For Thomas

I much enjoy taking to my own mode of transportation, or what I like to call 'The Ankle Express', it's the footwandering kind of travel that has led me to fascinating feats and finds.

During my travels afoot, I've bumbled into a lovely and oh so wandery spot nestled between the bay and the Pacific Ocean in the quaint city of Point Loma.

High above the crashing waves below, sits a site that's rich with history and untold tales, a place screaming to be happened upon.

It also happens to be the Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery, the final resting place for thousands of

soldiers, many nameless. A quiet place of buried memoirs.

It's a vast gravesite with 101,079 graves, and these days its grounds are closed. There is no longer space available for new casketed remains, so only traces of memories lay frozen in time within this serene, peaceful environment.

 It's a really, rather lovely place for someone fascinated with antiquity and bygone times. A place for someone like me to find solace when little else makes sense in the hustly-bustly, nowaday world.

There's just something about cemeteries that leaves you feeling so alive.

I've made a sort of friend along the way in this calming place, and although we've never met face to face, nor never will, I share and cherish my strong connection with Thomas.

You see, my friend Thomas here is no ordinary boy. 

He only lived to see a slight window of time. Just barely one day on earth, a lifespan cut far too short.

 I wonder what Thomas saw, heard, and felt on that day.

I wonder what thoughts raced through his tiny head, and can only hope that someone held him for the duration of his brief visit here.

I've tried to discover more details about baby Thomas, but despite the vast sphere of the webular world, I know little of him other than what is etched into the face of his tombstone.

I stop by every now and then to pay him proper visits, no less. Usually, I find a cozy spot adjacent to his grave marker in the grassy area beneath the sun. This resty plot of land is so very lovely as it overlooks the sea from above. Here, I read aloud to him. 

I read him tales of grand adventures, epic sword fights, shiny treasures, pirate ships of perfectly creaking wood, talking woodland creatures, journeys to the center of the earth, enchanted hunters, little men and women, and other snippets from the childhood greats.

It's just my way of giving him some sort of childhood, and a good excuse to get lost up in my headspace. 

Besides, I doubt that anyone's ever read to him.

...but therein hangs the unknown tale of the young boy who lived to see only one day.

Farewell sweet Thomas, as I tuck you away with the sun now setting sleepily behind you.

I'll be back for more storytime.

Be well, my beautiful friend.

x

        

A Beautifully Blustery Morning

I learned long ago that living in close quarters to the briny-deep sea was integral to my sense of well being. There is just something about that magnetic juncture where the coastal waters meet the shore that's nearly undefinable. 

I can however, say with certainty that there is something beyond marvelous that occurs when the unpredictable currents come in contact with the presence of soft and stable sand.

I always believed that if I had to be anything other than myself, I'd like to be this very crux, the enchanted place where the waters meet the shore. 

Here in the southern California parts of the world, I am but a stone's throw to the waters edge. There are days when the crashing waves awaken me from the night's rest, and I rise to to enjoy the silence of a sleepy morning.

And on this given day, for no other reason than it's wonderfully dreary out and the skies are perfectly windy, I head for a stroll to be left alone with my thoughts, my coffee, and a fancy tune up in the headspace.

Taking to my neighborhood is always a guarantee for unexpected run-ins which might not otherwise occur if one opted to stay in bed for a good part of the morning.

It's a sunup sort of morning filled with kind pleasantries from the few transients struggling to keep warm amidst the offshore breeze. 

A morning where perfect strangers bid you kind compliments, reminding you that you look quite fierce, as though you could slay vampires, and doing so was possible merely by wearing a certain pair of timeworn boots.

It's the sort of day where you can find a near-perfect dragonfly kite, anxiously awaiting to be cast up into the highest of heights for a proper flight.

Mr. Kite is now safely fastened to a beach palm tree, and I do believe he is still smiling up there.

It's going to be a beautifully, blustery day.

Monday happies to you.

x
       

Trash Art Science, Midden Monsters & Steve

Trash?
Look again.

They say one man's trash, is another treasure. This familiar cliché is well suited for the artists behind the current exhibit at The New Children's Museum in San Diego.

Here, you'll find the artistic works created using nothing but the discoverable oddments that are generally considered common trash.

  

Considering the abundance of forgotten refuse at our disposal, I'm particularly impressed with the artist's functional use of yesterday's throwaways. 

Photo Credit: Philipp Scholz Ritterman

The young nephling and I took to the "moo-seum" offerings. 

"Moo-seum" as stated by the clever two year old. 

We participated by building an art sculpture crafted from broken toy parts, making pictures with washed garbage, blowing bubbles,

and by taking part in a Midden Monster making workshop which allowed us to have a look into the devastating impact of plastic trash on the earth's ocean.

 

Midden meaning "refuse heap"

Here, we handcrafted "Steve", our new friend created by knotting and tying pieces of recycled carrier bags, and bits of rubbish. 

for the record "Steve" is on the left

Did you know? 

In the United States, annual production of waste has tripled since 1960.

The average American produces 4.5 pounds of trash on any given day.

 

Less than 1 percent of plastic bags are recycled each year. Recycling one ton of plastic bags costs $4,000. The recycled product can be sold for $32. 

Every year, Americans throw away enough paper and plastic cups, forks, and spoons to circle the equator 300 times.

The average American office worker uses about 500 disposable cups every year.

We didn't until our visit to the museum!

Photo Credit: earth911.com

Blecch!

