Back to Monterey

When I was still a sweet young thing, I enlisted in the Air Force and went to the Defense Language Institute in Monterey, California, to learn Russian. I won't tell you why the Air Force was teaching me Russian - you can figure that one out.

In many ways, the ten months I spent in Monterey were intense. I had never been to California before; everything about it was a source of wonder for me:

• The food was different - peanut butter and sprouts on a bagel? Artichokes on a pizza? Since I've always been a picky eater, it was amazing that I tried these and liked them!


• The land was different - stepping out of the barracks in the morning, I could look down the hill to see Monterey Bay or over at the snow-covered peak of a neighboring mountain (hill?).


• The weather was different - every afternoon a fog rolled over the hilltop from Pacific Grove (which is why we called it the PG Monster). We could set our watches by its appearance.

My classmates and I spent six hours a day, Monday through Friday, learning Russian and the rest of the time running around Monterey. We went to movies at the Dream Theater, where there was a variety of seats to choose from - recliners, regular movie seats, tables and chairs - how novel!!! (This is where I saw the first Star Wars movie in 1977.) We spent time on Cannery Row exploring all the cool shops that offered tourists crystals and unique crafty stuff. We visited the Coast Guard pier and marveled over the gazillions of barking sea lions on the rocks. (This is probably where I saw my first live starfishes.) We ate Saturday lunches at the Viennese Pastry Shop on Alvarado Street and walked to Campagno's for yummy sandwiches to eat on the monument to Commodore Sloat. (Yes, we actually climbed up on the monument - the view of the bay was magnificent!) And sometimes, we'd hitch a ride with a fellow student over to Asilomar or Carmel. Such a life! For years after leaving Monterey, I ached to go back. I dreamed at night of Big Sur and Monterey's Fisherman's Wharf.

I have returned to Monterey a couple of times. Last Sunday, upon flying in to San Francisco for a two-day Magnet workshop, I rented a car and drove down - through a subtropical storm (the mist in the redwoods was both beautiful and eerie) - to visit my old haunts.

Of course, neither of us (Monterey and I) is the same as we were in 1977. A beautiful aquarium now sits at the end of Cannery Row, and several hotels have moved in to block the view of the bay in some spots. The Viennese Pastry Shop is gone and the Dream Theater is now a store. And the Presidio of Monterey is now off limits to non-military folks. Since I'm no longer military, I was turned back at each of the gates I tried. Sniff sniff.

Some things have stayed the same, however. Compagno's is still open at the corner of Prescott and Taylor, even though it does look pretty run down. The Pacific still pounds Asilomar, fascinating tourists and locals alike as they hunt for interesting stuff left in the rocks by the retreating waves. The sea lions still lounge on the rocks by the Coast Guard pier between meals.

This one smiled with his eyes closed, just like my kitty Sam. Then he posed for me...

...while his buddy scratched his butt with his hind leg/flipper/whatever you call it.

The Monterey Canning Company is still filled with touristy shops at the corner of Prescott and Cannery Row.


Now, being older, I could afford a car to drive up the Prescott Street hill. Back in 1977, walking back up the steep incline to post from Cannery Row would just about kill me.

Over in Pacific Grove, I saw the Monterey sea lions' cousins lazing away out in the water...

...and enjoyed the view of Monterey from the path by the water in Pacific Grove.


Here's looking west from the path. The skies and light were yucky, but at least it wasn't pouring rain!!!


So after spending a couple hours driving around, I'd had my Monterey fix for the decade. I drove back to San Francisco along the coastal road. The area north of Santa Cruz is much more rural and wonderful than the stretch further south; I snatched quick glimpses of the waves crashing on the rocks down below and was reminded yet again what makes California so special to me (besides Monterey and the food and the cities' cultural diversity and Arnie, of course). The natural environment is just spectacular! And on this dreary, drizzly day, I was especially thankful that someone - the state government, whoever - had had the foresight to protect this particular bit of fabulous landscape from development, so that people like me could enjoy it.

After this, the workshop was anti-climactic. I did get a chuckle out of the young security guard at the San Francisco airport calling me "young lady", however. Perhaps I haven't changed that much after all... :)

On Foot in San Diego: Old Police Headquarters

I headed down to the Old Police Headquarters sale today hoping I would be able to get a look inside. Built in 1938 and located on prime waterfront land at the San Diego Harbor, this huge site has been vacant since 1986 and surrounded by high rises, cruise ships, and Seaport Village. Since it was put on the National Register of Historic Places in 1999 it couldn't just be torn down. Thank God for that.

