tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36872384222506673062024-03-05T03:25:58.026-08:00Saltair StationNancy Zavadahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14256927400263270244noreply@blogger.comBlogger460125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3687238422250667306.post-43915303916773588172017-06-30T13:20:00.002-07:002017-06-30T13:20:20.378-07:00Loser's Bar<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCp132ICUJm8O4By4gKV9cnDII_sA9qKy-ODYloZhqwJ-xGC6wa-MgYvZ5rUO21vOEjLfZESf080tURnrm3U3srOOWpNX6wDfxZQFQQlP_4f9y24XrXhuE8LwT5RgskA9UZ33aGAIBtfI/s1600/Losers+Bar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="546" data-original-width="332" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCp132ICUJm8O4By4gKV9cnDII_sA9qKy-ODYloZhqwJ-xGC6wa-MgYvZ5rUO21vOEjLfZESf080tURnrm3U3srOOWpNX6wDfxZQFQQlP_4f9y24XrXhuE8LwT5RgskA9UZ33aGAIBtfI/s400/Losers+Bar.jpg" width="242" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: blue;"><br /></span>
<i><span style="background-color: white; font-size: x-small;">Warning: This post does not contain beautiful coastal images and soulful poetry. Instead it is a random musing from time spent landlocked in Las Vegas during 117 degree heat.</span></i><br />
<br />
In Vegas there is a bar called, Loser's Bar. It was between my hotel room and the convention center so I had the opportunity to pass by at least 4 times a day for 3 days.<br />
<br />
It wasn't open at 6:00 am when I went to work, but by early afternoon every day there was "entertainment." A duo, on a rickety stage, drinking cheap beer while cigarettes smoked away in the ashtrays, singing the saddest country-western ballads ever written. They dug deep to find the most depressing songs and keep them coming one after another.<br />
<br />
The first time I passed by, I thought it odd that any place in Las Vegas was named for losers, as the town's party line is all about winners and winning. Then, apparently, my fertile imagination took hold.<br />
<br />
My next trip, I looked into the window and saw one lone soul at the bar. My ex was propped up on a stool, drowning his sorrows. He looked up from his drink and nodded as I passed by.<br />
<br />
Later in the afternoon, a few more people had checked in to the Losers Bar. Each one of them was familiar to me and we had a negative encounter in the past. People who had done me wrong, just like in the songs. They acknowledged me through the window as well.<br />
<br />
Each time I walked back and peered in the windows, a new patron appeared. Always someone I knew, always someone with whom I had a history, always acknowledging me with a raised shot glass or beer can. The phenomena lasted for three days. The bar was filling up.<br />
<br />
It would have been laughable if it wasn't so very real. Okay, okay, it was pretty laughable. None to soon, my business trip ended and I quickly headed home. Luckily, "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas."<br />
<br />
This experience will be written off as a mirage in the desert during record-breaking heat and never mentioned again.<br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">I now return you to our regular programming from the Oregon Coast.</span></i><br />
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Nancy Zavadahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14256927400263270244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3687238422250667306.post-36034580985713869162017-06-11T15:24:00.001-07:002017-06-11T15:24:57.650-07:00Ancient Roots<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlUf454FSr7oVDmsOyFPQjMciO6HvJSr7SViv5fmkl8izs6eHZk_YrGj-xNxzmYBp3nE2CrcXehchBs019qZQCqcK8giC2p1wF-4x0dxT25MJUw2xKCaahzRbiEhBnJ6mp1glQsOJUjrY/s1600/Old+Roots.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlUf454FSr7oVDmsOyFPQjMciO6HvJSr7SViv5fmkl8izs6eHZk_YrGj-xNxzmYBp3nE2CrcXehchBs019qZQCqcK8giC2p1wF-4x0dxT25MJUw2xKCaahzRbiEhBnJ6mp1glQsOJUjrY/s400/Old+Roots.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />
With last week's minus tide, beautiful roots appeared. Covered with a mossy seaweed, they define tide pools with their outstretched tentacles. The tree is long gone, but the roots appear to have been preserved under the sand.<br />
<br />
It is trendy now to look for your "roots" and ancestors who came before you. I will skip the search and claim these as mine.<br />