Living in the most wasteful nation is a shameful reality, but a critical lesson for anyone, at any age.

It was a good learning day for us kids.

And I'm quite certain that Steve was elated to have been saved from his fate of being forever banished to a state landfill for his remaining days on earth.

I can tell by the smile on his face.

Inspired?

Well then, here's a handy guide for to make your own Midden project:

handy guide

I believe you'll find that making a Midden creature is far more fun than a barrel full of refuse waste. 

You should also note that each San Diego library carries two membership cards good for free admission for two adults and all children in the household to the downtown museum, thanks to a fantastical program called "Check Out the New Children's Museum".

 

A program made possible by $45,000 in sponsorships from Qualcomm and the Ford Motor Co. Fund.

Thanks, you two!

Passes are good for ten days, and there's a waiting list. Well worth the wait however, as tickets can be pricey.

How refreshing it to see artists combining scrapbits and sweepings into science, art and heaps of enjoyment for all.

For further information visit:

http://thinkplaycreate.org/trash/

x
       

A Curious night of illumination, and a very special landing on the Red Planet

What a landmark weekend!

The weekend's passing brought some brilliant events as we attended the inaugural Glow in the Park event located in the long valley in the coastal mountains of Escondido, California.

The luminous evening showcased local artistry, including sixteen large, illuminated displays of art pieces that were a sight to behold. Art films were projected onto a giant inflatable screen, while children partook in a rousing bout of karaoke, where they sang lively songs about the moon, as their faces were displayed onto a hovering hot air balloon looking, lunar device above.

sandiegoreader.com

"Bella Luna" by Los Angeles artist Anne Herlihy

This piece was described in a press release from the Escondido Arts Partnership, as having an effect reminiscent of the moon face in Georges Melies' 1902 film (a personal favorite), A Trip to the Moon.

nctimes.com

The installations included a small, circus-like tent, and a glowing, luminaria tee-pee tent alike.

flickr: Chris Hunkeler

A few pals of mine seized the opportunity to pack a wine picnic, seize our flow toys, and head out the glowy scene with our LED hula hoops in tow to light up the night.

photo by Joe Mergens

Here we are just behind Rebecca Goodman's, Iphone app-powered, Infinite Pulse sculpture

It was a playful and interactive evening of good, clean community oriented fun.

And what better way to wrap up the lightastic weekend than with a momentous Mars landing!

As millions took to their computer monitors and television sets to follow the safety and good fortune of the robot car that safely made its way to Mars, I poured myself a chilled glass of a northwest Spanish
Albariño, a perfect summer wine fit for grand celebration. I reflected much about the great progress and contributions to humanity.

...and I weeped at the wonder and grandness of it all.

Cheers to the beautiful life, our astronomical feats, and most importantly, cheers to Curiosity.

businessinsider.com

Curiosity is little more than another name for Hope.
~Augustus William Hare and Julius Charles Hare

Make certain to have a stellar week my beautiful friends.

x
         

Oh darling, let's be adventurers

For in twenty years we will be more disappointed by what we didn't do, rather than what we did.

x

        

A Babbly Brook Book Nook

I have a delicious place for reading. 

It's at the outer edge of a stone wall built for training soldiers before they were shipped to battle in the Second World War. 

Today, it serves as a little river dam, and it yields an unusual void that seems to be perfectly Ringo-shaped.

happy little feet

Usually, I make a huge batch of fresh, iced tea and something sandwich-ey, then head to the sacred secretspot where I can kick my feet up to rest my old bones and devour books alive. 

It's easy to lose track of time in this dreamy, little wonderspot beside the chatty little brook that will tell you its deep secrets after you've well-earned its trust.

Find yourself a little getaway, sooner or later you'll need it.

Happy trails to you

x

        

Ye travels

Back home safe and sound.

Dreaming of magnificent green pastures from days past, beaming to be reunited with my son, and scheming of future travel already.

The Emerald Isle is a beautiful, magical, ancient place aye.

It boasts of grassy-green, rolling meadows, exquisite literature, majestic castles, journeying wonders, and picture-perfect postcard views as far as the eyes can see.

It's a country peppered with charming villages, picturesque fishing towns, and spectacular views of jaw dropping scenery from coast to coast. 

Until now, I honestly believed that much of the colors of Ireland's vibrant countryside were photoshopped.

but they're not.

How I love the Irish culture, so rich and varied.

Its people, kind with smiling eyes.

Its history of weak political leadership, colonialism, absentee landlordism, and the pain and suffering of religious wars brings weepy tears to my eyes and breaks my very heart.

Then there's the Irish food *bites palm*

slow cooked Guinness beef stew

shepards pie

Boxty potato pancakes

Bailey's cheesecake

And the Irish certainly love their drink.

The ubiquitous, deep roasted Guinness, the single malt whiskeys, the reds, the ales, the Irish coffees, the cider, the meads and the poitin, oh my.

What a gift it has been to witness and experience three weeks of the Irish culture, its charming people, its traditional foods, the fierce, deadly Irish slang, the singing, and the happyfooted dancing on cobblestone streets that pave the way to warm inviting pubs.

The lush green land smells of freedom indeed.

Fun Fact:
Did you know that St. Patrick was not Irish?

He was actually Welsh.
I dare say you Google it, if you don't believe me.

With a deep sigh and a heavy heart, I now am done with doing the Dub, fully rejuvenated and ready to begin the next chapter of this wondrous life.

Looking forward to resting on my very own lilypad.

Éirinn go Brách

x