It is a beautiful Spanish revival building with courtyard and lots of space. It looked more like Moorish-Craftsman to me, but what do I know about architecture? The city is permitting the site to be renovated into retail shops and boutiques, keeping the historic architecture in place.


I couldn't get inside the building as I'd hoped, but I could get a glimpse through the arched doorways that had already been cut in for the future design. I was able to stand on tiptoes and look into the old court house, naturally drawn to the door propped against the wall.


Outside were cell doors, toilets, sinks and, believe it or not, they were selling. One guy bought 13 metal bunks to make a fence, others were going to use the lidless toilets for garden planters. I thought a cell door would make a useful tomato trellis but how the heck to get it back to my house?


Most of the history came from talking with those in the lot. This Mexican-American woman was thirteen in 1945 when her 22 year old brother died as an inmate-set conflagration swept through the jail and killed 5 prisoners. Grief from losing her older brother ("he was in trouble a lot") was still there and I sensed she had come to share her memory of her brother with others. She showed anyone who would look the original newspaper articles and a picture of her brother that was pinned to her sweater. Headlines above the article reported German action in World War II.


A retired police officer who worked at the facility knew all the history of the Headquarters. (When they're not giving you a ticket, police officers are actually nice guys.) The jail, he said, had a capacity of 300 men and women, but at times they had 600. This was the total jail population in 1986. Today, just twenty some years later, San Diego has seven jails and 5000 inmates. Not much to brag about. But he was bragging about how the cooks would throw steaks on the grill for the officers, and they even had a barber shop inside.

Next stop, I'm not sure yet, but I'm kind of getting into this San Diego history thing.

On Foot in San Diego: Villa Montezuma

After leaving the Marston house, I headed down to Sherman Heights to find Villa Montezuma, another historic place the San Diego Historical Society had to close in 2006 due to lack of funds. I wanted at least to check out the outside-- and what an outside!

I hadn't looked up much of the history ahead of time, so all I knew was the house was built in 1887 some distance from the booming "new town" of San Diego and that it was an ornate Victorian House.

Every window was a piece of art.


Beautiful patterns...


Spires and quirky things on the roof.


Even for Victorian, this house was a little over the top. Not only that, there was a strangely Russian flavor.

Check out this Russian church...


and our San Diego house.


Stepping over the "No Trepassing" sign I looked in through the window. Wow, an ornate wooden stair case. I was cursing various things, like the money spent on the Iraq conflict and Sarah Palin’s wardrobe instead of on our amazing Villa Montezuma, and wishing I could go inside.

I settled for coming home to read about the house and its flamboyant original owner, Jesse Shephard. His story is as complicated as the house, but in short he was a pianist, operatic singer and writer who spent his early years entertaining in salons in Europe and, guess what, Russia. When he passed into San Diego to play in some missions, two rich San Diego brothers built this house for Jesse and his "companion/secretary" of forty years, Lawrence Tonner. The dusty, frontier atmosphere of San Diego didn't come up to the level of European and Russian salons and royalty. Jesse and Lawrence left after two years, about the time the real estate market was declining. Declining real estate is something we can all relate to out here now. Well, it's happened before, dramatically so in the late 1880's.

San Diego population in 1880 was 2,600, in 1885 about 5,000 and by 1887 an amazing explosion of 40,000. Wonder why? Well, it seems the the Santa Fe Transcontinental Railroad was finished in 1887, ending in San Diego. Travel from east to west coast was now about a week. There was a land rush to San Diego with property sometimes turning over two to three times in a day. Our guy, Marston, made some good money in real estate and Wyatt Earp -- in his mid-thirties and always the gambler -- came out in 1886, likely part of the land fever. He was here for four years, speculated in real estate, opened a saloon and was sheriff for a while.

Unfortunately, in a short time, the Santa Fe railroad decided to reroute the railroad to Los Angeles and San Diego became just a spur line. By 1890 the population had dropped to 16,159. Earp was one of the defectors in 1890, moving on to San Francisco.

George, we're glad you stayed.