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<br />Nancy Zavadahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14256927400263270244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3687238422250667306.post-35131060269881563392017-06-10T19:03:00.000-07:002017-06-10T19:03:26.290-07:00Love Kills Slowly<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoNeBCymjtUo40Bz3kRIlkkl_bkEve5_leWkf3WamQkn1W2Gs5Ne6BPvXrkmP_XMpx7M3vuggKDdwI29DL_hWwE4pw6TzUDRbOACB6ZmRF4EGJsGXi2hFiHPkyVdx3IhyKs0Di02eXlew/s1600/Love+Kills.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="580" data-original-width="440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoNeBCymjtUo40Bz3kRIlkkl_bkEve5_leWkf3WamQkn1W2Gs5Ne6BPvXrkmP_XMpx7M3vuggKDdwI29DL_hWwE4pw6TzUDRbOACB6ZmRF4EGJsGXi2hFiHPkyVdx3IhyKs0Di02eXlew/s320/Love+Kills.jpg" width="242" /></a></div>
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<h4 style="text-align: center;">
The spider in this glass found out the hard way!</h4>
Nancy Zavadahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14256927400263270244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3687238422250667306.post-91511763509069644622017-03-03T08:09:00.000-08:002017-03-03T08:09:08.981-08:00Crab is the New Zucchini<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwtHz17sEBh2FJmjT0kEKjLpSNEnnvfBzbFNedp-PWG1w04beELmIj0JbtQZpsBqhffSz9lalr8nVx-yhRBcmPvqGR_tb7NlXcq38e87jL5Juyq6pasQ4elVHFIZbtPEfJJV2VG3Y4BrA/s1600/Crabby+in+Netarts+2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwtHz17sEBh2FJmjT0kEKjLpSNEnnvfBzbFNedp-PWG1w04beELmIj0JbtQZpsBqhffSz9lalr8nVx-yhRBcmPvqGR_tb7NlXcq38e87jL5Juyq6pasQ4elVHFIZbtPEfJJV2VG3Y4BrA/s400/Crabby+in+Netarts+2014.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
At the end of summer here in Oregon, zucchini is incredibly
abundant. No self-respecting farmers market vendor or store can sell it for any
price because this prolific squash is growing like crazy in everyone’s garden.
In fact, my brother-in-law tells the story of how in Joseph, Oregon, during
late August, if you leave your car window open and unattended, there is a very
good chance you will find zucchini in your car upon your return.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As a child, my father grew zucchini (and all types of
squash) and my mother dutifully cooked it up in every conceivable way. It
didn’t take this sharp, 5-year-old long to figure out that squash smothered in
butter and brown sugar was still squash. Having only recently rediscovered my
love for the vegetable some 50 years later, as it makes a delicious low carb
alternative to pasta.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Long story short…enter the Winter of 2016 when Dungeness crab
have been extremely plentiful on the Oregon Coast. An item that usually costs
$20.99 per pound, if even available, is now selling for $3.00 per pound in
Tillamook. Although the tourists are buying it up like crazy, there is still
plenty to go around.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My son, living in the beautiful fishing village of Garibaldi,
has been harvesting crab from the dock and giving me 12 to 16 every week. As
much as I love crab, and have been cooking, freezing and otherwise preserving
it for future meals, there is still a plentifully supply. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Giving it away here is difficult as the locals are wise and have had enough themselves. My
attempt to foist it on local contractors, friends and even business associates
has met with a firm, “No, thanks.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
So let this serve as a warning to coastal residents and visitors…roll
up your car windows, do not leave your bags unattended, and the children’s
backpacks. As the warning signs read, “We cannot be held responsible for your
belongings.”<o:p></o:p></div>
Nancy Zavadahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14256927400263270244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3687238422250667306.post-26263716985378024582016-09-26T15:22:00.001-07:002016-09-26T15:22:51.668-07:00Fine Dining<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCTp6hG7KthHEBwVAsYVko59r59zZDjSPHxKpJYSFVf40KyKiLf3YW_kSfdX1ShRwyBc6glBypHJXeua4oBrN9wokS3y29GoQ3_bLkIfV1A7sizP6s1RoUpvHn8bJjvJ_cxFDDV4yzMIQ/s1600/Table+by+the+Bay+2016i.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCTp6hG7KthHEBwVAsYVko59r59zZDjSPHxKpJYSFVf40KyKiLf3YW_kSfdX1ShRwyBc6glBypHJXeua4oBrN9wokS3y29GoQ3_bLkIfV1A7sizP6s1RoUpvHn8bJjvJ_cxFDDV4yzMIQ/s640/Table+by+the+Bay+2016i.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<br />
