Paved Paradise

Poisson, Part I

2012-01-30T10:07:00.000-08:00

For the first time in my nearly forty years of existence, I have a fishing license. I can fish with up to two poles and either on land into the water or in a boat on the ocean.

When I used to cast illegally with my brother in Santa Cruz, I continuously caught the one fish no one wanted: starfish. They come up the line heavy, wrap themselves stubbornly around the line, and come back for more the moment you drop the line back in the water. Since then, when my brother would ask if I wanted a fishing license, I would shake my head and tell him that I would be happy to when they find a use for starfish other than to amuse children. (I was definitely popular at the Santa Cruz Pier.)

My brother assures me that there are no starfish in Bristol Cove, so I accepted his offer for a fishing license this year. My first task? Go slow and do the kiddie fishing duty, which is bait-fishing. Back in the States that would have meant going to a slightly sunken log in the forest, lifting it, and grabbing creepy-crawlies before they disappear into the earth, but here in Oz bait means another, smaller being in the sea (or, to tourists, sushi). The Cove is filled with boat launches and marina hardware that are covered with mussels and crab nests, and small, silver jack smelt swim under the planks of the docks. To obtain the mussels you simply reach under the surface of the water, yank the mussel off the pylon, and take it back to your chair and shove a knife in it and crack it apart like an oyster. The orange organ inside is gathered up and piled on a hook or split between two hooks, and cast into the Cove. If you select a crab from the nest, there are rules that it has to be a boy crab and not a girl crab (yeah, go ahead, go there; I’ll wait, you adolescent), and then the shell is cracked and parts of crab threaded onto hooks and cast in the Cove.

But if you are bait-fishing, you catch one of the jacksmelt (or another smelt that presents itself) by dangling a wimpy-looking smaller rod in the water with about six tiny hooks on it. You let the line drop in the water until the sinker touched the bottom, and then pull up the line about six inches and “jig” it. During that Saturday’s adventure I kept making lame puns, one of which was, “The jig is up, jacksmelt!” Jigging involves gently bouncing the pole and moving it back and forth so that it looks like something shiny...jack smelt, the raccoon of the sea. If you can’t see the bottom you are more likely to catch bait; if you can see the bottom, you are more than likely casting a shadow and are more than likely seen by the fish.

Bait-fishing requires no casting, which is lucky for me and anyone standing around me; back in the States I used to hook the back of my own hat trying to cast. Casting lessons will come at some point (I suggested to my brother that he be drunk when he endeavors to teach me to cast), but for the first session I just sat in a chair or paced the dock and jigged. I caught a jacksmelt in the first twenty minutes--a fish the length of a golf pencil, flat, and wide-eyed in a dark pupil that filled the socket as though he’d been struck with a fist.

It was the only fish caught that day. Turns out there’s a skill in the tides--you fish them when they are rising, not going out, but when you have only one weekend day, you just see what you can catch with the time you have. My brother used the jacksmelt in hopes of getting halibut or sea bass (he usually gets sting ray with them), didn’t catch any crabs to use (yes, yes, I’ll wait while you giggle at that one), and loaded up the mussels on another pole for croaker. After four hours of fishing his bait was as fresh and intact as when he threaded them on the hook--not even a bite stolen. By the time we left the dock the tide was so low some boats were listing.

We had burgers for dinner. :)

Car Mentality

2012-01-17T09:47:00.000-08:00

I have transitioned to North San Diego County, and in that process have moved to a place where sidewalks are not a consistent feature of the world around me. I have found a hill to rival that of the Pablo Stairs that I worked out on in San Francisco, and lucky for me that hill not only features a sidewalk but a paved path that cuts off from the street and loops around to a park that overlooks Carlsbad Lagoon.

You would think that a girl of the woods and nature would despise sidewalks, but the three-foot wide block of concrete running next to the streets is my last defense against what everyone else uses to get around--a vehicle. In living in three different states I have found Californians to be the least safe of drivers. In Ohio and Missouri drivers learn from weather and roadkill challenges enough to be a little better at it. Ask Stephen King what I mean by this sometime.

Still, I am learning to overcome my fear of drop-offs and reckless drivers. In this coming week I am transitioning to walking to the library, getting my exercise while forcing myself to take roads that have no other choice but to walk in six inches of gravel to get there.

I’m not looking forward to it. But the less I’m afraid of, the better.

