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.

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.

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.

It's MR. Jeeves to You!

I always wanted a Personal Monkey Butler.   How long I have wished for a sweet, little servant to bring me a tall glass of iced tea on a silver tray, to answer the door and alert me to guests, or even to change the television channel back in the day (you see, it is a very old wish).  When not waiting on me, he could entertain me with tricks or gossip from the next town over.

He could sit on the back of my tall armchair and watch as I hold court in the afternoon, whispering in my ear from time to time.  I would be amused and give him a treat for his efforts.

As I grow older, this fantasy has rekindled itself.  Now I picture myself at Netarts in my Adirondack chair overlooking the Bay.  My Personal Monkey Butler is fetching me a pillow, feeding Goldie and dusting the sand dollars.   Yes, a Personal Monkey Butler has definitely on my bucket list…that is, until a month ago when I got one.

Our story started when a travel-weary monkey, clad in a worn pirate suit came wandering down our lane.  He was dragging his little hobo pack behind him along the gravel road.  You see, we are the last stop on the road, in fact, the last stop on the continent.  He pushed up his false eye patch, scratched his furry head and asked if I might be able to employ him.  A dream come true, I scooped him up and took him inside.

I washed and mended his miniature pirate outfit and put a new feather in his cap.  I gave him food and water before tucking him into the top bunk in our spare room.  He nestled down on the pillows under the chenille blanket and began to snore.  I quietly tip-toed down the hall to tell Bob my wishes had been granted.

The next morning the little guy wandered into the kitchen looking for a “cup of joe.”   While brewing it, I asked him to watch closely because coffee making/serving would be one of his daily duties.  We went through a list of other responsibilities before I asked him if I could call him Jeeves.  He seemed fine with that, but preferred I call him Mr. Jeeves.  I was fine with that too; after all, a good Personal Butler Monkey demands a little respect.

The first week his probation training period went pretty well.  A few little misunderstandings are to be expected after all.  Dishes go in the dishwasher, clothes go in the clothes washer, and the garden hose is for watering the garden not the local wildlife.  He did, however, sit on my Adirondack chair and amuse me in the afternoon breeze.

Along about Day 10, when I asked Jeeves to bring us a few snacks to enjoy on the lawn, he haughtily responded, “It’s Mr.  Jeeves to you!”  as he threw down his linen napkin and stomped to his room.  Fair enough, I had forgotten to use his formal name.  He seemed much better the next day.  In fact, he was so happy that when he requested his first evening off, I couldn’t deny him.  Somehow Bob and I would fend for ourselves.

It was late that night when Mr. Jeeves returned and came weaving down the hallway only to miss his bed completely and pass out on the floor.  The next morning, he was nursing a terrible headache and helped himself to the coffee before pouring ours.  He did share all of the town gossip he learned the night before, so I forgave him.

Two days later I read in the Tillamook paper about an unruly monkey (dressed in a pirate costume) who was terrorizing the tourists at the boat ramp.  Said monkey had been allegedly sitting on a dumpster, fiercely throwing old crab bait, while laughing hysterically at the vacationers attempts to launch their fishing boats.  Mr. Jeeves denied everything but wasn’t able to furnish an alibi.

I am sad to report, things have further deteriorated.  When last seen, Mr. Jeeves had taken up residence at the Upstairs Tavern; beer in one hand, ash-laden cigarette in the other, playing video poker with his tail.  His pirate costume is disheveled, his hat lost its feather and the false eye patch is back.  He won’t come home, even when I call him Mr. Jeeves and offer to get him help or a new feather.

My dream butler has become a crazy nightmare and I am forced to get up and wait on myself.

*Note: no monkeys were harmed in the writing of this story.  The names were not changed to protect the innocent, because he is not innocent!

Snail's Pace

Some days (aka today) this little guy could beat me in a race to the finish line.  It has been one of those weeks/months with too many projects and too little relaxation.  I am worn out.

This morning when I saw this snail crossing the porch on his way to my newly-budding geraniums, my first response was to relocate him...quickly.  Instead, I sat down in the wicker rocking chair, leaned back and watched him creep along toward his pink and red destination.  His pace was slow yet straight and determined, taking advantage of the morning dew.

I was reminded of a fortune, from a long-ago cookie, which sits on my desk simply stating, "You will obtain your goal if you maintain your course."   These words have rung true in my life, yet I appear to have forgotten them during the recent flurry of activity.  The Universe apparently decided I needed a visual reminder, so along he came.

Seeing it as a sign* I slowed my own pace today and am thankful for his presence.

*I wasn't always such a firm believer in "signs."  In an earlier life chapter, I was engaged on May 18th.  Later that day, Mt. St. Helens violently erupted.  Unaware I should be paying attention to the sign, I went ahead and married the guy which ended badly.  Enough said, I now pay attention.

Question of the Day or Lifetime

"You were born with wings. 

Why prefer to crawl through life?" 

~Rumi

A Fine Whine

Usually a very grateful girl, I recently found myself saying these things,

"This is horrible, the tides are all wrong today for a long afternoon walk on the beach."

or

"I didn't sleep well last night because (as I was laying in my toasty warm bed next to my sweetie at the Oregon Coast) the rain was pounding too loudly on my window."

or

"I only found two unbroken sand dollars today."

or

"The sun is shining on my computer monitor and if I move, I have to give up my view of the bay."

When I whined to my friends and relatives, they didn't have much empathy.  My co-workers had none. I am reminded that my problems are not problems at all.

Then I had a much needed talk with myself which started like this...

"Snap out of it, Miss Nancy, you indeed have a lucky life!"

Safe

With grateful heart, I found my soul

tossed out of the sea,

vulnerable to the world.

