Mel Washington's Beautiful Voice

 Before my son died last year, when we'd talk on the phone, he would often mentioned his friend Mel Washington to me.  I had the opportunity to meet Mel at my son's wake, and I've listened to many of his songs on the youtubes.  He has a beautiful voice, makes excellent music, and (as my son had told me in great depth) is a wonderful person.   My son Christopher was a good judge of character and didn't tolerate fools and miscreants.  He was friends with artists, craftsmen, chefs, business owners, tons of service industry workers, and myriad good human beings.  

If you've not heard Mel's work, you should take some time out of your evening or weekend, and enjoy his music online; get to know him.  If you live in or near the Holy City, you should see him live.  I don't think you'll regret it.  

We miss our son very much, every day, and some days are better than others... some harder than others. But talking to, interacting with, listening to, and appreciating the multitudes of excellent people who knew and loved our son is one positive way to keep him in our thoughts as we continue to do our best, each day.

Signal Boost:

https://www.facebook.com/melwashingtonmusic

https://www.youtube.com/user/melwashington

https://soundcloud.com/mel-washington

https://open.spotify.com/artist/1adYfKybPGfYhTFbxnGCIX

https://www.instagram.com/melwashington/

and to see him live, while you wear a mask, and socially distance...

https://www.bandsintown.com/a/156628-mel-washington

Oh, you think the moon is real?

 

The last 4 years have seen a resurgence in people believing conspiracy theories, especially when their so-called leaders promote and encourage such asinine theories that have been disproven by science and in-depth investigation.  But it's very hard to argue with a "faith based" argument that is devoid of any scientific proof, acceptance, or knowledge.  So I propose a new tactic in dealing with willfully ignorant folks who embrace and defend their baseless conspiracy theories:  One Up them.

When someone tells you that the moon landings were faked, don't argue.  Laugh, and dismiss them with "oh, you're one of those people who think the moon is real?"  Double down on something even more ridiculous.  

Flat earthers?  "Oh, you're one of those people who believe we're on a planet called Earth?"

Lizard people, disguised as world leaders, who run our government?  (a Q-anon, aka Q-inane believes) "Oh, you think they're lizard people?  Everyone knows they're actually otters underneath those human looking suits."

Satan worshiping pedophiles who run a ring of human trafficking out of the basement of a Washington DC pizza restaurant frequented by Leon Panetta?  (another Q-inane core belief)  "Oh you think Satan worshippers eat pizza? Don't you know they're all lactose intolerant? That's why they rejected christ."

Don't argue with these devoted disciples.  Push them deeper into doubt.  Present a more ludicrous position that even the dullest knife in the drawer who abhors science and peer reviewed facts would have difficulty grappling with and trying to understand.

The 2020 election was stolen, and was actually a landslide victory for T****!  "Oh, you believe there was an actual national election last November?  All they did was have the NSA gather everyone's DNA and retina scans while they THOUGHT they were voting!  The otters controlled who won!!"

I Shake Like an Incurable...

 It was 95F here in Carlsbad today.  Dr Desert Flower and I floated in the pool in the late afternoon.  It's rarely over 80 or 85F here.  I asked her to put on The Police...  just not Synchronicity, as that's my least favorite album of their 5.  She put on Reggata de Blanc, and Outlandos d'Amour.  We have Bose speakers that point at the pool and backyard.   Then this came on the stereo system:

... and I kinda lost it.    Between my son's death and my dad being diagnosed with colon cancer this week, August and September 2020 have been the worst months of my entire life.  

I miss my son, more than words in English can express.

An Empty LA

The new video by Maynard of Tool, on his side project Puscifer, published Apocalyptical yesterday.  (thanks to my buddy Ryan for the head's up).  It shows a completely empty Los Angeles.  I've been to the Staples Center.  It's in a very busy section of the city.   https://youtu.be/Hj_bTbfAEsc


A skateboarder in a level 4 haz mat suit, drone footage of streets, parking lots, beaches, all devoid of human life in frame after frame.  Granted, these might have been taken near dawn on a cloudy day (so you can't see shadows) but it is eerie how empty the streets are in America's 2nd largest city.

Those Southern states who are opening back up with little or no restrictions, I wish your health care systems and morticians all the best, as your elderly, cancer patients, diabetics, hypertensives, morbidly obese, immuno-compromised, the weakest of "the herd" say their good byes to their families (if they still have any) through FaceTime or panes of glass before they expire.  No, Covid-19 is not a hoax.  It's not some conspiracy created by hospitals to get more Medicare money. It's a global pandemic.

If you read this, and can't help yourself in angrily (or snarkily) responding to me, your comments will be published and mocked.

The 99%'s Favorite Drinking Spot in Carlsbad

So last December, Dr Desert Flower and I moved from our home in Carlsbad that had no view, no breeze, and was on a fairly busy street, with a 2 car garage, to another home in Carlsbad that had a canyon and ocean sunset view, a consistent breeze nearly every morning and evening, a pool, a wine cellar, and a 3 car garage - instead of a Tetris Packed 2 car - and was on a cut de sac with very little traffic each day.  At the previous home, from June 2015-Dec 2018, we had a fair number of hummingbirds visit our yard, possess our feeders, and provide visual amusement to both the humans and our feline familiar who'd look longingly out the window at the hummingbirds, and salivate.  We were not sure if the hummingbirds would warm up to our new location, exposed on a canyon rim with a 200 foot drop into the valley below, without the lush vegetation in which they previous hid at the first Carlsbad house.  We set out the feeders, and waited.

No need to "share a straw" when you bring your own

It didn't take long.  We soon had dozens of hummingbirds vying for positions, perches, a place at the free-drink happy hour bar.  The feeders along the western fence at the canyon's edge were THE MOST popular.  10 holed nectar feeders that consistently draw 10, 11, or 12 birds (where they share the same hole with the beaks side-by-side), began to be drained at the rate of 1 quart each day, or 1000 mls per day.  At a 4:1 water to sugar ratio, that meant that I was going through a 4 pound bag of sugar every 4 or 5 days, washing mold and fungus from the feeders every 2 or 3 days (using warm water and a tiny bit of Dawn dishwashing liquid), and never getting tired of seeing the swarms of birds enjoying the free nectar.


