Michael: Back in the Day

Dusty roadrunner
Hides among the chaparral’s
Dry brush and branches.

Monday, February 19,2018

This is going to be an updated quasi- “When I was a kid, we had to walk 10 miles in the snow…” stories.

Yesterday at work a guest gave two of my fellow co-workers to RX energy bars she no longer wanted. My co-workers passed them on to me. Why?

Because unlike me, they’re young (early and mid twenties) and both vegans and the RX bars contain egg whites. I, being a mere vegetarian, wasn’t going to turn my nose up at the offer, though I’ll admit I have an open mind to the ethical arguments against egg consumption and could see myself experimenting going sans eggs.

But after being a vegetarian for 38 years, I’ve feel I’ve paid my dues and am going to allow myself some time and leeway when considering any future dietary changes.

The odds though of almost randomly (we do all work at a health resort which does stack the odds a bit) throwing three people together and the dice coming up two vegans and a vegetarian would’ve been comparable to lottery winning odds, even in L.A., back in the day when I first became a vegetarian.

Michael: Active Shooter Drills

 Wednesday, February 21, 2018

Lately I’ve been pondering how fortunate I am not to be going back into the teaching profession.

Six months ago, while I was living in Panama, my wife and I decided we wanted to return to the United States. We can’t afford to live in the U.S. without my working full time, or at least working a decent part-time job that included health insurance. So I thought the best way to make that happen would be to obtain a physical education teacher position.

Then last month I received an offer to train for a full time position at a health spa. Following the “bird in the hand” admonition, that’s where I am now. It is work, but nowhere near as demanding as teaching would be and I’m therefore hoping this will work out.

Up until last week I would’ve still considered teaching as a fall back option in case I fail to make the grade during my trial window. But no it wasn’t the school shooting directly that has me x-ing out teaching as fall back option. It was the news I heard this morning of schools undergoing Active Shooter Drills.

This is how the arc of my life has gone as related to school drills. When I was a kid growing up in the 60s every Friday we underwent Nuclear Bomb Drills, which were much like the earthquake drills I would later give as a teacher except they were tipped off by a long and loud pulsing air raid siren.

A few years before I left the teaching profession in 2013 we began “Lockdown Drills”, which I imagine are similar to the “Active Shooter Drills” occurring now but had the fig leaf of being necessary in case the police were chasing someone who happened to hop over the school fence, or some other bizarre random occurrence. Now it’s just the naked truth of the threat of massive death and violence by a well armed assailant.

And no it’s not the miniscule odds of being shot that has ended my thoughts of going back into teaching. It’s the idea that I would be fine with accepting and leading 6 year olds in routinely participating in drills that I never would’ve imagined happening not that long ago, and drills that should not be occurring now.

I wish I could believe that I was the type of person who had the guts to stand at a window, while asking my students to cower under their desks, during these drills as a protest against the absurdity of U.S. society failing to take rational measures to eliminate mass killings and the need for these inane, tragic, pathetic and sad drills.

But I’m not that kind of person. If I did have the guts that would get me fired for being insubordinate and, like many teachers, I couldn’t afford that. So I, as forlorn and philosophically torn as I would be, would almost certainly, just like my students, do as I was told. And that, as my mom use to say, was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Michael: Chocolate Butterflies and Lava Cakes

Where is the water
Needed for the chaparral
Of California?

Sunday, February 17, 2018

It’s a month and a half into the new year and if I were in Panama I would be weighing myself every day and know exactly when I had reached my New Year’s resolution goal of reaching my race weight. At that point I could, without guilt, resume my long lasting love affair with chocolate.

But this has been a topsy turvy year. Now that I’m back in the states and don’t have a scale in the bathroom, I’ve hardly weighed myself at all this year and can only guess that I’m relatively close to where I want to be.

Because of that, and the stress of moving, going back to work, commuting and not being with my wife for over a month, I’ve allowed myself a few indulgences while, maybe not literally violating my chocolate abstinence pledge, certainly violate the spirit of it.

Here and there (here being the local donut shop and there being Denny’s) I’ve devoured what are known as chocolate butterflies and lava cakes. Technically, my thought was I would give up chocolate bars this year, and these goodies, as chocolaty evil as they are, are not chocolate bars. Actually they’re far worse and I know it. But boy are they two pieces of chocolaty, gooey, warm and cold deliciousness.

At work I do have access to a scale and today I’m going to hop on it and hope that I’ve achieved my desired weight. If not, I’m going to rework my resolution to include everything and anything that includes chocolate until I do.

Michael: Seniors with Hoodies

The shine of the sea
Waves like the silvery strands
Of an angel’s child.