Whether it is a basic sandwich or an extravagant feast, this table is where I want to enjoy all of my meals until the end of time. Amen.Nancy Zavadahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14256927400263270244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3687238422250667306.post-29004944288363337822016-09-22T14:34:00.001-07:002016-09-22T14:34:57.697-07:00Artful Dead<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUroZ3ghOZ0oca5B8-_agsflulvh7z2aRrd_xoM__VWzd3vpTUBFn2n6GZz3da2pUF471ygBrEM93IggMkbzOa2qdmzHHitoVQvlOkJ88LYa2nrXmzngygPArHvDtkGab4ORK9fbL8CL0/s1600/Artful+Dead.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="327" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUroZ3ghOZ0oca5B8-_agsflulvh7z2aRrd_xoM__VWzd3vpTUBFn2n6GZz3da2pUF471ygBrEM93IggMkbzOa2qdmzHHitoVQvlOkJ88LYa2nrXmzngygPArHvDtkGab4ORK9fbL8CL0/s400/Artful+Dead.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
There was something hauntingly beautiful about this decaying fish washed up onshore. I'm not sure exactly what my mind likes so much. but then I suppose it doesn't really matter. After all, don't they say art is in the eye of the beholder?Nancy Zavadahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14256927400263270244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3687238422250667306.post-60090452969458768222016-08-25T10:30:00.000-07:002016-08-25T10:30:13.394-07:00Our Tribe Changing the World<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjALbdcSUvl0zl5I0cJFki6eTLPIJwulvXKfRMwqLHHPTBu4riALPZrUXxGiXxgfoh8sa08b28UMnam1fu6H94LF7gRj9UbrfkD1Gcryfl93z5msHhSdJovMNwN_dju1twQe-qbCpNGsg0/s1600/MeetGreen+Team+July+2016_edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjALbdcSUvl0zl5I0cJFki6eTLPIJwulvXKfRMwqLHHPTBu4riALPZrUXxGiXxgfoh8sa08b28UMnam1fu6H94LF7gRj9UbrfkD1Gcryfl93z5msHhSdJovMNwN_dju1twQe-qbCpNGsg0/s400/MeetGreen+Team+July+2016_edited.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>MeetGreen Staff Retreat, Netarts Bay, Oregon</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">can change the world; indeed, it's the only thing that ever has."</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Margaret Mead</span></span></div>
<br />Nancy Zavadahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14256927400263270244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3687238422250667306.post-65123064214020090302016-08-24T15:08:00.001-07:002016-08-24T15:08:36.841-07:00Happy Face<br />
My sister's cheese grater is so very happy! I guess living in a "tiny house" overlooking Netarts Bay agrees with it. It put a smile on my face too.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj14KGEEfpYBzp_6wnkLaiF2bJnfyFb2Rgteg-OBmfZ7BucRM0JOlyS83pVC1NYa7M_MJio_OKl3__T_uPWYBzeTyIMpnwnIwG6OohC31TT6hb2PoY7eqwrlKWt_IJQM-aCOAMN46jkiZ0/s1600/Happy+Shredder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj14KGEEfpYBzp_6wnkLaiF2bJnfyFb2Rgteg-OBmfZ7BucRM0JOlyS83pVC1NYa7M_MJio_OKl3__T_uPWYBzeTyIMpnwnIwG6OohC31TT6hb2PoY7eqwrlKWt_IJQM-aCOAMN46jkiZ0/s640/Happy+Shredder.jpg" width="422" /></a></div>
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<br />Nancy Zavadahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14256927400263270244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3687238422250667306.post-85661398961109931722016-06-30T07:42:00.000-07:002016-06-30T07:42:01.993-07:00Nature's Similarities<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvc1-c91N-9VCJi5R0pMHUEMJ5QLWJpgHBMiPbyeDsGGBo2iG1-vMRB6Lu3cBngoQG_OF4EQW4Uz4CLf460iqjDAXzjC3gaffWbsM6L3AtsSfOBoUPdnLyKj5ITepwXVcKnUt_ti_xxB4/s1600/Leaf+Veins+2016i.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvc1-c91N-9VCJi5R0pMHUEMJ5QLWJpgHBMiPbyeDsGGBo2iG1-vMRB6Lu3cBngoQG_OF4EQW4Uz4CLf460iqjDAXzjC3gaffWbsM6L3AtsSfOBoUPdnLyKj5ITepwXVcKnUt_ti_xxB4/s640/Leaf+Veins+2016i.jpg" width="467" /></a></div>
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This leaf resembles a human heart so closely I can almost see the blood pumping through it's veins. I have been in awe the entire week it has been gracing my desk,Nancy Zavadahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14256927400263270244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3687238422250667306.post-59489472235662432042016-06-19T10:01:00.000-07:002016-06-19T10:01:59.549-07:00Summer Solstice 2016<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSQ_I8sgfT8FHmZJI1ZMLPD1PlSKsmnWnXjs1ulzRVtXkdrswKXNxGBgzggMjYDKfihxNF1jmLSVJgfIKOkyC-8KmUU0sDF5PztfCtY2gkSNk-AU3prY6NkijDB57_oaFW8-Gad-_kpfc/s1600/Piebald+Deer+2016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSQ_I8sgfT8FHmZJI1ZMLPD1PlSKsmnWnXjs1ulzRVtXkdrswKXNxGBgzggMjYDKfihxNF1jmLSVJgfIKOkyC-8KmUU0sDF5PztfCtY2gkSNk-AU3prY6NkijDB57_oaFW8-Gad-_kpfc/s400/Piebald+Deer+2016.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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The full moon shines on the bay, the berries are fragrantly ripe and this rare beauty arrives with the morning dew.<br />