At the old house, a single mature dominant male would try and "own" a specific feeder, and chase off all other birds in a futile attempt to hoard the whole pint or whole quart of nectar to himself.  Sometimes a mature male would let a female of the same species drink at "his feeder" but that was really only during mating season (in the late Winter and early Spring), and rarely ever in mid-day when sunlight was plentiful and visual acuity (to see if the birds were male, female, adolescent [not yet plumage differentiated] and which species was visiting) was much clearer.  At "humming bird happy hour", AKA an hour before sunset as the shadows grow longer and ambient light substantially decreases, "tolerance" of other birds at a feeder increased and one might see 1/2 a dozen birds drinking at the same time from the same feeder.  It was mostly 1 dominant mature male, several females, and a handful of adolescents who were trying to appear as if they might be females of mating age... but it was often more than just one hummingbird at a specific feeder at happy hour.


In the new canyon rim home, the fence adjacent feeders are now remarkably successful beyond our wildest dreams.  There are often 10 birds perched, drinking from 10 holes, as 2 to 4 more birds hover nearby, waiting their turn.  Sometimes there at 11 or 12 birds drinking from 10 holes.  Occasionally there's a feisty Rufous or Anna's mature male who tries to drive off other birds, but the mature females Generally Ignore such trouble makers.  "We have nests to feed!" "Can't a lady get a drink?" and "No thanks, I already mated" are chirped phrases I imagine (project) are stated at every happy hour where the majority of the hummingbirds are mature females and adolescents, with just one or two males trying to get a drink alongside as well.

Um, I think I left my ID back at the nest... (12 birds on a 10 holed feeder, some of them undoubtedly nest mates)

We have at least 5 species of hummingbirds who visit our feeders.   I will state them here by rank of "most plentiful" to "least plentiful, more rare" as seen in our backyard.  Thanks to Cornel's All About Birds site, (and Audobon's site... since Cornel's is not loading in many instances today) you can learn more about them as well, if you follow the links:
Anna's:  https://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Annas_Hummingbird/id  The NBA players of the hummingbird world; 20% bigger than everyone else.
Costa's; https://www.audubon.org/field-guide/bird/costas-hummingbird
Rufous; https://www.audubon.org/field-guide/bird/rufous-hummingbird ; small but pugnacious
Allen's; https://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Allens_Hummingbird/overview
Blackchinned;  https://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Black-chinned_Hummingbird/id



When I inquired to Cornel as to how much nectar a single hummingbird (using an Anna's as an example) consumes in a day, I was given the following answer:
Anna's Hummingbirds weigh on average about 1.95 grams.
Hummingbirds consume 1/2 their body weight each day on nectar, gnats, spiders, and small insects.  The nectar provides carbs while the insects provide protein.

...so if I am making At Least one quart a day (or 1000 milliliters) of nectar for the feeders along the fence, and each bird drinks a maximum of 1 ml each day (as 1 ml of water - 1 gram... the beauty of metric measure), then I am feeding 1000 birds every single day in my backyard.  Some hotter days, when we have Santa Anna winds, the birds are consuming 2 quarts per day.


Dr Desert Flower and I know this has led to a significant increase in the local hummingbird population, as well as helping to sustain mutations and variations that otherwise would probably rapidly perish "in the wild" without a government run, free nectar for the 99% program, such as we are providing.  We've seen beak mutations (bumped beaks, split beaks, frayed ends of beaks, broken beaks) at both the previous home's backyard and our current canyon rim home.  We've watched a severely bumped beak "male" try and take over a backyard feeder and dominate it, only to molt the next year (with the same bumped beak) into a female with muted plumage - perhaps a hermaphroditic XXY or androgen desensitivity mutation?  It's no longer "survival of the fittest" in our backyard, but the prospering of the most social, least combative.  And all it costs me is 4 pounds of sugar every 4 or 5 days.  A social safety net well-worth sustaining.

SpaceX Falcon Heavy Boosters Return Safely Simultaneously

When I was a kid, I remember sitting in front of the 25 inch tube TV in my parents' living room watching Apollo space capsules splashing down in the ocean and US Navy divers jumping out of helicopters in wet suits to attach lifting cables to the outside of the floating capsules.  It had always fascinated me, and I've seen Mercury, Gemini, and Apollo re-entry capsules in Chicago at the Museum of Science and Industry, in Washington DC at the Smithsonian, at the San Diego Air and Space Museum in Balboa Park.  Those capsules exited the atmosphere, and returned, carrying live astronauts, and surviving re-entry through he atmosphere, and the heat and pressure scars on the surface of the capsules was always jaw dropping to me as a kid, as a teen, and as a young adult that we, as puny humans, could design and build and launch something that was so tough it could survive re-entry and return the astronauts back to terra ferma safely.

Then today, South African immigrant Elon Musk's company SpaceX launched the Falcon Heavy as a test flight for future Mars missions, making it the largest rocket (3 million pounds) launched since Apollo moon missions more than 40 years ago.  Yes, SpaceX has launched and recovered boosters before. Sometimes on remote controlled barges, sometimes on land. But they had not done a double booster return yet, and watching today's double simultaneous landing was... amazing... jaw dropping... awe-inspiring... remarkable.  See here:


Sure, the rocket's  "payload" was Elon's personal Tesla Roadster convertible, being driven by a mannequin in a space suit, and outfitted with 3 cameras that have been giving fantastic views of the car and the Earth as it heads into orbit around the Sun and a rendezvous with Mars in about 6 months... and that's cute, and stylish, and amusing, and FAR BETTER than launching a dummy payload of bricks or steel or something really boring (but safe).  Elon had given the launch a '50 to 66% chance of success', setting realistic expectations.  The boosters came back safely, and beautifully.  The main core malfunctioned after separating from the payload at MACH 15, and did not make it to the remote controlled barge in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean as planned... but 2 out of 3 safe returns for usable rockets is not bad. And I anticipate, it will only get better with more practice.

Going into space is hard.  It's not easy nor simple, and few nations have done it successfully.  Fewer companies have done is successfully, and Only One has returned two booster rockets, simultaneously, to a precise launch pad, without using heat sheilds, the ocean, US Navy divers, or parachutes... very impressive indeed!

Balboa Park Botanical Garden

On Sunday, Dr Desert Flower and I had zero interest in watching the Superbowl since it was the New England perennial cheaters against the Philadelphia obnoxious fans underdogs.  [Note: I clearly state "cheaters" not because of just 'deflate-gate', but because of the pattern over years of coach Bellicose's reign, where he sent spies to opposing teams' training camps to video tape their practices, hired professional lip readers to spy on opposing teams' offensive and defensive coaches to gather intel on what plays were coming next, and generally played very dirty, making every under-handed, sneaky, below-board move possible].  Not wanting to spend time in front of the TV watching the glorification of two teams we despised, we decided to go somewhere that normally would have many people, but hopefully would have Much Fewer persons and be far less crowded than than usual.  We decided upon Balboa Park's Botanical Garden, as we'd never been there before and it was less than an hour's drive away.