I picked it up, this fragile pearl,

with a mother's love and said,

"You are safe with me."

And the Award Goes To...

In the world of "garbage washing ashore during winter storms," this recent entry may take the Artistic Design Award. I can imagine the art critic's review now...

"Given the large, three-dimensional nature and the necessarily bold visual language of this installation, the work has a strong sense of place, but at the same time, the depictions of fabric and rope produce a feeling of impermanence and shape-shifting evocative of transient lives where landscape, language and a sense of self are forever being renegotiated.  Although mute, textiles are an almost inexhaustible mine of cultural and scientific information. The secret is in knowing how to read the signs. These physical qualities of endurance, adaptability and evidential power also have great metaphoric potential."

Tales of a Sea Dragon

Of all the things the sea has shared with me this winter, 

the Sea Dragon is my very favorite.

Coming ashore on a full moon, the fog parted long enough to light his way.  The serpent had traveled a great distance the past fortnight and needed to rest on the soft sand.  The next morning, the winter sun rose and warmed his smooth skin as he languished on the beach.

He quietly watched my approach.  With a wink and a sly smile, he welcomed me to sit by his side.  He talked of pirates and mermaids, of storms and wild seas and of far off places I can only imagine.  I told him of deserts, canyons and cities where you never even see the horizon.

The conversation eventually drifted away and we silently watched the waves together as the sun crossed the sky overhead.  We were kindred spirits.

I could have stayed there forever, but after a while, he turned his head longingly towards the sea.  The high tide playfully lapped against his side, beckoning him back to the water.  I knew our time had come to an end.

As we said our farewells it was clear, our friendship would last an eternity. Until we meet again, safe journey!

Year End Special

Don't let this year end without telling someone special how much you love them.  

Tell them even one way they changed your life. 

Share a silly childhood memory.

Thank them for the a time they came to your rescue.

Let them know how proud you are of them.

Open your heart and say all of those things we never take time or are afraid to say. 

We always think there is going to be a tomorrow and sometimes there just isn't.

Witch Test

If you spend time on Winter Solstice shaking each grain of sand from sea shells collected during the summer and saving them in a crystal bottle, does that mean you are a witch?

Ah, I thought so.

Take that, Miss CrankyMcGrumpyPants!

I was having a bad day, it's true.  So much weighing on my mind and I didn't want to deal with any of it.  Taking the fun out of anything and everything around me, was the only thing that brought me a drop of pleasure.  Strangely, sad pleasure.

So I took myself out for a short, urban nature walk and stumbled upon this guy.

Even though he's a weed coming out of a crack in a rock wall, he still has stars in his fur.  Reaching for the sun without complaining, he sways along in the breeze. 

I smiled in spite of myself and started looking for the stars in my fur.

Frequent Flyer

Here's the deal...I am not a fan of flying.  It's the long lines, chaotic airports, being "wanded," torturous seats, and generally, flying through the air at 38,000 feet in a small, steel tube.  It is a requirement of the work I do.  So I shut up, buckle up and go up in the air for hours at a time making the best of it.

If I were a bald eagle, my flying experience would be drastically different.  Easy take offs with only a minimum of squawking by the seagulls in Air Traffic Control, no security checkpoints, an abundance of room for my wing span and the ability to stop mid-flight for a fresh seafood snack.  

I wonder if he has free wi-fi?

 

Mother's Day Musings

Enough already!  I can't turn on my computer, my television, my radio, or open a paper or magazine without being overwhelmed by offers.  Offers of gifts someone, somewhere, determined a "Mom" would want.

So I am going out on a limb here and speak for all mothers when I say, "No, Thanks!" to...

...an edible bouquet with fruit dipped in chocolate unless Johnny Depp is holding it,
...expensive jewelry unless you have paid me back all of the money you owe me,
...a frozen yogurt maker unless it makes margaritas too and is fully loaded,
...bath salts unless I have enough time to use them without someone banging on the bathroom door,
...a plant unless you are going to water it,
...a big screen TV unless it only plays romantic comedies and home shows,
...a cookbook unless you are going to be the one using it,
...a coffee mug reading, "World's Best Mom," because we both know I am not in the running this year.
...products to make me look younger or thinner unless you have a death wish. 

How about a hug?

Note: All of the Mother's Day gifts were advertised last weekend.

Poetry Friday

There once was a girl named Nancy

Who was known as a child for her buoyancy

Yes, she loved the water

She swam like an otter

And her sparkly bathing cap was quite fancy!

Note: Bathing cap not pictured.

The Soul of a Tree

There is nothing so intricate as a tree in winter, perfectly shaped by years of salty wind.  The sun peeps through its gnarled branches reminding me that soon enough they will be covered by leaves. Once covered, the tree's strength, grace and undeniable beauty will be hidden from view, yet always there.

Perhaps we have a lot in common.

Why I am Grateful for Friends

"The sea is so large and my boat is so small."

Apologies to the Spider

It is about this time of year, when watering the garden turns into a daily occurrence.  The heat and lack of rain make for very thirsty plants.  It is also about this time of year, when spiders begin to take over the yard spinning their webs every evening for the catch of the day.

My highly-advanced remedy to avoid walking through spider webs is waving one arm in front of me in a move resembling a baby elephant's trunk.  Around the garden I go, waving one arm while watering with the other.  The children always found this hilarious while I found it very effective.

This morning I was hurried and began darting about with the hose (forgetting the elephant walk).  At one point I took a sharp turn and came face to face with...

this unhappy spider whose web I had apparently disturbed during my watering activities.  Too close for comfort, I apologized both quickly and profusely while retreating to the house.

Know It All

What do you know?

Not what do you believe, feel, see, or imagine.  

What do you know to be true with every fiber of your being?

Live life from this knowingness.