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Abundance surrounds us on this Summer Solstice.Nancy Zavadahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14256927400263270244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3687238422250667306.post-62006412249569160122016-06-12T11:51:00.001-07:002016-06-12T11:51:47.709-07:00Getting Unstuck<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0oh2Du3-oqjVX2ohtH8Oxylf8PVIDcp7uA4U8cwuLPO0fkrW5FtGV0yoaousV12HxIz77LUm8OQ_qQGed3YFH7iUnR1PYdRh-XsEL9NWYUlfgjMwSTTJ88yzh8mGf3xlvWK-6N7izAPg/s1600/Netarts+Bay+2016i.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Netarts Bay Oregon Sunset" border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0oh2Du3-oqjVX2ohtH8Oxylf8PVIDcp7uA4U8cwuLPO0fkrW5FtGV0yoaousV12HxIz77LUm8OQ_qQGed3YFH7iUnR1PYdRh-XsEL9NWYUlfgjMwSTTJ88yzh8mGf3xlvWK-6N7izAPg/s400/Netarts+Bay+2016i.jpg" title="Netarts Bay Sunset" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Whenever I have found myself stuck in the ways I relate to
things, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I return to nature. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
It is my principal teacher, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
and I try to open my
whole being to what it has to say. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<i>--Wynn
Bullock </i><o:p></o:p></div>
Nancy Zavadahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14256927400263270244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3687238422250667306.post-13979751918660373972016-05-24T10:23:00.000-07:002016-05-24T10:23:59.490-07:00100 Year Old Mermaid Found<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT2C2nAo6_Hv7G1yvqD9z6QjwOjUuEVGi1JvxONg1wjPabhOATZtS7s7lIJ35jgbk_s1oImUVHCYwCbZVA5pgCwhwNnesagbObefwCj-78V_jz6OFyuQpSZb6fKQ-kF7dY6UKGK7pWtDQ/s1600/Mimi+Mermaid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT2C2nAo6_Hv7G1yvqD9z6QjwOjUuEVGi1JvxONg1wjPabhOATZtS7s7lIJ35jgbk_s1oImUVHCYwCbZVA5pgCwhwNnesagbObefwCj-78V_jz6OFyuQpSZb6fKQ-kF7dY6UKGK7pWtDQ/s640/Mimi+Mermaid.jpg" width="396" /></a></div>
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<br />
This 1919 photo of my grandmother, a self-anointed mermaid, was recently found in her photo album filled with images of she and my grandfather in Rockaway, Oregon in the early 1900's.<br />
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She appears to be emerging from the surf and considering life on land. Our family has never lasted very long on land without the song of the sea luring us back. The rhythmic sound of the ocean and the salt air blowing through our hair are as vital as breathing.<br />
<br />
Proudly, I come from a long line of mermaids.Nancy Zavadahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14256927400263270244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3687238422250667306.post-36010987864736080572016-05-23T15:34:00.001-07:002016-05-23T15:34:27.219-07:00Allow Me to Explain<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZpdGhEPQmuRpmGNfTb0jzpVF3BmiyV0otDjrjQZoHhD40JMyUDN3NjS7h4NwFwEMwewTZhMuTW9dBRy7ZkZHfUFFyTdMX2VXj47NljmY6cYseoKJC8GY43KO2uGLclRV5cG-rKQBaUPw/s1600/Super+Moon+BW+2012B_edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Super Moon by Nancy Zavada" border="0" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZpdGhEPQmuRpmGNfTb0jzpVF3BmiyV0otDjrjQZoHhD40JMyUDN3NjS7h4NwFwEMwewTZhMuTW9dBRy7ZkZHfUFFyTdMX2VXj47NljmY6cYseoKJC8GY43KO2uGLclRV5cG-rKQBaUPw/s400/Super+Moon+BW+2012B_edited.jpg" title="" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-size: x-large;"><b>It wasn't my fault</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-size: x-large;"><b>It was a full moon and</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-size: x-large;"><b>I was left unsupervised!</b></span></div>
Nancy Zavadahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14256927400263270244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3687238422250667306.post-55665190711324581282016-05-01T11:54:00.000-07:002016-05-01T11:54:18.124-07:00The Eagles Have Landed?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFNcZzExwa9sDCLDsbKx_AuRMOE5ETFzDrpgFLcOi-BMHYEdi5jyevJBlBhp_5N81TCj1rH2-TTPOXCqrocRsFfaCsGN5eTEmXQsEbNOO2MzGeUkQWIsbQXV3_4gFtR-qEUw5MFIMqxJM/s1600/Seagulls+have+landed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="335" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFNcZzExwa9sDCLDsbKx_AuRMOE5ETFzDrpgFLcOi-BMHYEdi5jyevJBlBhp_5N81TCj1rH2-TTPOXCqrocRsFfaCsGN5eTEmXQsEbNOO2MzGeUkQWIsbQXV3_4gFtR-qEUw5MFIMqxJM/s400/Seagulls+have+landed.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Every time we arrive home we say, "The eagles have landed!" It is a sweet, silly ritual started because there are so many bald eagles here and each homecoming we are thankful for safely navigating the coast range pass. In all honesty, we also like identifying with the majestic bald eagle that rules the sky above the Bay.<br />