Much Smaller than Phoenix's Desert Botanical Garden, the Balboa Park garden is cute, compact, a pretty little spot to visit.  It's perhaps 5% the size of Phoenix's botanical garden, but of course much cooler.  The weather was in the mid-to-upper 70s (Fahrenheit), with low humidity in the 30% range, with gentle breezes of 5 mph every now-and-then.  Quite pleasant.  Crowd-wise... it was a different story.  We arrived around noon, and could only find parking in the vast lot behind the Air and Space Museum in Balboa Park.  Not a long walk, but a good 1/2 mile or so to get to the Botanical Garden.  By the time we left 90 minutes later, that large parking lot was jammed full with cars circling like sharks looking for parking spaces.  The crowds were international.  I heard Spanish, Italian, Russian, Czech, Hindi, Mandarin, Japanese and Thai being spoken as we walked through the park and passed various families; International visitors who Also could not care less about the Superbowl spectacle.  We tried eating at 2 of the cafes inside the park and found 30 and 45 minute waits... and not being British, I don't queue very well, so we headed over to Banker's Hill and had a delicious leisurely brunch at Parc Bistro.

Next year, when two teams are playing that we are equally apathetic about, we'll head out to a remote national park and enjoy the serenity and tranquility, devoid of human interference.  = )

Perfect for Today

I saw this on the book face earlier today, and I've been thinking about how appropriate it is all day.

Sad that in my life time, this 'democracy' has empowered the worst among us.

Maybe something good will come out of this misappropriation of hopeful-but-misinformed-quasi-populist protest vote... like #MeToo, or equal pay for women, or awareness of how Oprah is actually a billionaire while Drumpf is a charlatan thrice bankrupt, thrice divorced, who preys upon his rivals' wives and the worst fears of easily manipulated Umerikuns.

Zobaczymy

Please, Let This Be The LAST Jedi

We went as a family this afternoon to see "Episode VIII The Last Jedi" at the San Marcos Regal Theater.  I'd hoped it would be better than Episodes I, II, and III... and it was, for the most part.  The Original Star Wars (Episode IV) still remains the best, most impactful, memorable Lucas Film of the series, in my humble opinion.  This Last Jedi could probably have been much shorter, included fewer meaningless plot dead-ends, and flowed better than it actually did in the film we just saw... but that's probably the grumpy old man in me commenting openly ("back in my day, you cut people in half with light sabers; you didn't stab them!").

Sure, it was a western / space opera with multiple themes introduced, but it was not the tour de force that the lonnnnng intro & ramp up led the movie-goer to believe.  Hamil goes out far better than Ford went out, in Episode VII, and some of Fisher's appearances look almost computer generated, in the varied lighting she is depicted compared to those with whom she is speaking to or interacting with.  Admiral Ackbar, sadly, is no more.

Several issues I had with the film that still stick in my craw are:
- in space, you don't need bombers (there's only microgravity, or no gravity)
- furry penguins should be delicious, or comical, but not both
- tasting white crystals form the ground, is stupid & potentially deadly (could have been anything more toxic than just salt)
- since when are dueling weapons strong enough to withstand a light saber blade? (in IV-VI there was nothing stronger than a light saber blade)
- if the evil emperor is so knowing and omniscient, why would he be so careless to leave Luke's lightsaber on an oversized arm rest next to him?
- if a ship can be piloted into light speed directly in the path of enemy ships to obliterate through them, why wait until 80% of your fleet is blasted into nothing before making that last spectacular jump?
- if a casino full of the top 1% of the 1% of war profiteers is so opulent, why do they have only 5 cloaked foot guards and 2 little flying police cars?  (ever been to Monaco? I have...)
- if a rebel fleet is trying to run away on regular engines, and are running out of fuel, why doesn't the Imperial fleet just just into hyperspace ahead of the fleeing ship, surround it, tractor beam it, and obliterate it (or force it to surrender)?

Much of the film, depressingly, appears to be made to introduce more toys, more marketing, more character "bling" and accessories that I, as an adult man, could not give a care about.  ALL the previews leading up to the film (we got there 25 minutes early to get good seats) were for inane movies and products that I could not care less about seeing, buying, or mentioning here... but obviously idiocracy seems to be crazy about them.  There were no less than 3 major motion pictures previewed that are coming out that were video game extensions of concepts or movies that I consider irrelevant.  Just because making a CGI model is possible, doesn't mean it Should Be Made, every time.

If you're a HUGE Star Wars fan...  enjoy.  It's not that bad.  I just hope it's the Last Star Wars film I see now that all of the original characters, expect the droid and Chewbacca are gone (and Carrie Fisher is gone in the real world).

What To Expect After Elbow Surgery

So back in July, I posted here (link here) that I'd screwed up my olecranon bursa on my left elbow by jamming it tween the arm rest and the fuselage of a 4 hour Delta flight to Cincinnati at Just the Wrong angle.  The bursa ruptured, made my arm swell, heat up (infection), and was painful.  If I tried to load it working out with free weights, working in my yard with hedge clippers, or doing yoga (like plank pose) the elbow was painful, wobbly, and no fun.

Bryce Canyon (not how it is not "smooth")

I took methyl prednisone (at the advice and Rx of an Urgent Care doc here in Carlsbad) to make the swelling go do and relieve the pain.  The steroids worked, But, the insidious damage had already begun on the bone itself, following the bursa rupture.  The bursa fluid provided food for naturally occurring bacteria (like staph) to feast upon, and the bones where it spilled (the ulna, for example) provided an Excellent network of a narrow lattice-like maze where the staph could eat, breed, and hide from white blood cells (lymphocytes) whose job it was to envelope and kill the invading bacteria.  Problem is, the white blood cells are larger than the bacteria, and can't get into all the nooks and crannies of the bone lattice work.

The end of each of the arm bones are supposed top be nice, smooth, elliptical shapes, where bursa and synovial fluid sacs keep the hard bone from rubbing against the other hard bone.  The fluid sacs act as cushions, to prevent bone-on-bone damage.  While working out and going to physical therapy with a damaged bursa, the bones were grinding on each other, the bacteria were multiplying and building infected lairs in the bone, and throughout July and August, it kept getting worse.  Bone erosion, bone infection, bursa inflammation... it was a vicious cycle.