This weekend I'm going to check out the Old Police Headquarters. Seems like they're having a liquidation sale of cell doors, sinks and toilets. I'll be looking for the Spanish Colonial architecture before the Headquarters are razed for a shopping center. Can you believe it?

P.S. We're appending this comment to the body of the post so you're sure to see that Zorro (FOVM) is on the way and deserves our support! "Pat and Kathie, I enjoy your blog! Did you know that the Friends of the Villa Montezuma, Inc., have been around since 1974 and incorporated in 2006 to better help the Villa? We've done amazing things the past three years, and we hope to have all the funds needed to fix the Villa foundation and chimneys this year in order for us to reopen and hopefully operate the museum. See www.VillaMontezuma.org for more info. We do walking tours of the Sherman Heights Historic District. We'd love for you to be our guest to learn more about Jesse's neighborhood of downtown San Diego. If you're interested, send us an e-mail at Friends@VillaMontezuma.org. Louise Torio, Chair, FOVM"

On Foot in San Diego: Marston House

Remember the guy, George Marston, that built our beautiful Spanish mission style museum on Presidio Hill in 1929. The same guy built the Marston House in 1905 as his personal residence.

I was one of many San Diegans trying to see the house before it was closed to the public last weekend for lack of funds. I wasn't able to get into the house. Even so, I walked around the grounds and got the feel of this architectural style -- Arts and Crafts, designed by Irving Gill and his associate William Hebbard. Seems that while the house was being built in 1905 in an English cottage style -- if you can consider 8500 square feet a cottage -- Mr. Gill made a trip back to Rhode Island to supervise some other projects and on the way back stopped by Chicago where Prairie style houses were being built. By the time he came back to San Diego the Marston house was half built. He changed what he could of the second story to take away some of the Tudor look and, voila!, a nice simple craftsman design, "form follows function", indeed one of the best preserved orginal craftsmen in southern California.


I couldn't get to the inside of the house, but I could look into the inside story of the man. These people are always amazing.

In 1870, at age 19, George came to California from Wisconsin with his father and took a job at the Horton Hotel. Among his job duties was dusting off guests as they arrived at the front door. Kind of gives you an idea of what San Diego was like before all our vegetation was planted to keep the desert in place. San Diego then had a population of 2300 people. Hard to imagine, that's just a little larger than my entire undergraduate college.

Within three years, George was secretary of the Chamber of Commerce and by age 28 he had his own dry goods store which grew into a department store. He would have had the Marston Department Store downtown about the same time in the 1880's when Wyatt Earp was our sheriff and running a gambling saloon where Horton Plaza now stands. Needless to say, George made a nice fortune and used his money, talent and foresight to give us the beautiful Balboa Park next door to his house, Presidio Park, and contribute to establishing Torrey Pines State Park, all of which have helped keep San Diego beautiful.

He died in 1946, three years after I was born. Why am I not surprised he was still ice skating at age 96?

Read more about George here.

Next story, the Victorian Villa Montezuma.

On Foot in San Diego: Presidio Hill

My eyes perked up reading the paper this week. Three important San Diego historical sites were closing to the public this weekend. Villa Montezuma, an 1887 Victorian home, had already closed in 2006 when the Historical Society couldn't afford the repairs. This weekend the Marston House, a 1906 Craftsman home, and the Serra Museum on Presidio Hill were closing - no money to maintain the sites so they are being handed over to the city who also has no money.

I set off to see all three on Saturday, and the rest of San Diego had the same idea. People were being turned away in droves from the Marston House which could be seen inside only with a guide. It was like the people had come out to mourn the loss of their history. I didn't get in. I had better luck at the Serra on Presidio Hill.

Southern California's first little European settlement was on Presidio Hill. The Kumayaay Indians had already been a lively society around the hill for going on 600 years.

Back in Kentucky, we would have called this hump a hillock, but it had the advantage for defense looking out over San Diego Bay for those darn English should they come spying around. The English and Russians had already been nosing around in northern California when the Spanish crown sent Father Junipero Serra to establish a settlement in San Diego. He climbed up Presidio Hill on 7/16/69 with a few soldiers, planted a cross and thus started the first mission in California. Yeah, 1769. Those 13 upstart colonies in the east, including South Carolina, were already warming up for a nice revolution.

The missionaries moved off the hill within a few years to a location upriver. I understand they grew tired of lugging water up the hill and some time later a defense fort, Fort Stockton, was built on the hill.

