pumpkins patch watery ice cubes on gaviota coast egret-viewing hike
We can report that Darius’ whirlwind trip to Lebanon to bring Christiane, his lovely spouse, and Leandra, his beautiful daughter, to the USA has concluded successfully:
“You only spent 30 hours in Lebanon, Dar — after a trip of 18 hours. It must have been hectic and emotional visiting everyone and preparing to move.”
“Well, Dad, I actually slept most of the time I was in Lebanon.”
“How did the bassinet work?” I asked — recalling Darius’ extensive, lengthy and dramatic discussions with Lebanese travel agents and Lufthansa staff. He refused to book a flight until they guaranteed that he’d have a seat that could support the bassinet for Leandra. (They refused to guarantee the bassinet until he booked the seat.)
“Well, Dad, I spent more time arguing with Lufthansa about the bassinet than Leandra spent in the bassinet.” Darius replied. “It’s a good thing I slept so much in Lebanon since I didn’t sleep on the airplane at all,” Darius thought.
Their arrival was met by a significant wait time. Because Immigration was overwhelmed, the (WWU) Martin Family had to sit on the airplane for 90 minutes after they landed. Then, naively believing that telling the truth (“We are moving to the USA.&rdquo
would be good policy when dealing with immigration authorities, they were diverted to the ‘red’ line. In the end it all worked out and they have arrived!
(Nazy and I will fly to Bellingham, Washington next week. We can’t wait to see the youngest, and only, granddaughter.)
Here in Santa Barbara, Nazy and I volunteered to take Tiger and Arrow to ‘a’ local pumpkin patch with the school. Note to self: It is a good idea to know the name and address of the destination before embarking.
By some miracle, we arrived at the right place — twenty minutes early. Unfortunately, we have no personal experience with the challenges associated with being ‘early’. (In a post-disaster review, I discovered that ‘early’ is not a word in Nazy’s vocabulary.)
A school class was assembling at the patch when we pulled in. Assuming we were late, Nazy jumped out of the car and dashed to the entrance — discovering that assembly was ‘not our school’. Since we were clearly in the wrong place, we pulled out and drove to the alternative. It was also wrong. At this point, we decided to consult the invitation email.
“The first place was the right place, Nazy.” I explained. “We were early.”
“Early?” Nazy replied.
Arriving, again, at the right place, we were in our element: a little late. Tiger picked a pumpkin to take to class. Arrow sat in his stroller or on a hay stack for the tractor-pulled hay ride.
Here at the family residence, I want to give credit to Mitra. She prevented marital disharmony with the simple gift of ice cube trays. The Martin Family has suffered through several ice cube debacles. The very first edition of The Weekly Letter featured a frightening description of leaks and bruises associated with Dan’s foiled attempts to install an ice-maker in the remodeled kitchen at Bedlam Abode in Hanover, New Hampshire. When we moved to The Netherlands, we faced ice trays that delivered ‘cubes’ too small to be used in a slurpee. Friends brought solid, sturdy and strong American ice cube trays to Holland. In Switzerland, the entire refrigerator was smaller than a typical American ice cube. Over the 12 years we lived there, we somehow managed to cope. And then..
… we returned to the United States. Our place in Santa Barbara featured a gigantic refrigerator with an automatic ice maker: a flawed automatic ice maker. In one spectacular failure, it flooded the home. More typically, the simple mechanism to turn off ice making — a lever that rises as the ice piles ups — is especially badly designed and features routine failure. It doesn’t rise with the ice. And, if anyone (i.e. ‘me&rsquo attempts to adjust it manually, it disengages from the ice maker. This creates matrimonial disharmony. Nazy wants me, as the major user of ice, to manually adjust the (error-prone) lever. Unfortunately, that lever falls apart as soon as I even think about ice. And, every single time it fails…
“You did it again!” Nazy exclaims. “Now I have to put it back — contorting my body as I hold a mirror in place with my teeth. You should be careful.”
“But all I did was…” I replied — uselessly.
In the end, Nazy refused to ‘fix’ it again — sending me instead to buy ice at the local 7-11. Naturally, I concurred with her judgment.
“At least I don’t have to climb into the mountains and hack the ice out of a glacier,” I thought as I lugged a bag of ice to the car. “But it seems unfair to get ice the way my grandparents did it.”
Mitra, seeing my discomfort, ordered several ice cube trays from Amazon. Now I don’t have to drive to 7-11 any more. “It’s wonderful,” I thought. “Now I’m getting ice the way my parents did it.”
This week, while Melika, Tom, Tiger and Arrow are in Mexico, Nazy and I went hiking on the Gaviota Coast. This reserve is located a few miles north of Santa Barbara. It is the largest undeveloped piece of ocean-adjacent land between San Francisco and San Diego. The parcel is at risk of development because it was subdivided in 1888, before zoning changes in 1895 and 1972 were put in place. There is an ongoing battle to keep it as conservation land.