So I go to an orthopedist who does an x-ray.  Being versed in radiography, I know how poor the resolution can be on an x-ray, especially when dealing with 3D shapes, since the x-ray is a 2D picture.  X-rays are also notorious for not being able to see much of anything on low density soft tissue and fluids, aka the inflamed bursa and progressing bone infection.  They prescribe more steroids, and tell me to ice my elbow - with a freezing cold ice bath for 15 minutes being the most effective - and continue physical therapy.

As a good patient, I go to PT three times a week, I ice my elbow at least once a day.  It hurts less, but it is still wobbly, and when I try to do heavy lifting (like 180 lbs bench pressing) or heavy curls (like a 65 lbs curl bar) it screams at me in pain, so I stop.  I can do light hedge clipping, but anything requiring significant effort and strength, the left elbow rejects the notion, completely, sends extreme pain signals to the brain, and I halt the activity.

Throughout August I struggle with this troublesome elbow.  It's not getting better, and it seems to progressively becoming slightly worse.  Yoga poses that use my arms become increasingly painful.  Playing drum set is fine for about 5 minutes, but after that, Ouch, Yikes, Stop!  Dancing (with ethanol enhancement) to silly songs like YMCA or Vogue, where hand movements are necessary Truly Aggravate the left elbow and result in pain, swelling, throbbing... driving the infection (that I did not yet know I had) DEEPER into the bone.

Just before Dr Desert Flower and I went to Montpellier France for a work conference at Labor Day that she needed to attend, the elbow started to get red, swollen, and exude puss (yes, very gross).  I go back to my primary care doctor who looks at it, and categorically says "you need dissection, you need packing, you need drainage and vacuum and antibiotics... you Must see an orthopedic surgeon immediately!"  I told her that all orthopedists were booked for at least the next 6 weeks and I had no way of seeing anyone, especially not 2 days before heading to France.  She leapt into action, and made an appointment with Scripps best elbow surgeon that afternoon.  The surgeon re-arranged his schedule, and saw me late that afternoon in his office down in La Jolla.  He took a culture from the oozing elbow, hoping to grow in a lab whatever the infectious agent that was troubling me.  Nothing grew, of course. He also placed me on a massive dose of broad spectrum oral antibiotics (4x a day), to try and kill (or at least subdue / slow the progress) the infection.

He gave me a huge bag of betadine swabs, sterile gauze, ace bandages with velcro, and medical tape to clean and dress the festering elbow while in France.  I dutifully cleaned my elbow with the betadine swabs each day after I showered, and carefully wrapped it in the sterile gauze for the week we were in France.  On the plane ride home, I sat with my arms crossed over my chest, protecting my sensitive elbow from being bumped by other passengers, the passing drink cart, and anything else in the crammed, lemming-like environment that is the coach economy section of international commercial travel, unless you're on Aeroflot.

When I got back to California, I was supposed to have an MRI of my elbow pre-surgery so that the surgeon would know what to expect.  Due to the arcane and byzantine American health care system, the MRI was Still Not approved by United Health care, and I had to waste a day of my life getting an ultrasound of my elbow, instead.  The Scripps elbow ultrasound radiologist took one look at the high resolution image, and said "this is not classical, you'll be getting an MRI".  He pointed to the screen where the contours of Bryce Canyon were showing up on the end of my ulna, instead of the nice smooth egg-shape that was supposed to be there.  Change the angle of the UT probe, and yep, the canyons and valleys and out-cropping were still there, in graphic 3D.  The MRI should confirm it, the radiologist said.  An hour later, United Health Care approved the MRI, and it was schedule for 2 days later, on a Saturday.

The next day (Friday) the Hospital with the MRI machine called, and said they had a last minute opening, am I available?  Unemployed and unable to use my left arm... sure... I was available.  So I got fast-tracked into the MRI the Friday before my surgery on the next Wednesday.  The elbow continued to "weep" out puss over the weekend and right up to the day of surgery.

Holding the vancomycin "hand grenade"

The morning of the surgery, the surgeon's PA (physician's assistant) comes into the pre-op room where I am wearing just a open-backed gown, and asks me "do you know what to expect, what is coming?"  I told her my abbreviated understanding, of surgery, followed by 2 or 3 weeks to let it heal, followed by weeks or months of physical therapy.  "Not quite" was her reply.  She then laid out the whole treatment plan that I had no clue would be so onerous.

It went as follows:
- Wednesday morning surgery to remove the bursa, and pack in antibiotic "beads"
- the infected bone would be removed (picture a medical dremel tool) to 'clean it up'
- stay in the hospital for 2 days, with my arm immobilized in a cast
- go back into surgery on Friday night, and have the beads removed, check on progress of the wound, clean up anything that needs internal clean up
- Saturday, after surgery, if I am stabilized, go home with a fancy portable vacuum pump, that will keep suction on the elbow wound - which they won't stitch closed - to drain fluid and to aid in the healing and closure of the wound over time
- keep the vacuum pump on me for at least 3 weeks, changing the dressing on the elbow with a visiting home health care nurse 3X a week
- install a PICC line (peripherally inserted central catheter) into my right arm, that runs up to my heart's ventricle vestibule, where it will dump out liquid antibiotics that I will infuse at home, twice a day, for 2 hours each dose, for the next 6 weeks
- come back to the doctor's office once a week through this whole process, to check on progress of the wound healing, to take vital signs, and make sure there's no relapse back into infection.

First look at home, after surgery (disgusting, yes)

Ugh!  I had no idea that it would be such a life-halting inconvenience.  If I had been employed at this time, I would have had to take 1/2 days basically EVERY DAY for a month, to deal with this health issue.  Why could they not just stitch up the elbow, like a "normal surgery"?  Then the bursa would not grow back clean and healthy and the bone infection would continue to destroy the ends of my bones.  It needed to heal "from the inside out", and closing the wound before the bursa had fully rebuilt itself from scratch would have a negative prognosis, with re-infection likely.  According to the surgeon, who volunteers much of his time at the local San Diego VA, Afghan and Iraq vets with bone infections from shrapnel fight the infection for months at a time, on and off antibiotics, and the only way to seriously correct the problem is to surgically dissect (dremel tool / bone saw / etc) the infected bone, and then let the body grow it back.

The surgery went fine.  Two hours under general anesthetic.  The final wound was 50 mm long by 20 mm wide by 10 mm deep (or 2" x 1" x 3/8ths of an inch, roughly).  Bursa removed, and 4 mm of ulna dremel tooled off.  Lots of Percocet in the Hospital to deal with the pain.  The re-check 2 days later also went well, beads removed, I was set to leave the hospital on Saturday with my portal vacuum pump... but.. bureaucracy stepped in the way.  Apparently, no one filed the final paper work to get me a pump to take home, send the vancomycin antibiotic to my house, or arrange the home health care nurse visits.  "We're sorry, but you'll need to stay until Monday, or maybe Tuesday, once the paper work is done."  Unacceptable.