Tuesday, February 14, 2018

I don’t think it’s just the difference between small towns and large towns that completely explains the difference in the almost palpable sense of fear that one feels walking around in the states as opposed to the small town we were living in Panama.

And that fear often shows up in small, subtle and sometimes even humorous ways.

For example, on my days off I’ve often been taking very early morning walks to get a cup of coffee. I’ll do this wearing my work hoodie but not with the hood over my head. Nevertheless, there is an older couple I’ve crossed paths with and the women has always reached protectively for her husband’s hand when I’m approaching.

This had my thinking that the up to date version of Monty Python’s Hell’s Grannies would be a bunch of old white men in hoodies.

Michael: Shave but no Haircut

Monday, February 12, 2018

The river of rocks
Almost imperceptibly
Rolls down to the sea.

I’m not overly particular about my hair and since I stopped dying my hair to mask the gray a good 15 years ago am willing to let serendipity and proximity choose my barber/stylist. My wife, bless her heart, still considers me decent looking enough to try and intervene and persuade whomever is cutting my hair to give me what she considers a flattering cut.

In Panama she would do this by either coming with me or sending me with  a picture to illustrate what she wanted done. Given the language barrier, it’s understandable why we only ever got an approximation of what she thought we had made agreed upon.

However, even in the good old U.S. of A it seems stylists have their opinions and proclivities as far as what’s flattering and what’s not, as my first cut here really doesn’t look much different than what I’d get in Panama.

But maybe someday someone somewhere will grant my wife her wish and I’ll at least have hair that looks like the very attractive middle aged man she insist I show to stylist whenever and wherever I walk into a salon.

Michael: Our Furry Immigrant

There is a power
In physical exhaustion
To explore one’s soul.

Wednesday, February 7, 2018

Kimme and I took more stuff to Panama three years ago then we should have. A lot of it, I’ll admit mostly mine, has only been removed from one  storage shed to be quickly placed in another.

Unfortunately, due to the unexpected nature of our return to the states, we may have to play the same storage shuffle again and only get the opportunity to pare down once our stuff is back in the states. And even that’ll be put off for quite awhile until we recover from the initial expenses of moving back and settling in.

This time round though we’ll take our time and either do it cost effectively or not at all and just start from scratch here.

However there is one item we acquired in Panama that is almost priceless to us and we’ll probably bite the bullet on and get gouged a bit paying for it’s shipment with us back home. And that’s our dog. I don’t like to refer to her as an item, but that’s how the airlines think of her and there the ones deciding if and how we’ll get her over the border.

One glitch is the small airport near us serves only two airlines and we know one for sure does not handle pets Luna’s size. That’s the one that gives a 25% off discount for us pensionado types. Fortunately, the other airline (sans discount) flying out of the local airport does.

Next, finding an airline that flies into the U.S. without the “certain breeds” restrictions that includes pit bulls. Luna isn’t a full breed, but she definitely has the looks of that breed. But she’s a sweetheart and we’ll all take lie detector tests testifying to that effect. But I’m not sure how sympathetic any agent will be, so best to search out an airline that has an open border policy to more than just the blue blood breeds.

It’s sad that Trump’s type of prejudice carries over to even our best friends.

Michael: Almost Without Haggling

The dry thin branches
Covering this chaparral
Reach out for water.

Sunday, February 4, 2018

Outside of a good old fashioned western showdown at high noon, there’s almost no more iconic transaction of America than the showdown between a car buyer trying to maximize his value, and a car salesman trying to maximize his profit.

I thought I’d finally reached the point where I was clever enough to avoid this scenario, but sadly, over this long weekend of text, emails, and phone calls, I know I’m not quite there yet.

Yet I do see progress.

My plan in purchasing my first car in over 10 years (disclaimer: I did go through my wife’s purchase of a car 5 years ago.) was to get pre-approved for a specific loan amount from my credit union, then stick to a small down payment. I’d present these numbers to a dealer with a car I’d like in that ball park and walk away with a take it or leave it mindset.
Now off the drawing board, how did the plan work in action?

The car I initially wanted was a 2013 Honda red CR-Z with only 30,000 miles on it. I found it on Edmunds.com and it was labeled as a “great deal”.
There were also several other CR-Zs in the area I had in mind as back ups in case my plan failed the first go round.

Email inquiry was made. The response was “with tax and license, it couldn’t be done.” My response was that was a shame, I’ll have to look elsewhere. And I thought that was that. Wow, I stuck to my guns and didn’t haggle. Perhaps I had snatched the pebble from the master’s hand and was now ready to live the life of calm that goes when nothing matters enough to me that I’m willing to negotiate for it.

But alas and inevitably there was the call back with the tantalizing counter offer. Would I cave? I did and am now the somewhat satisfied owner of a 2013 red Honda CR-Z.

As I said, I’m not quite there yet.