Not an insignificant little hill, but I'd bet my house 90% of San Diegans don't know exactly why it's significant.


The wooden mission and fort had been long gone and the hill just a bit of neglected scrub land in 1929 when a rich San Diegan, George Marston - yes, the same of the Marston House - acquired the land and built a beautiful mission style building at the top of the hill to house the Historical Society. Much of the hill was retained as a public park, but no longer with the native scrub of San Diego. A picture of the just-built building in 1929 shows it still surrounded by scrub. Mr. Marston hired landscapers to plant the hill European style, Well, it is still beautiful and what a view!

As I walked up to the museum, I could picture Zorro leaping off the red and green tiled roof onto his horse. What was his horse's name? Phantom? Readers, a must book is Isabel Allende's Zorro to read about the transformation of Diego de la Vega into Zorro.


The door sign, however, was sobering and a reminder that this is 2009.


As I asked the receptionist for both my senior discount and the half-price February Museum Month discount, making my ticket only $2.00, the irony of Mr. Marston's building this fabulous building in the year of the '29 crash and its closing in the 2009 depression wasn't lost on me.

While the building was architecturally stunning, the museum was a disappointment. Where was that 15th to 17th century Spanish furniture? There was a neat collection of 1929 pictures of San Diego like it was though. I particularly liked this one.


I could relate to this little girl, but not the smile on her face. I could recall a permanent at the beauty shop in 1949, when I was about the age of this little girl. It burned my scalp.

Next posting, the Marston House. Well, at least from the outside.

Where are Those Chariots of Fire When You Need Them?

Bravery comes in lots of forms, like taking on land developers or a 13 year old coxing old ladies. I have a particular fascination with courage. With awe, this weekend I watched a 12 year old face down the 58 degree water and storm ocean waves off Torrey Pines Beach in Del Mar, clad only in a bathing suit.

First, she admired the day and borrowed my camera to shoot the scenery.


She rolled up her jeans and splashed around.


She contemplated the waves for a bit...


Then, it was no holds barred, jeans discarded, into the ocean,


looking for that perfect body boarding wave. Br-r-r-r.

Energy to Burn???

I can imagine Kathie wanting to do something like this. (Don't even ask, Kath - you know I'm not into swimming!)

What I don't understand is why does Ms. Figge feel she needs to hop on the treadmill during her "respite" in Trinidad?

Wanted: Raptor to Watch One Human and 3 Cats

It's a hermit weekend to stay away from people and rest up. I've had a generic jail cold all week. I was sick five months out of the first year I worked in the jail, but like the rest of us that work there you just keep going to work. They say to expect it until your body builds up some resistance to the stuff that lives in an old jail housing 800 prisoners. It's not like inmates can stay home and keep from spreading crud around to others. So you just try to keep your immunity up to fight it off. I've learned the number one resistance fighter is get enough sleep. Stop trying to fight mother nature.


Patty and I came across this sign walking up to the Raptor Center in Sitka, Alaska. Sometimes, I could use my own raptor.

It's Bobby Burns Birthday

My friend, Jan North, reminded me today that today is Robert Burns birthday. Jan and I walked 150 high altitude miles in Bhutan a year ago and we will be walking 95 miles of the West Highland Way in Scotland this summer. Indeed it will be a stroll compared to Bhutan. In Bobbie's honor she sent me this poem and bio from Garrison Keillor's Writers Almanac.

A Red, Red Rose

Oh my luve is like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June:
Oh my luve is like the melodie,
That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare the weel, my only luve!
And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile!

Roberts Burns was born in Alloway, Scotland, in 1759. He was the son of a poor farmer, and he spent the first half of his life engaged in the back-breaking work of farming. He always carried a book with him, and he read while he drove his wagon slowly along the road. He got into trouble with a girl named Jean Armour when he got her pregnant. He had left another woman after she became pregnant, but he loved Armour and didn't want her to suffer the indignities of being an unwed mother. He lost the farm, married Jean Armour, and wound up in Edinburgh. He wrote conversational poems about Scottish life. His book Poems, Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect was very successful when it came out in 1786.

Robert Burns is the National Poet of Scotland. And today is a Scottish national holiday in his honor and celebrated all over the world by admirers of Robert Burns and by loyal Scots. There are formal suppers organized by Robert Burns societies, at which the host gives a welcoming speech and then everyone together says the Selkirk Grace, which Burns made famous:

Some hae meat and canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it;
But we hae meat, and we can eat,
Sae let the Lord be thankit.