The hospital bed was a VERY uncomfortable "smart bed" made by Hill-Rom Versa Care.  It was supposed to "auto adjust" to the patient laying on it.  Instead, all it did, was inflate and deflate, Every Two Minutes, to tilt my pelvis forward and back, legs up slightly, legs down slightly.  It was uncomfortable, disconcerting, disruptive, and impossible to sleep soundly on it.  Whoever the morons at Hill-Rom were who designed this monstrosity obviously never asked for customer feedback.  The nurses Could Not turn off the auto-adjust, or the bed alarmed at the central nurses' station.  Sleeping on this continually moving, hot-and-sweaty, poorly designed, poorly conceived contraption meant that Saturday night in the hospital was a very unhappy & unpleasant & restless experience for me.

Sunday came, and the bureaucrats in "Program Management" continued to drag their feet.  Apparently walking and chewing gum at the same time was a challenge for them.  "We might have a pump delivered after 7pm tonight, but we can't guarantee it... we don't normally discharge patients on weekends".  UGGGHHHH!  And then "Even if you get the pump, we have not gotten any confirmation that you'll get the antibiotics or wound nurse... so it's best to just wait until Monday or Tuesday."  This was not the Riyadh Saudi Arabia Ritz, and I was not enjoying my house arrest.  But my heroic floor nurse "Jose" leapt into action.  Working 7am to 7pm, he forced the system to accept all the discharge paper work, prepped me for going home, and KNEW that if he didn't get me out before the end of his shift, I'd be stuck in the hospital for Sunday night unnecessarily.  Jose's efforts were successful; the pump arrived at 7pm, we left at 730pm, and the antibiotics showed up on our door step via courier at 1030pm.


Then, everyday, from October 16th through November 22nd, twice a day, I had to sit and infuse my IV antibiotics through my right arm, into my heart.  Each infusion took roughly 2 hours.  I watched all of Stranger Things, Luther, F is For Family, the Twin Peaks Fire Walk With Me debacle, Dr Whos that I had not seen, and re-read Zelazny's Chronicles of Amber, finished JRR Tolkien's Silmarillion, and started Iain M Bank's "Use of Weapons".  I could not sweat during this time, as perspiration caused the adhesives on the PICC line to loosen and come off my skin.  The PICC line ran straight to my heart, and getting a blood or heart infection was not something I wanted to entertain.  So a month of being sedentary was required.  I tried learning basic Spanish in this time too... but without someone to practice and converse with, I made little progress on this front.

Every week I returned to Scripps in La Jolla to have the nurses, PAs, and doctors tell me how "beautiful" my wound looked, and how well it was healing.  Every 2 or 3 or 4 days, I showered with a large plastic sleeve sealed around my left arm, and baggies that looked like a shower cap over the PICC line dressing.  Today (Thanksgiving) was the very first day I could shower and use Two Hands!  Hooray!

First wet to dry dressing, jammed in

During this time, the first 3 weeks, I had to wear the $22,000 portal vacuum pump around my neck (even sleeping with it, and recharging it as I slept).  Every Monday, a nurse came to change out the vacuum sealed dressing.  Every Thursday, I went to doctor's office in La Jolla to have them change it again.  After 3 weeks, the vacuum pump was discontinued, and I had to do a "wet to dry dressing".

What's a "wet to dry dressing" you might ask?  (I had no idea what it was).  Well, using sterile technique with nitrile gloves and sterile gauze and sterile saline, the patient PACKS in sterile gauze that has been wetted in saline, jammed up into the wound, using sterile cotton swabs as well as nitrile gloved fingers.  Yes, this is unpleasant and mildly painful.  Then, the jammed in gauze is covered by a 2x2 gauze pad, which is then covered by a 4x4, which then gets and ace bandage wrapped around it, to hold it all into place.  All of this is done using just one hand, since the left hand is too far away from the let elbow to be of any assistance.  The Next Day, using sterile gloves, all the jammed in gauze is yanked out, and the process started again - approximately every 24 hours.  Each time the nasty used gauze came out, it looked like a little piece of lemon peel.

At my Nov 22nd visit, I was told the "wet to dry dressings" could be discontinued, and "put a bandaid on it" .. a large 2x2 inch bandaid...  but no more dressing changes.  And the PICC line was removed, leaving an irritated upper right arm where all the dressing adhesives were aggravating my fair skin.  Once again, the nurses and doctors admired how "beautiful" the wound was, and how well it was healing, which was a very strange things to experience from the patient's perspective.  I am glad that the whole wound process is NEARLY over.  I go back in 2 weeks for a followup, and THEN likely, physical therapy will begin, and last through MLK day or Valentines day 2018.  I will be happy to begin working out again, able to sweat, and re-building lost muscle mass... as soon as the bursa is re-built.  I Do Not want to re-infect the ulna or any other bones, so I have to take it easy on my arms and lift nothing more than 5 lbs with my left arm until after my next doctor visit in 2 weeks.

My friend Joe M texted me several Spanish curse words, to help me learn the slang of the language (similar to how I first learned French).  If you want to call me up, or text me in Spanish during the next two weeks, I'd appreciate the practice.  In the mean time, I'll be working on legs and core and aerobic exercise, until I get clearance from my doctor to begin rebuilding strength in my left arm.

Yes, this Thanksgiving I am very thankful that my wife has a good job with good health insurance coverage that paid for this 6 digit surgical experience, and I am very thankful I don't have to get my left arm amputated.  One armed drummers are not very good.

Humming Bird Happy Hour Bouncer

6 Hummingbirds drinking together in my yard (1 mature Anna's, 2 juvenile Rufous, and 3 Anna's females)

30 minutes before sunset this evening, I sat down in my backyard to enjoy watching hummingbird happy hour.  Hummingbird happy hour is the bet time of the day to observe hummingbirds in a group setting.  The dimming of the sun's natural day light, combined with the abundant availability of established food (11 nectar feeders around the yard) and the inevitability of the arrival of total darkness, draw all the neighborhood hummingbirds together for one long, deep drink of high energy sugar water before the long night's embrace.  The diminished light makes the Brilliant plumage that the dominant males of all hummingbird species develop look much less spectacular, mottled, dull, which puts ALL the hummers -  the dominant males, the fearful juveniles who sport just a goatee, the confident mature females (who are the same size as the mature males, but look they a lot like juveniles) and the immature new fledglings - on nearly equal footing.