Ah, But He Gets Paid For That

2011-12-05T15:34:00.001-08:00

I wake up in the morning these days and think, "But I'm never going to have time to write, find a job, and work out as much as Pablo Sandoval."

As much as it stings, this is true for a very good reason--Pablo gets PAID to be in shape. Quite a bit of money, as it turns out.

So I have to be happy with taking on a slice of his inspiration and working out where I can. This morning I walked to the library and grocery store, and then took another walk in the afternoon to warm up and stay active. I can hope to stay healthy, not be stacked with muscle like the Panda Bear.

The City is creeping into winter, even if we don't have fog or rain (yet). I freeze inside at 1:30 pm with the sunlight coming into my window, and I know that with this latitude sooner or later not even the California Great Burning Ball of Fire in the Sky was going to keep me warm. So the walks to and around the Music Concourse during the day serve multi-purposes:

Get in the real sun = a little warmth
Get the blood moving = more warmth
Burn calories = Part of the plan

I'll start with that. I have to be happy with that. Unless someone wants to pay me to run and lift weights all day--but I think I was there and left that in April.

The Sprint

2011-12-04T20:10:00.001-08:00

Need to start running. Period. Enough of this walking or climbing or such. I have to get painful and take off my baggage that keeps me parked and sleepy.

Details to come.

The Backyard

2011-10-25T15:02:00.000-07:00

Haven't been up the Pablo stairs for a bit due to a sinus infection or allergies (not sure which, and I'm not in a mood to see a doctor) and decreased lung capacity.

My time turns instead to Golden Gate Park.

It's relatively flat, green, full of wildlife, and somewhat soothing, despite the eight gazillion tourists there last weekend.

Oh, and it has an ice cream truck. :) Yes, I know, defeats the purpose, but I am still active, which is more than I feel like being these days with this lack of air.

Long Time Gone

2011-09-28T09:41:00.000-07:00

I haven't visited this blog for a while to write anything, but it strikes me that maybe the reason I gave up on this blog was that I limited it to "green" discoveries that bounced back and forth between "this was a good idea, now it's bad" sort of thing. Paper bags were thought to be greener, until it was discovered that they took up more space and are more difficult to break down. Local was thought to be greener, but how much water are you using to lengthen the growing season where it should be of a certain length?

I am still looking for strides in ecology, and things that I can improve on as a green citizen, but, again, it strikes me that that kind of focus is too narrow. Recently I started climbing a local hill/park/peak in San Francisco for exercise, a ritual that I call my "Pablo stairs," and I found that just climbing for the sake of getting in shape was a misdirection of my energy. The weight loss and muscle toning should be a bonus, I thought, for if that's the focus than I am surely screwed, considering my genetic make-up. It turned instead into a meditation, in which I started to notice wildlife, climate patterns, visual effects, and so on. For some time now I have been remarking on each day's adventure on Twitter, but I hesitate to continue it there, since I place so many other subjects there as well and the notes could be lost. Also, there is so much in nature to see in my backyard, Golden Gate Park, and in the natural aspects of the Bay Area in general, that I don't want to go back to limiting my scope.

I adore nature writers like Barbara Kingsolver, Annie Dillard, William Least-Heat Moon, and Edward Abbey, just to name a few. I know that I could never be a peer of theirs, but I would like to utilize my writing to share in their joy of the world we live in. So that will be my goal going forward with this blog--to meditate on the restorative qualities of being outdoors, and taking care of that outdoors.

And The Hits Just Keep Coming, or, Non-Plastic Rap

2009-01-09T11:59:00.000-08:00

Saw this today on the Twitter from one of my on-line friends...completely amazing! Was thinking this year was the year to experiment with sandwiches, and would like to integrate the practice by the end of the year.

Between this, a small Sigg of juice, a bigger Sigg of water, and a second one of these to stash carrots in, I would have only a napkin to clean up at the end of the meal, unless I go into fine dining and get those in cloth, too.

The dream starts to look delicious!

Plastic Rap

2009-01-08T19:10:00.000-08:00

Found this in the SF Weekly newspaper today that was left behind at my table at the public space on 2nd and Mission. Some fascinating points in it, and, I thought of one more...

Normally, San Francisco has some pretty wet winters (just not the last three of them, but still...), and while the paper bags may have more of a time of disintergration in the landfill, the glue that binds their handles to their bag is just waiting to be washed away with a little strain on it.

