Loser's Bar

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

This experience will be written off as a mirage in the desert during record-breaking heat and never mentioned again.

I now return you to our regular programming from the Oregon Coast.

Ancient Roots

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.

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.

Love Kills Slowly

The spider in this glass found out the hard way!

Crab is the New Zucchini

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.

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.

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.

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. 

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.”

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.”

Fine Dining

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.

Artful Dead

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?

Our Tribe Changing the World

MeetGreen Staff Retreat, Netarts Bay, Oregon

"Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens 

can change the world; indeed, it's the only thing that ever has."

Margaret Mead

Happy Face

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.

Nature's Similarities

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,

Summer Solstice 2016

The full moon shines on the bay, the berries are fragrantly ripe and this rare beauty arrives with the morning dew.

Abundance surrounds us on this Summer Solstice.

Getting Unstuck

Whenever I have found myself stuck in the ways I relate to things, 

I return to nature. 

It is my principal teacher, 

and I try to open my whole being to what it has to say.  

--Wynn Bullock 

100 Year Old Mermaid Found

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.

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.

Proudly, I come from a long line of mermaids.

Allow Me to Explain

It wasn't my fault

It was a full moon and

I was left unsupervised!

The Eagles Have Landed?

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.

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.

Picture Postcard

The sweet little village of  Happy Camp has never looked prettier than this weekend.  

Who wouldn't want to spend time there?

April Foolin'

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.

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.

Hey, a girl can dream, can't she?

Cream, Sugar or Shrimp?

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.

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.

Do You Ever Wonder Why?

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.

Yet, as I look down at the table I wonder...

Why...please tell me why...here in Tillamook, Oregon,

...a town where dairy cows outnumber humans many times over

...a town that is home to the seventh largest creamery association in the entire country

...a town where, on the street outside the diner, milk trucks go by all day long

...a town where dairy farmers are sitting in the next booth (right now in fact)

...a town that produces the best milk products you will ever taste (e.g. Tillamook Mudslide Ice Cream)


...why, in heaven's name, are there little individual plastic containers of creamer that have been shipped from DALLAS, TEXAS?

Cabin Fever Creates Crab Racing

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.

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.

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 Annual Garibaldi Crab Races 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.

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.

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.

Note: My apologies to the crab, luckily the sport wasn't invented by the local dairy farmers.

Spring Forth

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!