Mature Rufous Male Hummingbird

I've enjoyed dozens of hummingbird happy hours here in California.  In Arizona, I saw 2 Anna's hummingbirds at a feeder, once.  Here in California, I've relished dozens of twilights that included a dozen or more birds all sharing resources, before going into their semi-catatonic sleep for the night high up on a secluded branch that's strong enough to barely hold their own weight (less than 21 grams, in most cases).  Tonight was the First time that I observed a vociferous, possessive, pugnacious male Rufous dominant male who continued to chase all other thirsty birds from the 2 feeders right outside the living room window.  One of the 2 feeders is a 4 holed solar PV lit feeder without any perches, so the birds have to hover as they drink.  Six feet away is 10 holed feeder that has a circumferential perch where I've counted as many as 9 hummingbirds drinking at one time (but I've not been able to take a picture of them in this way, yet), sharing resources, peacefully, and making me a very happy & satisfied human that I could create such an environment where I could 'bring the hummingbird community together', and be lucky enough to see them sharing.

A yellow jacket trying to get into one of the 10-holed feeders

Generally, the 2 feeders outside of Dr Desert Flower's office's window in the front yard are dominated by Rufous hummingbird males.  They hang out in the palm trees looming above, or in the oleander bushes a few feet away, or on the top of a skyward pointing succulent frond, observing the 2 front yard feeders, chasing away any other bird who comes to drink, With The Exception of mature females who the males are trying to woo, court, convince, and then with whom they want to copulate for all of 2 seconds while in free-fall from 200 feet in the air.  So Much testosterone and energy goes into the male hummingbird's daily routine, to bully away, ward-off, intimidate all other males and all other species, and try to romance only the mature females of their own species... it makes the plumage and prancing and jousting of a male peacock look blasé in comparison.  The Rufous males don't normally intrude into the back yard... or so I thought.

This evening, I listened to a proud dominant male Rufous sit up in my neighbor's tree above my backyard, chirp and whistle, claiming his dominance over 3 feeders that could be seen from that high vantage point.  I watched as this proud dominant male Rufous would swoop in, and chase away single birds, groups of females who were sharing the feeder, any creature who came near to the fears he now claimed.  This was ruining my happy hour observations.  Twice, I got up from my chair, glass of wine in hand, and stood near to the feeders.  The mature female visitors, who have been around the block and understand better how the world works, did Not see me as a threat, and they drank nearby, almost within arm's reach.  They were wary of the large hairless ape drinking from a wine glass, and they would have flown away if I had made sudden movements, but the pugnacious Rufous male would still come swooping in, Past My Head, and scare them all off.  This could not stand.  No little Rufous male is going to ruin my evening.

2 hummingbirds enjoying the feeder under my suppressing cover-fire

I thought quickly... how could I ward off this mis-guided cretin who never learned how to share, or get along with any other birds?  I remembered a recent Luther episode where a killer wielded a large orange squirt gun full of acid and blinded witnesses around London.  I recalled I had a large un-used squirt bottle in my laundry room that I'd not filled with anything, and ran into the house to fill it with water (no, not acid...  I am not a monster).  I'd used squirt guns to dissuade naughty house cats in the past, before I realized I'd become intensely allergic to them.  I hurriedly rushed back outside to sit with my wine glass and squirt bottle.  My wait didn't take long.

The dominant male Rufous swooped down almost immediately to ward off a dominant male Anna's and an Anna's female, in the dwindling twilight.  His angle of attack took him around the back of the feeder where I did not have a direct line-of-sight, but after he ran off the two other birds, he tried to get a drink from his coveted feeders.  My aim was exact, and the first squirt of water sent the Rufous off the feeder and back up into his tree observation post.  Two more female hummers came in to drink, and as the male Rufous dove down from the tree, I blocked his descent with a barrage of squirts that the gave him pause, and he perched in the jasmine about 8 feet behind the feeders.  More females arrived, and joined their sisters drinking.  5 visible birds at the feeder... but the Rufous male couldn't contain himself, he tried to drive them off.  I sent a salvo of 5 or 6 squirts that sent him into retreat.  2 of the drinking females rose off the feeder to note what was going on, But Then Resettled onto the feeder to resume drinking!  A dominant male Anna's, the NBA players of the hummingbird world due to the fact that they are generally 20% larger than any other hummingbird, settled down at the 10 holed feeder along with the bevy of females and juveniles.  "Hello ladies!" was the look in his little black eye, as he figured he'd hit the happy hour jackpot.  But it was short lived.

A fully mature, dominant Rufous male, perched outside my office, who thinks he "owns" the feeder there.

A moment later, the stubborn Rufous male Again dove at the feeder.  All the birds scattered, and I zeroed in on the bright white collar the mature Rufous male wore and hit him at least once, got close 2 or 3 times, and he fled again.  3 of the 5 females Returned and resumed drinking, under my cover fire.  The Rufous took up station back in his high tree branch, and I aimed upwards towards the little miscreant, arching far over the top of the feeders where the girls were enjoying happy hour, and the mature Rufous found this rebuff to be "too much" and flew elsewhere.  Finally, success!

So if you're a female hummingbird, regardless of species, you're more than welcome to come drink in my yard at hummingbird happy hour.  If you're an Anna's, Blackchinned, or Costa's mature male or a Rufous juvenile, and you know some boundaries and how to act publicly and behave at happy hour, you're also welcome to enjoy delicious high energy, fresh nectar in my yard.  However, if you're a trouble maker, you will be ejected, and refused re-entry into my yard's airspace.  If you persist, you'll be targeted with squirted tap water, which will make flight more difficult, frustrate your petty attempts to monopolize the abundant nectar in the feeders.  The unexpected wetting at dusk, combined with being chased away form the public feeders, may make it more difficult for you to remain warm over-night, but having a warmer, more friendly demeanor will be in your favor going-forward (over-come your instinctual programming, little punk!)  ... or just stick to the front yard, where the Rufous battles are pretty much perpetual.  The backyard feeders have a happy hour bouncer, who is more than 4000 times your mass, and who enjoys having a peaceful, sharing, community atmosphere at dusk.

Fresh Fish for Lunch

As long-time readers of JustJoeP are aware, I have an affinity for ospreys (links here and here).  They're the biggest raptors one can find at the beach here in southern California.  They successfully fish in both calm and rough seas, and they are as comfortable in the water as they are in the air, "shaking off" excess sea water after they've snatched an unsuspecting fish from the ocean.  While I've seen the occasional harrier hawk, red tail, and kite hunting at / near the beach and Batiquitos Lagoon, it's the ospreys that capture my attention and fascinate me.