<br />
In reality, we may be a bit more like the pair of seagulls that greeted us yesterday, the eagle's trashy shirt-tail relatives driving up in our faded red truck with an old black lab in the back.<br />
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<br />Nancy Zavadahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14256927400263270244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3687238422250667306.post-87088286385821265872016-04-03T17:38:00.000-07:002016-04-03T17:38:44.733-07:00Picture Postcard<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXwLyKki6MZf8GG3kHM7vEx0N5hJmw8Q5imho1lEQldWYu6q0zkJCLaJ82LuxoIimWSM1KzZxfCpbPWo78gtE-Og1TR_rjbvN19RPCXs9Gqn1IKPdA8uLIFtMcfeCf4gWkls066du1rac/s1600/Happy+Camp+2016i.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXwLyKki6MZf8GG3kHM7vEx0N5hJmw8Q5imho1lEQldWYu6q0zkJCLaJ82LuxoIimWSM1KzZxfCpbPWo78gtE-Og1TR_rjbvN19RPCXs9Gqn1IKPdA8uLIFtMcfeCf4gWkls066du1rac/s400/Happy+Camp+2016i.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
The sweet little village of Happy Camp has never looked prettier than this weekend. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Who wouldn't want to spend time there?</div>
Nancy Zavadahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14256927400263270244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3687238422250667306.post-57722471040650109812016-04-02T09:39:00.001-07:002016-04-02T09:39:48.354-07:00April Foolin'<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9zPaKUGuJzLz2a5zHgAJx7p4qEXmo_KJ0c6uSm2PzF3thNrlolTmuYdA6QNF_p_zMhkzyM6lfAvakdKUNdQt5Jyf5ALHoM1iymC_cD7glQ8BsaA_z_7oFA7qlDoHqKr1Ha87bVaWwdAU/s1600/Water%2527s+Edge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9zPaKUGuJzLz2a5zHgAJx7p4qEXmo_KJ0c6uSm2PzF3thNrlolTmuYdA6QNF_p_zMhkzyM6lfAvakdKUNdQt5Jyf5ALHoM1iymC_cD7glQ8BsaA_z_7oFA7qlDoHqKr1Ha87bVaWwdAU/s640/Water%2527s+Edge.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<br />
Looking down on the warm sand during my morning stroll, my eyes catch the tropical colors of the water. Transparent waves kiss the shore and I can almost hear the trade winds gently blow through the palm trees.<br />
<br />
My mind would like me to believe I am on a South Pacific Island, but my three layers of clothes to ward off the bitingly cold wind remind me this is Netarts Bay.<br />
<br />
<i>Hey, a girl can dream, can't she?</i><br />
<br />Nancy Zavadahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14256927400263270244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3687238422250667306.post-76865729676662351562016-03-26T09:31:00.001-07:002016-03-26T09:31:55.484-07:00Cream, Sugar or Shrimp?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju84piBCsQN1ds7PYGcP83t-we0G-QLpMfxeP1YNhS2jmQnlpVcfx01v3pacaGgj_jC9vk6TA3AX8GT06HqtXviFYdSeVLCeKmYXunSXvYYYZ9WdD-enIeEaBreVOftKpTsL-hh_ETUvQ/s1600/Drive+Thru+Shrimp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju84piBCsQN1ds7PYGcP83t-we0G-QLpMfxeP1YNhS2jmQnlpVcfx01v3pacaGgj_jC9vk6TA3AX8GT06HqtXviFYdSeVLCeKmYXunSXvYYYZ9WdD-enIeEaBreVOftKpTsL-hh_ETUvQ/s400/Drive+Thru+Shrimp.jpg" width="283" /></a></div>
<br />
Every drive-thru coffee stand we passed this week here on the Oregon Coast featured a hand-painted sign offering sand shrimp. Every single one.<br />
<br />
Yes, it's spring fishing season and the local entrepreneurs are making it easy for fisherman to grab a cup of joe and fresh bait without ever leaving their warm, dry cars. Let's hope they don't get the two mixed up in their early morning grogginess.<br />
<br />Nancy Zavadahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14256927400263270244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3687238422250667306.post-48977882724104330202016-03-25T16:02:00.000-07:002016-03-25T16:03:09.520-07:00Do You Ever Wonder Why?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1vn5p-CPwwIKzTqeUlLxITsSa6GGzGVUBuNaBPkzNk968k3GgOZBX45ZM7Och015hxp_5_skhSzW67chjNJcv0nrjk6WeuskIDqIq_f0iW5bBeSRaCE-kLNnJxhlaxsHq3fs6XnUiADE/s1600/Cow+Juice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1vn5p-CPwwIKzTqeUlLxITsSa6GGzGVUBuNaBPkzNk968k3GgOZBX45ZM7Och015hxp_5_skhSzW67chjNJcv0nrjk6WeuskIDqIq_f0iW5bBeSRaCE-kLNnJxhlaxsHq3fs6XnUiADE/s400/Cow+Juice.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
In this election year, there is no shortage of craziness to wonder about. It just keeps flying at us from all directions, assailing our senses and rational thought. Something as simple as a cup of coffee at a local diner should not torment the mind.<br />