Then soup is served - maybe potato soup, cock-a-leekie soup, or a Scotch broth - and then, with great ado, the haggis is brought out. All the guests recite:

Fair full your honest, jolly face,
Great chieftain of the sausage race!
Above them all you take your place,
Stomach, tripe, or intestines:
Well are you worthy of a grace
As long as my arm.

Then the haggis is cut open and served, along with rutabagas or mashed potatoes. After the meal, there are a number of toasts: one to the monarch or leader of the country, one to Robert Burns, and then a "toast to the lassies," to which a woman gives a reply. There may be other toasts, and of course, there is whiskey involved. The evening ends with everyone singing "Auld Lang Syne."

Garrison left Clarinda out of the story, but we know about our Clarinda.

How many hearts can one man break?

Apples do fall far from the tree sometimes.

I just want to say how proud I am of my daughter Kelly. In the wake of having her dream of getting her BSN at USC dashed by her negligent, self-absorbed sperm donor, she has pulled herself together and made some very mature decisions. Way to go, Kel! In your case, the apple did fall far from the tree...

(That was a private joke, BTW.)

Dude

You've got to say that just a certain way, du-u-u-de, string out the "u" like the guy on this video.

My friend, Pat, thinks I should "do something a little different on your next 'out door adventure'" and suggested this new challenge.

I've done my share of risky things, climbed a few mountains, dived a few wrecks, but looking at this video I think I'll be happy walking across England or wandering the streets of Charleston.

Charleston Walking

Ever wonder where that phrase "dead man walking" came from? Remember in the death penalty movie, Dead Man Walking, how the prison guard escorting Sean Penn to execution calls out "dead man walking, dead man walking here"?

Every day at the jail I hear a deputy - they're called deputies in jail, guards in prison - call out down the hall "walking!" when they escort inmates around the jail, and I have a flashback to the movie and the morbid Thomas Hardy poem the phrase may have come from. Or even just now writing out my title "Charleston Walking".

In a less gloomy vein, Patty, Kelly and I were walking Charleston during our Christmas visit, and what a wonderful town to get some walking exercise. No wonder Joan never runs out of material.
Beautiful old houses...


Ornate wrought iron gates...


...and fences.


Spanish moss libraries...


Architectural alleys...


Of course, I couldn't resist those doors.






On the way we passed Joan's "little" house -- no means little by California standards, and here in California a twenty year old house is considered "old" -- and lamented not having the foresight to call ahead for a "drop in". Next time, Joan.

Hope for all of us...

This morning while eating my breakfast, I've enjoyed Joan's pic of a newborn in our nursery, cracked up over Thor getting into the masking tape, and been sad that Koji had another seizure.

But what's really got me going is an article over at the Short Sharp Science blog. Check out this young person's invention that keeps food cold. Wow! And she's only 21. If she keeps this up, there is indeed hope for all of us.

Think I'll go slay a couple of dragons myself...after I get my shower, that is.

New Year Mothers

"Just a few hours of 2008 left, the last time I'll write 2008, it'll never be 2008 again", I thought when I signed my last note at the jail this afternoon. I seem to be a bit more reflective, even morose, on the eve of the new year.

On the first day of the new year I like to hike to the top of Cowles Mountain in the frigid cold -- well, as frigid as it gets in San Diego, maybe in the 40's -- to catch the first rays of the New Year's sun. Tomorrow, though, I have to work. That means briefing at 6:00 AM, so no early morning hiking.

Here is my sunrise photo in lieu of tomorrow's ... taken out my tent first thing on wakening in the Andes a couple years ago.


A short time later, I crawled out of the tent and in the same direction was a mama llama (say yama, not lama) feeding her baby. A beautiful mama llama, one of the best photos I think I've ever caught.


Having dinner with a girlfriend one of those past end of the years that will never come again, I asked about any New Year's resolutions. Not that I think sustained changes happen from a New Year's resolution that wouldn't have come from a simple commitment without an occasion. Anyway, my friend responded she had a resolution to be a better person. I was impressed. I already regarded her as a cut above in the category of better people. No going to lose weight, make more money, stop smoking, exercise more, self-focused resolutions. Simply, to be a better person.