Last April, when I had been notified that I was getting laid off after 20 years of devoted service, just so that Evil Corp could try and appease activist investors who demanded lower fixed over-head costs by letting go all of their experienced remote workers like myself, I had just finished practicing yoga at South Ponto Beach when I spotted this impressive osprey heading from the beach towards a high voltage utility poll near La Costa & the PCH, just next to the South Ponto parking lot.  Camera in hand, I took pictures for a solid 20 minutes as this successful apex predator enjoyed its lunch of fresh fish.  The fish was more than a foot long, and weighted enough that the osprey had to Really Exert Effort to fly with it to the pole.

I slowly walked up to within 100 feet of the base of the pole, snapping digital photos along the way.  A magnificent bird, eating a fresh meal.  Likely a juvenile who has not yet mated and built a nest to raise a family, or the meal would have been at the nest and not on the pole, above a busy intersection.

My hope is to resume yoga practice at the beach once my post-elbow- bursa-dissection surgery wound is fully healed.  That Might be December... but it also might be later in 2018 some time.  I do hope to see my neighbor the osprey again soon.

Run Like Hell

Not only is Run Like Hell a great Pink Floyd song from their amazing album The Wall, it is also what Tormund Giantsbane shouted to all of his comrades at East Watch on top of The Wall that had guarded Westeros from the dangers of the north for more than eight thousand years, in that fictional world.
(again, spoiler alert... if you have not seen the season finale of Game of Thrones, season 7, read this post after you've seen it)

The season finale was epic, dark, beautifully done.  I won't go through everything here scene by scene, but it IS Worth watching, for all of the ends it ties up, and the new circumstances it presents to the viewer.  Jaime does the right thing. Daenerys still knows how to make a Grand entrance.  Cersie remains one of the largest forces of selfish evil in the world, perhaps equalled by The Night King?  The Hound becomes more likable.  Arya is lethal with her blade. Sansa embraces her family before sycophants.  Sam enlightens the all-seeing three-eyed raven, who needs to get better at predicting things and warning his family about them, instead of just looking all white-eyed in his wheel chair.  The door was held closed for you, FFS!  Do something useful with your new super power Bran flake!

Now, in a physics based world, The Wall was made out of indestructonium since it stuck out into the Narrow Sea at East Watch, and yet after 8000 years of the sea water buffeting against it, The Wall  Never eroded.  Therefore, indestructonium must be one of The Hardest, Most Erosion Resistant, Most Corrosion Resistant, Most Crack Resistant initiating & propagating substances to ever be written about, in any book.  Indestructonium has to be magic... created by magic... shaped by it... maintained by it... However, with such formidable strength and durable properties, there comes a price.  Action / reaction.  If a magic dragon, hatched from an egg that had turned to stone long ago, but when that stone egg was heated in a funeral pyre back in the season 1 finale... and then that magic dragon gets killed by a magic ice javelin... and the thrower os said javelin then resurrects the dead dragon as an undead dragon...  then the magical power of that weapon of mass destruction apparently can over-power 8000 years of ice masonry and indestructonium's use as a long-standing barrier.

As I watched what remained of Viserion repeatedly blast the architectural marvel that was The Wall on Sunday night, I thought to myself:

- is this hot blue fire?
- is this ice coming out of the dragon (like a Gygax dragon)
- is it some kind of psionic blast or energy beam?
- perhaps it is plasma, like that of a white dwarf star?  (but then the undead Viserion would have its own gravitational pull, since it would be far too dense)
... and it wasn't until I talked to my buddy Ryan when he explained to me that it was "magic" and that only magic could defeat magic...  um... ok.  Sure.  I won't think this through any deeper than I already have.

If it is magic breath from a magic beast that was impossibly hauled out of a semi-frozen lake north of the wall by the magical ruler of the magically animated and magically commanded undead, then why not let all that magical confluence take out a long-standing 8000 year old wall?  Sure. Indestructonium be damned!  There's magic at work here!

In that case, Daeneryrs and Jon Targaryen (yeah, He's not a Snow nor a Sand) and their remaining two dragons will likely / should likely be magically destroyed by the Night King and his undead Viserion WMD, and all the steel wielding soldier of Westeros be swarmed by the +100,000 horde of white walkers heading South.  Cersie and all of King's Landing should be wiped out by the undead horde, and all of Westerosy civilization should end as we know it.  I know that doesn't make for a good story or series finale... but if an undead Viserion can destroy an 8000 year old formidable piece of magical creation in less than 1 minute, then it won't take that much longer to kill both siblings, their riders, and let the ground army swarm anything that is still warm-blooded.  I am 99% certain that season 8 and all of GoT won't end that way... but if I was writing it, and I included The Wall coming down as it just did... then that's how I would end the series next season.  3 episodes at best... and then everyone is now part of The Walking Dead.

Whenever You Flash Those Baby Blues

(If you have not watched this week's Game of Thrones, don't read this posting, as it's full of spoilers)

As I accurately hypothesized, a month ago on July 18th (link here), the Night King did indeed kill one of Daenerys's three dragons, and he's turned it into a "wight dragon" or undead dragon, white walker / white flyer dragon.  He didn't need any of his 3 undead giants to throw a spear and kill the dragon Viserion, as I had theorized. No, apparently, the Night King is a Winter Olympic medalist in the javelin throw (I know the javelin throw is a Summer Olympics sport...  but it is still funny.. thank you my friend Ryan), and he has some wickedly powerful ice javelins at his disposal.


So now, for the first time in Westeros, there's a dragon under the power of the Night King.  This sure puts a massive twist into the plot.  Will the dragon breathe fire, as a living dragon would?  Will it breathe ice, now that it has been turned into a blue eyed thing of terrible beauty?  Will it not be able to breathe fire or ice, but still be huge, formidable, and destructive, and will it try and kill it's mother at the Night King's command?  We shall see (il faut voir).