Ireland seems to have a brilliant idea: brown bag your own bag or get fined/charged.

Bottled Up and Running

2009-01-04T09:03:00.000-08:00

Sigg, the bottle people with the crusade against plastic, are back up and running with some cool designs. I had posted an item earlier last year that they were down due to demand, but it now appears that they are back on with a wide selection of great designs...

I have three of these bottles and can never get enough of them.

Wandering Minstrels

2008-08-23T10:46:00.000-07:00

For those of you who are fully aware of this phenomenon in California and other states, you can skip this entry. But for those for whom this is news, and are looking for the wonder here in this land of millions of people, perhaps you will find this as fascinating as I do, here is another wonder of the world.

Spent last weekend with the brother and sis-in-love in the spread that is San Diego, and we happened to be in a neighborhood that caused my brother to sit up in the back seat and say, "Hey, start looking in the trees. Here is where the wild parrots take up to roost." I had a documentary on my Netflix called "The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill," which speaks of this phenomenon in San Francisco, but I didn't know that the birds had also found homes in SoCal, so I eagerly looked into the hair-roots of the trees with my family. We were there only briefly, and didn't spot any, but I was full of wonder at the thought, and considered watching the movie this weekend of the San Francisco/NorCal version.

"The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill" is a luscious, colorful, measured account of the works of Mark Bittner, homeless man turned parrot scholar who studied the parrots for six years in the 90's. There was not a single moment of this movie that didn't capture me, and just when you think that the movie is going to leave you sad, it turns and bursts through with sunlight. (I don't think that was a spoiler.) Bittner is not someone that I would consider to be a freeloader, but a man of Thoreau-esque enthusiasms--he keeps his accounts on one hand. What is particularly remarkable (and my reason for posting this piece here instead of the mainstream Smoke Clears blog of mine), is Bittner's take on why the public should NOT feed the parrots as he did. A reader might greet this with "that Bittner is trying a little of do-as-I-say-and-not-as-I-do," but as Bittner states:

If the parrots became accustomed to taking food from the general public, some people might try to capture them. I'd never worried about this too much because the birds had always shown fear of other human beings, and I'd worked to keep it that way. I never let other people near them. I knew that an individual would have to spend a great deal of time getting the parrots used to the idea before they'd dare to come down to eat. The circumstances of my initial six-year period with the parrots--a situation that had provided me with enormous blocks of free time--had been unique. Not many people have that kind of free time nowadays, especially in a city as expensive to live in as San Francisco...

Several months after Bill's [someone that had written to Bittner for advice on doing an experiment like his] first email, I received another from him. He wrote to me saying that he'd ignored my advice, and now he had a bad situation on his hands. He'd spent around three months trying to attract the parrots with sunflower seeds until finally one came down to him. Soon after that, other parrots joined the first. They were perching on Bill's arms and shoulders and eating from his hand. Other people who lived and worked near the park started getting into the act. Initially the parrots were reluctant, but the lure of sunflower seeds--something parrots love--overcame their fear. Bill was writing to me because of his concern that some of the new "hand feeders" seemed not to have the flock's best interests at heart. He was worried about the flock's safety. Whenever he broached the subject of everybody stopping, the other feeders turned on him.

There are some Bittner-types who can successfully devote time to an ecological study and learn how to study it with measure and objective respect for the subject, but they aren't commonplace. Just from my experiences with friendships in this state, I have experienced that it's pretty rare for people to cultivate an attention span to anything for more than a period of six months, myself included on certain aspects. I'm not saying that you have to homeless or have won the lottery to study wildlife, but Bittner's thought is that unless you have the time and continuous inclination to support wildlife with a certain level of detachment, then for heaven's sake don't do it.

Perhaps this should be a rule to follow with any number of living things, saving a goldfish. (I'm not that fond of carp.)

Bottle Stoppers

2008-07-20T20:20:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite sites is temporarily shut down because so many frickin' people are going green and buying to recycle...

I actually have two of these bottles myself, and the beverages taste delicious from them. AND, no plastic! I'm very happy that their business has reached this level...

More to come...

Kindling

2008-07-18T21:01:00.000-07:00

I could write a million things here about my new electronic reader, but they would all sound like a description or review on the Amazon website.

I'm in love.