<br />
Yet, as I look down at the table I wonder...<br />
<br />
Why...<b><i>please tell me why</i></b>...here in Tillamook, Oregon,<br />
<br />
...a town where dairy cows outnumber humans many times over<br />
<br />
...a town that is home to the seventh largest creamery association in the entire country<br />
<br />
...a town where, on the street outside the diner, milk trucks go by all day long<br />
<br />
...a town where dairy farmers are sitting in the next booth (right now in fact)<br />
<br />
...a town that produces the best milk products you will ever taste (e.g. Tillamook Mudslide Ice Cream)<br />
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<br />
...<b>why, in heaven's name, are there little individual plastic containers of creamer that have been shipped from DALLAS, TEXAS?</b><br />
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<b><br /></b>
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<br />Nancy Zavadahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14256927400263270244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3687238422250667306.post-45974749437243538982016-03-12T08:36:00.003-08:002016-03-12T09:03:49.646-08:00Cabin Fever Creates Crab Racing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Psly9AQzBbhJ9Q2aZXE2e2vI3cCi1vpmy7ZtdGObM7rLtGT-_33F4h9MAWLset_IvixcJFXzVrwAkuO1UcqjkRaOmAklrT3ygZrTXDuPP3P2vXivh6wUbhjffb0Pn8ZPL-EftXDBJPE/s1600/Crabby+in+Netarts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Psly9AQzBbhJ9Q2aZXE2e2vI3cCi1vpmy7ZtdGObM7rLtGT-_33F4h9MAWLset_IvixcJFXzVrwAkuO1UcqjkRaOmAklrT3ygZrTXDuPP3P2vXivh6wUbhjffb0Pn8ZPL-EftXDBJPE/s400/Crabby+in+Netarts.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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The long, stormy winters here on the Oregon Coast really separate the locals from the tourists. To put this in perspective, it has rained 68.86 inches in the first 9 weeks of this year and last week's wind storm topped out with gusts of 92 mph.<br />
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It is really helpful if you are an indoors introvert and like to read, do puzzles and generally spend time alone. For the more social, drinking (a lot) is another answer as people move from bar to bar on inclement afternoons to catch up with friends. Luckily, the town is small enough to walk between the establishments and then back home. Either way, along about this time, cabin fever has been known to set in.<br />
<br />
With the tourists long gone and no one to harass, even the locals get a little stir crazy. You know, a little something to look forward to, thus the <a href="http://www.tillamookcountypioneer.net/garibaldi-crab-races-the-kentucky-derby-of-crustacean-sporting-events/" target="_blank">Annual Garibaldi Crab Races</a> became the social event of the season. How I wish I had been there the night this wild jamboree was invented. Imagine the conversation at the tavern when the gauntlet was thrown down, "My crab is faster than your crab." "Say's who?" shouted from the other end of the bar.<br />
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As crab is plentiful during the winter, it didn't take long to gather the starting line up and the cheering (gambling) for the quickest crustacean followed. The crab are motivated by the fact that the losers will be eaten before the next round of racing begins. An excellent example of human's ability to adapt to their environment and utilize what is available. The crab didn't see it coming.<br />
<br />
The winter sport took off and soon it became an annual tradition complete with colorful crab hats, exciting prizes and another reason to gather (drink) in the winter. So melt the butter and pour a beer, it is time for the Annual Crab Races as the weekend weather will be dark and stormy yet again.<br />
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<i>Note: My apologies to the crab, luckily the sport wasn't invented by the local dairy farmers.</i><br />