For all of the positive points in last Sunday's episode,
- massive numbers of white walkers torched by 3 dragons
- Arya recounting the story of her father watching her archery practice
- Thoros explaining how drunk he was when he stormed Pyke with a flaming sword (back from a Season 1 reference)
- Tyrion giving counsel to Daenerys to not be like her father and other tyrants before her
- a white walker polar bear, killed by an obsidian dagger (dragon glass)
- lots of flaming sword action
- Arya not killing Sansa and taking her face
- Jon Snow trying to give Jorah back his sword and Jorah respectfully refusing to take it

... there were some MAJOR plot holes & inconsistencies that didn't make much sense to the logical thinking viewer.  Sure, they were necessary to move the story forward, but things like:
- The Flash like capabilities of Gendry to run massive distances ALL the way back to East Watch in just a few minutes, in what took the group hours to traverse
- the existence of a non-frozen lake, north of The Wall (why hasn't the ice wall melted, if a simple lake remains un-frozen?)
- why use steel swords to fight white walkers when steel doesn't kill them... obsidian does (Jorah has this Down, he gets it)
- the apparently "light speed traveling ravens", who could get from East Watch to Dragonstone instantaneously, and then the light speed flying dragons who could get from Dragonstone to East Watch in just a few minutes (perhaps the dragons can teleport?)
- the failure of any of Daenerys' dragons to take out the white walker leadership (pictured above) before they could kill one of them (dragons are supposed to be smarter than most humans, per Tolkien et al)
- Jon Snow's ability to hold his breath in freezing cold water, and swim while clothed in soaking wet furs, climb out of the lake and onto thin ice that doesn't continue to break (I spent alot of time out on frozen Big Pond between Highland and Hammond in the winter when I was a kid... ice doesn't freeze THAT irregularly, to be able to support men and horses, and then just break, willy nilly, with solid edges strong enough to support the weight of a man climbing out... that's why you need a rope or a ladder to extricate someone who has fallen into a frozen lake)
- the sudden convenient plot device of undead-but-still-pure-of-heart Uncle Ben Jen Once Again, appearing out of no where to save the day
- the sudden appearance of two MASSIVE ship chains, in the middle of No Where, north of The Wall, with which to hoist out a dead Viserion from the semi-frozen lake
- the appearance (off screen, not shown) of incredibly strong, white walker cold water divers, who could jump into the lake that had previously wiped out many of their numbers, wrap the mysteriously appearing massive ship anchor chains around Viserion's punctured neck, so that the dead dragon could be hoisted out of the water (maybe the Night King used his 3 undead giants for the underwater work, and then didn't bother to use the giants to pull out the corpse, instead having 100s of frail & decomposing wights pull on the massive ship anchor chains instead?)



So now, the questions I have are as follows:
1) will the wight dragon formerly known as Viserion be used to melt a hole in The Wall, through which the horde of White Walkers will pour through?
2) if the undead Viserion can no longer breathe fire, will the undead giants be used to bash down the rickety, poorly maintained tune, door through which Jon Snow and Tormund Giantsbane's party passed through, so that the horde of undead can pour South?
3) When Daenerys and Tyrion sit down with Cersie for parle, assuming they bring the writhing white walker they captured (if the Night King doesn't just make the captive die or shatter), will Cersie be convinced that the threat from the North is real?
4) will obsidian weapons be distributed to everyone, or just Jon Snow's army and the Free Folk get them in order to dispatch white walkers?
5) Since geography doesn't matter, ships can sail around a continent in less than a day, ravens and dragons can traverse 100s of miles instantaneously, Lannister armies can march on and destroy High Garden in just a few days... how many hours or days will it take for the Night King and his horde to reach King's Landing?  It Should Be just one or two days, like "the next episode" and not "next season", considering all the previous precedents around geography & time set by D.B. Weiss and David Benioff.  Perhaps old Walder Frey's "The Twins" can be destroyed by dragons so that will stall the horde slightly.

I'd really hoped that the 3 dragons would torch all the white walkers, and this would be the last season of Game of Thrones... but Weiss and Benioff love money so much, they're going to milk the series for all it's worth.  Dethrone Cersie, put Daenerys on the throne like she's always wanted, draw & quarter Euron, let Jon Snow and his 1/2 sister Daenerys rule happily ever after. Conflict resolved, game over... but... that's why I am not a Hollywood producer or multi-millionaire; il faut voir.

National Pine Cone Reserve

When I was a kid growing up in Highland Indiana, every year my parents worked diligently in preparing for our parish's "Christmas Bazaar" where arts and crafts and all sorts of Christmasy goods were sold to raise money for the church and school.  My mom would work with the volunteer ladies who made crafts.  My father would work throughout the year in his workshop in the basement, sawing, coping, gluing, clamping, painting various pieces of woodwork (bird houses, paper towel racks, etc).  Most of the goods had a Christmas theme to them, and wreaths, holly, and pine cones were common-place.

So imagine my surprise when I ascended the hill across the street from my home, and found the drainage culvert up there FILLED with beer-can sized pine cones!  As I walked further along the hill-side, I found hundreds, if not thousands of pine cones; many wheelbarrows worth of pine cones.  If mailing goods was cheaper than it is (I recently mailed a very light package to Chicago, via slow snail mail, and the postage costs were almost as much as the contents of the package!) I would send mass quantities of pine cones back to Highland so the church volunteer ladies could craft them into various & sundry Christmasy goods.  Also, geography conspires against us.

Torrey Pines Beach Yoga

Back in June, I drove Dr Desert Flower down to Otay Mesa so she could get a Fast Pass Global Entry and bypass the log immigration ICE lines that always exist when crossing into the U.S. from Mexico.  After I dropped her off at work, I stopped off at Torrey Pines State Natural Reserve, just off the PCH, with my State Park annual parking pass & yoga mat in hand.  It was a sunny day, when I parked at the beachside parking lot, and crossed the steep road that ascends up to the top of the Torrey Pines bluffs, located a mostly-flat spot that over looked the beach, and I rolled out my mat.  It was a new place in which I've never practiced yoga before.  I thought it would be a good morning.


Within about 10 minutes of beginning my practice, a thick marine layer began rolling in.  By "thick" I mean the 50 yards between the water's edge and I became occluded by mist to the point where I could no longer see the sea.  I could hear the waves... and the mist made me pretty damp and sticky, but I could not bask in the warm sun nor see the waves rolling in and crash on the beach.   (These were 3 to 4 foot waves, that made quite a crash, when they rolled in)

After more than 1/2 an hour in the wetting mist of the thick marine layer, I called it quits, rolled up my mat, and headed home.  (the gray backpack pictured here, was the last time it was usable... more on that in a future post).  It was interesting to note that the marine layer marched in from South to North.  Right Behind me, was a steep incline that lead up to the Torrey Pines bluffs, more than a 100 feet above where my mat and I were.  I could visibly see wisps of mist condensing as the wind drove the moist air against the cliffside and spiraled past me, within just a few minutes of taking this photo.

I'll practice there again, as it was scenic, natural, and inspiring... far better than any flatulence or sweat scented yoga studio.  Beach yoga studios are the kind of environment I call "my happy place".
= )