donny at his kiosk in the middle 90’s when i would go to work early and get his coffee en route. Donny is a good man. He is friendly, always helpful and a good Christian in the best sense of the word.

i come home to Maureen rising and we eat outside before the bear roars. Maureen fills the birdbath, and the birds in a goodly number began flocking to the nearby coral tree, some already venturing to the birdbath while we eat and read the newspaper.

Sarah rises and finds her cold brew coffee and bagel. Last night, she went to Heather’s house to watch the Disney debut of “Mulan” in a sort of celebration. (Heather and Johnny are engaged. Sarah and Heather have been close friends since high school). Sarah wore her grandmother’s kimono robe to play her part.

We perform our outside tasks before the bear really roars, preparing to hunker down with a closed, wonderfully insulated house (thank to Maureen). AC may not help anyone later today as rolling “brown outs” are more than likely throughout Southern California for the next several days.

And i contemplate, or contemplate as much as an old curmudgeon can contemplate. Yesterday was my nephew’s forty-first birthday. Tommy Duff is as close to a son as i have. i am proud of him. Maureen and i agree he has grown up to be a really good man. Of course, he is into sports journalism, and i did my share of that. This is Tommy and Sarah in 1992, our first Christmas on Signal Mountain, our go-to tradition.

The house is shuttered. Fans and the one portable air conditioner are heaving heartily. We will shut most of them down around three this afternoon to do our part in energy conversation. i have threatened to go shopping at Costco and just wander in the produce section, the coldest place on earth except for San Francisco in July. But it is an empty threat.

i have rambled. i am a curmudgeon. This morning, i had peace, calm.

That’s enough.

Last night, i watched the San Diego Padres explode after seven innings to score eight runs in the eighth inning for an 11-4 win over the Los Angeles Angels. Watching four of the premier baseball players in the world (Machado, Tatis, Trout, Rendon) was exciting.

This year’s version of the Padres is exciting all of the time. They hit five grand slam home runs in six games. They run. They play great defense. Their offensive power is unlike any i’ve ever seen in San Diego, including the Caminiti, Finley, and Tony Gwynn years. Jurickson Profar, one of the lesser lights in the Friars’ starters, went two for three, a home run and two RBI’s last night.

Sure, that behemoth ninety miles north of here remains the creme de la creme  of the National League and perhaps the Major Leagues. Impressive. Winners and whiners all wrapped up in one (can you tell i’m a bit prejudice?).

This Padre going on is fun.

But as i watched last night, i find myself with mixed emotions.

For a number of years i have railed against the Yankees (since the 1950’s when the Kansas City A’s owner made big bucks by sending his best players to the Yanks), and the Dodgers (who i grew up loving when they were in Brooklyn, rooting for them against my father’s beloved Yankees), and then the Red Sox (when the guy who labeled them “the Evil Empire,” Larry Lucchino, turned around and acted just like them), the Cubs (i liked them and the Red Sox when they were the lovable losers) because of the money being exchanged.

Well, $300 Million for one player for ten years (Manny Machado) ain’t chump change, not to mention all of the other crazy money the Padres have spent on players and player development. So my Padres are in the same league (not baseball league, but money league) with all the other villains. And i fully expect the ticket prices (when fans can go) to rise precipitously, and will not be surprised if beer goes up to $20. This means, of course, that i ain’t going.

And there is another aspect i reconsidered. At the end of July, the Padres dealt 29 players one way or the other to acquire supposedly (according to the experts, of which i ain’t one) better players. And that doesn’t count the ones who left before the pandemic season began. Now i’m missing some of my favorites who left, Austin Hedges, Hunter Renfroe, Manuel Margot, Josh Naylor, Cal Quantrill, and Ty France. All gone. i find myself rooting for players i only know by reputation.

Flesh peddlers.

And the rich get rich and the poor get poorer. Why do owners spend megabucks buying championships to make more megabucks and why do players need $30 Million a year? If they continue to screw their fans monetarily, why aren’t they helping the less fortunate in the country? And why do players and their agents think they need several hundred million to PLAY baseball? And if they are going to demand those salaries, why don’t they put in back into helping others. And i am not talking about all of those wonderful foundations many of them form.

So essentially, the fans (me included) are rooting and spending for what? Money. Their money against everyone else’s money. Crazy.

Sadly, my rant is not going to change things. Today, the Padres new pitching star will be going against the Los Angeles (really, Anaheim) Angels (location change to attract more fans, i.e. more money). i will be watching.

And i love the way the Padres, new and old are playing. Excitement, incredible talent, laughing, having fun, playing the game the way it should be played.

And i’ll be rooting for them to win it all.

i’m just not sure why?

Please bring back college baseball soon.

let me feel the spray
one more time,
the salt spray from a wave
breaking over the bow
for
i seek reconnection to the sea
when
the sea was me
and
i was the sea
and
the rest of the world didn’t exist
as my ship plowed through cresting waves
which threw it willy-nilly, up and down
to rise and plunge again
bringing green water crashing
to the pilot house
to slide down and aft and over the fantail
and
the metal groaned
but
did not give
and
the steam hissed, bellowing even,
shooting through the pipes
to the engine,
then the reduction gears,
turning the port and starboard shafts
and
the screws whacking the deep underneath,
propelling the ship as forward
as the sea would let her go
and
the men rode her
like a bronco with spume,
not brave, not fearful,
just matter of fact,
knowing they had little power
over the sea and the grey metal
on which they rode;
i do not know if
this dance of power
entranced the others
but
i was entranced
watching, feeling, even smelling
this battle between
the two ladies i had come to love
and
still love
but alas,
only in my memories
and
oh, how i wish
i could feel the spray,
the salt spray from a wave
breaking over the bow
one more time.

It is a bit awkward for me. i’m not sure what the protocol is.

Kathie Marie Lynch Jewell passed away yesterday evening (August 29, 2020).

She is my former wife, or to paraphrase what her mother took to calling me when Kathie and i were divorced (“the father of my granddaughter”) the mother of my daughter.

The night after we met, she told Nannie Bettie, her mother, she had met the man she was going to marry. Just a bit over a year later, we became husband and wife.

We stuck together for six years. We had our good moments. We had our bad moments. She decided she didn’t love me. i eventually decided trying to continue to make the marriage work would be deleterious for her, especially for our daughter, and eventually i acknowledged to myself, for me as well.

As divorces go, it was a pretty good one, if there is such a thing. The top priority for both of us was to do what was best for our daughter. i think my being a Naval officer made it more difficult for all three of us. i was usually far away. But we tried. She tried especially hard.

The parting was the right thing to do, but hard, and with a terrible sense of loss. But i was never bitter. i loved her enough to be wed with her. We both had traits and habits we didn’t like in each other, but we had enough we did like, and we vowed to be together for the rest of our lives. It didn’t quite work out that way. i cared for her during our marriage. i care for her now.

She was a wonderful human being in many ways.

Her most wonderful trait was she loved our daughter and our grandson more than anything else on earth. i will never, ever be able to thank her enough for that love she had for them.

i shall not expand here on my thoughts of her. That is treading on dangerous ground, and i have already gone beyond the limits she would have wanted.

Kathie was a wonderful, loving and caring mother and grandmother. i loved her then. i love her now.

And tonight once again, i will shed a tear for her.

Rest in peace, my love.