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<br />Nancy Zavadahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14256927400263270244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3687238422250667306.post-72916508931394672252016-03-07T08:28:00.000-08:002016-03-07T08:28:02.177-08:00Spring Forth<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKA5QzfukG51JUj5Hr2HIuYURAkY5JqvoLkLDzbm4vvtmNo_YKwCtuPdQy0AgkwncjGlxEuWh4zhMOmXdlevfDb7x35AiaQWpf3dUofuTvy-Fe3CpgUAx4YP-TzXjppzm6Tgjl49V0ock/s1600/Spring+crocus+2011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKA5QzfukG51JUj5Hr2HIuYURAkY5JqvoLkLDzbm4vvtmNo_YKwCtuPdQy0AgkwncjGlxEuWh4zhMOmXdlevfDb7x35AiaQWpf3dUofuTvy-Fe3CpgUAx4YP-TzXjppzm6Tgjl49V0ock/s400/Spring+crocus+2011.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Just when you think you can't take another day of dull, gray rain, colorful blooms pop out of the earth to give you hope. Good timing!Nancy Zavadahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14256927400263270244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3687238422250667306.post-12753907527283599892016-03-04T18:18:00.000-08:002016-03-04T18:18:05.745-08:00The Bright Side<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqHq6wx2xJWI_L_vfWKqcbcJFUbzp9lXuQhprK1ogUeYr4sYl39pJYm-X_NObvkHjdo3xFFDcpfmDdfjzz2xncplTY7wZ7eZ4BjBqK2gc9zxbvT-luEyjJjGPTUyPFUUIvVBtw0kqig9I/s1600/Winter+Beach+and+Lucy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqHq6wx2xJWI_L_vfWKqcbcJFUbzp9lXuQhprK1ogUeYr4sYl39pJYm-X_NObvkHjdo3xFFDcpfmDdfjzz2xncplTY7wZ7eZ4BjBqK2gc9zxbvT-luEyjJjGPTUyPFUUIvVBtw0kqig9I/s640/Winter+Beach+and+Lucy.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<br />
"Another day, another storm," that's all we hear from the weather authorities. Oceanside and parts of Netarts have been cut off from the world for weeks this winter thanks to washed out culverts.<br />
<br />
The bright side? Sand dollar hunting has never been better. We discovered six beautiful "sea cookies" (to those Down Under) on this winter stroll. Nancy Zavadahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14256927400263270244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3687238422250667306.post-48366071213706863202016-02-21T09:27:00.001-08:002016-02-21T09:27:36.321-08:00What Lies Beneath <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv6y6hA9rjvMKdPEYfKJA5xfkgU9Ez7a3TpkATNeTuTAKfBQIHoXyfoZDddkXqQGgNayXxuHGSEaC6q-wiQ5zfUKSoDAvx1bol9KCToyJAUADf25_p75fLE5zIRYhdwQz9vT9n0Uvbb6k/s1600/Exposed+Rocks+2016i.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv6y6hA9rjvMKdPEYfKJA5xfkgU9Ez7a3TpkATNeTuTAKfBQIHoXyfoZDddkXqQGgNayXxuHGSEaC6q-wiQ5zfUKSoDAvx1bol9KCToyJAUADf25_p75fLE5zIRYhdwQz9vT9n0Uvbb6k/s400/Exposed+Rocks+2016i.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />
Harsh winter storms have scoured the beach of it's soft sand, revealing rocks and tide pools. It is quite beautiful and a completely different place than summer.<br />
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Will I remember what lies beneath when the sand returns?Nancy Zavadahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14256927400263270244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3687238422250667306.post-2822828306826405172016-02-17T10:51:00.000-08:002016-02-17T10:51:49.785-08:00There's No Place Like Home<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ1rrDssWhMYHLLlwJx2tp_WdXW7rKWMC_GJTWr4SB-1Ao1PNwlZqFe1KJa24TlOHo7gpcifyHpNPLq8rii8vF_ge96pd5riFuOs1mPQHzB7UXhruh5acggXpBnxg1tU4ESNv_tHXzdQQ/s1600/Netarts+Bay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ1rrDssWhMYHLLlwJx2tp_WdXW7rKWMC_GJTWr4SB-1Ao1PNwlZqFe1KJa24TlOHo7gpcifyHpNPLq8rii8vF_ge96pd5riFuOs1mPQHzB7UXhruh5acggXpBnxg1tU4ESNv_tHXzdQQ/s400/Netarts+Bay.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When this is the place you call home, there is no reason to leave. None. Even though the winter storms are getting a little old and I long for the day when I can sit in my favorite chair with the sun on my face, it is still heaven.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;">I found this aerial photo of Netarts Bay looking toward Oceanside online. When we look really closely, we can see home on the right. It is hard to tell if I am outside in my chair or not. Thanks to the photographer who would get credit if I only knew.<i style="font-size: small;"> </i></span></span>Nancy Zavadahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14256927400263270244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3687238422250667306.post-76399798016122213512016-01-18T17:45:00.001-08:002016-01-18T17:56:02.518-08:00My Father's Best Friend<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRZ0zEh_MTCFoDOvRLCpaTZNDSwrV1a2sfAHov2IhvIpStTQLhDvfi2lvLpAcc5xbTWgXwb8tjHqHG9oSvJSt4epsRmTLyZ-KoKBK9yVZIedaB98SIbUkZvEpxWmVK_0g4qh-9IEtqOAQ/s1600/Goldie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRZ0zEh_MTCFoDOvRLCpaTZNDSwrV1a2sfAHov2IhvIpStTQLhDvfi2lvLpAcc5xbTWgXwb8tjHqHG9oSvJSt4epsRmTLyZ-KoKBK9yVZIedaB98SIbUkZvEpxWmVK_0g4qh-9IEtqOAQ/s400/Goldie.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
My Dad made a very detailed list of things I was supposed to
do upon his death. The most important
one was to “Find a good home for Goldie.”