It doesn't have pages, but I can make the type bigger for my slowly fading eyes and it is, literally, THE perfect size.

More on this phenomenon in days to come. And the first book loaded?

"The Shipping News" by Annie Proulx.

The only thing I didn't enjoy was the prolific amount of packaging...

Oh No, Not That...

2008-07-05T19:11:00.000-07:00

Imagine this.

You've been, at the persuasion of Natalie Goldberg, writing in journals since you were seventeen. You have over 40 of said journals over three different states.

You have a deep love of literature and used books "with DNA on them" and you have about 600 of those if you count the ones you inherited from your mother, the ones you got in college, and the ones you buy in the City to "feel better."

Imagine how many trees.

I can't give up the journals just yet, or the snail mail. I would miss the fountain pens beyond belief.

But maybe, just maybe, I can help steer the market when it comes to buying books.

Whether I wanna or not.

******

The Kindle has appeared in various on-line writings lately. For those of you who don't know what in heaven's name a Kindle is, it might be best to visit Amazon for a moment and then come back to this post.

Go ahead.

I'll wait.

Did you take a peek? Good. Now, keep in mind that years of living with a man who fought technology tooth and nail (that would be my father) and repeated attempts at "Fahrenheit 451" have made me old-fashioned in the realm of books. I didn't buy the Rocket eBook Reader. I didn't buy Sony's eBook reader. And then the Chronicle mentions a reader like Sony's or Amazon's would be more ecological.

Less trees killed.

Sound of grinding teeth here.

But I want a BOOK in my hands, with PAPER pages and new spines and summaries on the back and pictures of the author and I want to get them from INDEPENDENT BOOKSTORES who don't need one more thing to battle and for CHRIST'S SWEET SAKE I AM A WRITER, AND SHOULDN'T WRITERS OPPOSE SUCH THINGS?

Does Coldplay oppose iTunes?

Nope. They embrace it. NO ONE'S BUYING YOUR DISCS, COLDPLAY. HALF YOUR iTUNE STUFF IS FREE COLDPLAY. KINDLE BOOKS NEVER SELL FOR MORE THAN $10! WHAT ABOUT THE FUTURE OF RECORD STORES/BOOKSTORES/WRITERS OF MUSIC AND WORDS?!?!?

Okay.

Deep breath.

Coldplay loves iTunes and loves their fans and therein lies the inclination toward freebees. Authors like Toni Morrison love the Kindle because she loves words and she can get the most words with her all the time with a Kindle. Shortened up, here's the deal. Coldplay loves sharing music. Morrison loves sharing words.

Neither one of them needs the baggage of packaging to go with it.

But what about the independent bookseller?

Deep breath again, because I probably will get clobbered on this one...to save resources, we might have to quit selling books, move to a more on-line or oral tradition again, and put the independent bookseller, like the tobacco farmer, into reinvention. Ancient Greeks and Romans loved debate, and modern Americans love book clubs. Maybe, just maybe, independent bookstores could become salons of real debate, face to face, for social strength.

This is only the beginning.

I won't burn my books.

And I don't want the Kindle.

But maybe it's time to stop killing trees and start reading on-line.

After all, I still have my journal and fountain pens as a vice...right?

Okay, So There Are Some Kinks In the System...

2008-07-05T18:58:00.000-07:00

Probably shouldn't show up at the Ferry Building Farmer's Market with just a purse and a recyclable bag next time...I need a better plan. :)

Today's crop was three pints of strawberries, three pounds of rhubarb, orange essence honey, peppermint/peach/strawberry flavored honey sticks, not sweet vanilla granola, and two bouquets of dahlias.

Everything was grown within 100 miles of here. The peppermint honey wasn't the greatest, and I witnessed a verbal fight between two cart-tower/bike-rider people on the sidewalk, but the strawberries were RED ALL THE WAY THROUGH THE BERRY. Haven't seen that since my mother raised them. They had a rough ride home on the bus, but they were for a baked strawberry/rhubarb deal anyway, not a wedding or anything.

Project for next time--explore more efficient transport of said goodies.

Green Games

2008-07-04T09:14:00.000-07:00

Came across this one in the New Yorker, and it wouldn't load to the Facebook share, so I thought I would mention it here...

Danes are also supposed to be the happiest people on the planet, according to a recent piece on "60 Minutes"...maybe it's time to move. :)