This quote from Mother Teresa has been taped to my computer for a while, waiting to be reinforced with a commitment at New Year's, so I offer it for thought:

"If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies. Succeed anyway.
What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight. Build anyway.
The good you do today, people will forget tomorrow. Do good anyway.
Give the world the best you have, and it may never be good enough. Give the world the best you have anyway..."

Joan's moved.

A major catastrophe has happened over at JournalSpace. Both of their drives have gone down - hopefully to be repaired but the prognosis is not good. The worst part of it is that Joan's Walk This Way blog has gone down with it. Four years of photos and funnies - WAHHHHH! Bloggers everywhere are mourning.

In the meantime, she's taken over Charleston Daily Photo, so go visit her there for your daily Joan fix.

Peace on Earth, Can It Be?

In 1977, the US was in an economic recession, New York City experienced a massive blackout on a hot July night, Ethiopia's president was killed in a shoot out at a council meeting, small pox was eradicated, and David Bowie, then age 30, showed up at Bing Crosby's "house" to sing my favorite Christmas duet.

Bing was on tour in England and filming was set up in London for his annual Christmas show at a studio just down the street from Bowie's house. In exchange for Bing showing Bowie's "Heroes" video on the show, Bowie agreed to sing a duet with Bing. Just hours before the show, though, Bowie declared he hated the song they were supposed to sing, Little Drummer Boy. The show's composers frantically wrote "Peace on Earth" in a little over an hour and worked it into Bing's Drummer Boy. Bing, age 73, died a month later with a heart attack. The song was finally issued as a single in 1982. What a beautiful legacy from the classic Crosby and quirky Bowie.



Peace on Earth, can it be
Years from now, perhaps we'll see
See the day of glory
See the day, when men of good will
Live in peace, live in peace again

Peace on Earth, can it be

Every child must be made aware
Every child must be made to care
Care enough for his fellow man
To give all the love that he can

I pray my wish will come true
For my child and your child too
He'll see the day of glory
See the day when men of good will
Live in peace, live in peace again

Peace on Earth, can it be
Can it be.

As an extra treat, here is the "Heroes" video aired on the show.



Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Feliz Navidad, Nollaig chridheil agus Bliadhna mhath ù, Kurisumasu Omedeto and Peace on Earth to everyone!

Confection Connections

I can remember in the 1950's my mother would go off to cake class and come home with a doll cake, almost too beautiful to eat. We learned from her how to make roses and pansies and those piped shell borders.

Looking to pass on some of the traditions and an alternative to iPod and YouTube for the grandbabies - well, they're not babies anymore - I found a young woman who was willing to come to the house for a weekend afternoon and we started in home cake decorating classes for Hayley and Jennifer. We've added a third, Kolby, and I can say these chicklets have the best time decorating, drinking Martinellis, and gabbing away.


For November, they used leaves gathered from the yard - washed, of course - and molded fall colored white chocolate leaves, made caramel and chocolate acorns dipped in chocolate sprinkles, and put together a striking fall cupcake wreath.


Yesterday was Christmas theme with ornament cupcakes. They learned a trick to frost the cupcake smoothly with a spreader cut from a plastic water bottle.


Gorgeous, aren't they. The tops are dipped in colored sugar. Um-yes, about 1000 calories/cupcake.

We awarded first place to the ornate string of lights, made by the teacher, Teresa, second place to the plaid ornament for design, and third to the string of lights on white background, for its simple elegance.


The best part...eating the result, of course.

Catparatus

OK, I've not been blogging much lately - except at work (for real!) - because I've been busy painting, quilting, etc., but I just had to post this from one of my favorite sites. Can some nice carpenter come over to my house and build something like this for my 5 cats? We would love you forever...

Painted Hydrants

The little guy in the Mystery Photo is an astronaut, one of twenty six fire hydrants in the seaside village of Carlsbad, just 15 minutes up the coast. The city allowed the hydrants to be "adopted" and local artists or just plain local folk painted the hydrants. The non-professionally painted hydrants were, umm-m-m...unique.

We downloaded a "tour" map and set out on foot, naturally, with a six year old to find the hydrants. What a hoot! For a six year old, a treasure hunt with her map, just as exciting as an amusement park. And it was free.




















We had to study and discuss each hydrant...


and climb around on them, just to get the feel and thrill of it all.


Check here for photos of all 26 hydrants.