Goldie, a gentle yellow lab he rescued at the age of eight, became his
constant companion during the last years of his life. Their daily walks to the little store for a
pack of smokes for him and a pepperoni stick for Goldie were legendary. Even after his hip replacement when the
doctor advised him to stop walking her for fear she would pull him over, they kept
right on with their afternoon strolls.
When we found Dad in bed with a stroke, Goldie was laying right beside
him patiently waiting for him to get better.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Upon his death, Goldie went to stay with my sister and her
family and a while later, Bob and I stole her away to live with us. She took to Bob immediately and quickly
became our constant companion too.
During the day she would be at work with one of us and served as the well-loved
office dog for everyone’s petting enjoyment.
She loved riding around in cars and when you looked in the rear view
mirror it was a like “Driving Miss Daisy” as she sat properly upright hoping
the next stop would be a walk. The only thing she didn’t like was being left
behind and would always rather go along, napping in the car during errands knowing you would be back shortly. Anyway, if you tried to drive away without
her, she just followed the car so it wasn’t any use.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Goldie always made us feel as though Dad was still close by. She even had an uncanny way of giving my
sister and me “The Look” that Dad was famous for when we were in trouble. Even the grandkids knew the look when they saw
Goldie flash it and shaped up immediately.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her happy place was in Netarts where she didn’t have to wear
a leash, freely explored the alder cove and sat overlooking the bay at sunset,
nose in the air to drink in the scent traveling in on the breeze. Long beach walks
exploring every single object and her<i> selective hearing</i> when being called was
this old dog’s favorite new trick.<o:p></o:p></div>
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When she passed away last week at the age of 14, she left a
huge hole in our hearts and in our lives. In fact, everywhere we turn. Let it be said that I followed my father’s final
instructions to the letter and found her a good home. A home she made by nestling deep in our
hearts and souls. </div>
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So, "Thanks, Dad for your best friend, Goldie. We are grateful for the gift of time and
love she shared with each of us. We are sending
her back to you for a pepperoni and a scratch in her favorite spot, although, we
really wanted you both to stay here with us forever."<o:p></o:p></div>
Nancy Zavadahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14256927400263270244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3687238422250667306.post-13086765482651137082015-12-11T18:00:00.000-08:002015-12-11T18:00:35.786-08:00Sanity Check<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqKDgBK98elo-V2Yx2JZbTDaLo3v0XB_Ln3RkFsc0d2c1Ahnxvft3LwWmQb-r0ICKhHe-aaaOTfWnHRZmzi2mMtc8s7dNQsL9ENxVgdN5W_i4dvGYw3tpTNLD3RZkjNePT5Y0AC83l1g4/s1600/Grey+Winter+Day+2015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqKDgBK98elo-V2Yx2JZbTDaLo3v0XB_Ln3RkFsc0d2c1Ahnxvft3LwWmQb-r0ICKhHe-aaaOTfWnHRZmzi2mMtc8s7dNQsL9ENxVgdN5W_i4dvGYw3tpTNLD3RZkjNePT5Y0AC83l1g4/s400/Grey+Winter+Day+2015.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Mother Nature wreaked havoc on the Oregon Coast this week. Homes were evacuated, raging rivers flooded their banks, the power was out and entire communities became cut off from the outside world by landslides.<br />
<br />
Undaunted, these citizens watched out for each other during the storms and continue to help each other dig out from under tons of silt, water, and trees. Often sending a distressed plea through social media for others to check on loved ones when the roads were washed away. This small community banded together and the heartwarming stories are many.<br />
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We fared much better than most, only losing a pine tree to the wild winds. It snapped off 16 feet up, unceremoniously dropping the upper half on the fence. At the coast they jokingly call this "having your firewood delivered to your door." Many have had it delivered by ocean waves this week, thankfully, not in our case.<br />
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The storms continue to batter the shore with lively thunder and lighting last night and another high wind warning alert for tomorrow. Just as you are considering a sanity check might be in order, a moment (like the one pictured here) comes along. The salty air whirls around you, the sky lightens and the birds once again take flight. The calm before the next storm reminds you of why you live here.Nancy Zavadahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14256927400263270244noreply@blogger.com0