When it was purchased in 1888, the plan was to create a town (Naples, California) and build the ‘finest hotel in the world’ — as soon as the railroad came through. Unfortunately for the buyer, the railroad wasn’t completed before he died — and after a large real estate crash in 1892. Nothing was build — except a modest ‘lodge’ that is now abandoned. (See photo of Nazy.)
The weather, like the ocean view, was beautiful for our hike. Nazy and I enjoyed the wildlife (an egret was sunning nearby).
And, finally, a comment on the “leader” of the free world — an ignorant, impetuous, tantrum-prone, pathologically insecure, narcissistically deformed, morally bankrupt ‘man’ with the emotional maturity of a spoiled pre-schooler. He cannot be allowed to create his own definition of patriotism while putting anyone who disagrees with him in the ‘non-patriotic’ bucket. I believe in America — an America of ‘Americans’ who come in all colors, all creeds and all parts of the country. I’m tired of listening to that moron (and Republicans) mumble things like ‘I don’t agree with everything he says, but I support his policy’. News alert: He has no policy. He just makes things up. It isn’t ‘fake news’ when CNN says that the Russians meddled in the election. They did. It’s not fake news when the NY Times says Tillerson called him a moron. He did. (And he is.) It is fake news when he says “The Mexicans will pay for the wall” (They won’t.) It is fake news when he says: “Thousands in NJ cheered when the towers came down.” (They didn’t.) It is fake news when he says: “The USA is the highest taxed country in the world” (We’re not.) It is fake news when he says: “Obama was born in Kenya”. (He wasn’t.) He is the purveyor of fake news. His sole skill is to divide people by playing to their fears. He is an American embarrassment.
Have a wonderful week. We’ll be sharing lots of Bellingham photos of Darius, Christiane and Leandra in next week’s letter.
“You only spent 30 hours in Lebanon, Dar — after a trip of 18 hours. It must have been hectic and emotional visiting everyone and preparing to move.”
“Well, Dad, I actually slept most of the time I was in Lebanon.”
“How did the bassinet work?” I asked — recalling Darius’ extensive, lengthy and dramatic discussions with Lebanese travel agents and Lufthansa staff. He refused to book a flight until they guaranteed that he’d have a seat that could support the bassinet for Leandra. (They refused to guarantee the bassinet until he booked the seat.)
“Well, Dad, I spent more time arguing with Lufthansa about the bassinet than Leandra spent in the bassinet.” Darius replied. “It’s a good thing I slept so much in Lebanon since I didn’t sleep on the airplane at all,” Darius thought.
Their arrival was met by a significant wait time. Because Immigration was overwhelmed, the (WWU) Martin Family had to sit on the airplane for 90 minutes after they landed. Then, naively believing that telling the truth (“We are moving to the USA.&rdquo
would be good policy when dealing with immigration authorities, they were diverted to the ‘red’ line. In the end it all worked out and they have arrived!(Nazy and I will fly to Bellingham, Washington next week. We can’t wait to see the youngest, and only, granddaughter.)
Here in Santa Barbara, Nazy and I volunteered to take Tiger and Arrow to ‘a’ local pumpkin patch with the school. Note to self: It is a good idea to know the name and address of the destination before embarking.
By some miracle, we arrived at the right place — twenty minutes early. Unfortunately, we have no personal experience with the challenges associated with being ‘early’. (In a post-disaster review, I discovered that ‘early’ is not a word in Nazy’s vocabulary.)
A school class was assembling at the patch when we pulled in. Assuming we were late, Nazy jumped out of the car and dashed to the entrance — discovering that assembly was ‘not our school’. Since we were clearly in the wrong place, we pulled out and drove to the alternative. It was also wrong. At this point, we decided to consult the invitation email.
“The first place was the right place, Nazy.” I explained. “We were early.”
“Early?” Nazy replied.
Arriving, again, at the right place, we were in our element: a little late. Tiger picked a pumpkin to take to class. Arrow sat in his stroller or on a hay stack for the tractor-pulled hay ride.
After Tiger picked his pumpkin (he chose a yellow one), we drove back to Tiger’s school.
This week we also had the opportunity to take both Tiger and Arrow to swimming class. Tiger has, of course, graduated to private lessons… and, for the first time, he wore swim goggles during the entire lesson. The swim goggle project has been underway for months (and months). Usually Tom takes Arrow swimming, but this time he had a conflict, so I got the chance. Arrow had a great time — he waved at Nazy every time he saw her from the pool. He also swam with his pacifier, a strategy that prevented him from swallowing swimming pool water.
Here at the family residence, I want to give credit to Mitra. She prevented marital disharmony with the simple gift of ice cube trays. The Martin Family has suffered through several ice cube debacles. The very first edition of The Weekly Letter featured a frightening description of leaks and bruises associated with Dan’s foiled attempts to install an ice-maker in the remodeled kitchen at Bedlam Abode in Hanover, New Hampshire. When we moved to The Netherlands, we faced ice trays that delivered ‘cubes’ too small to be used in a slurpee. Friends brought solid, sturdy and strong American ice cube trays to Holland. In Switzerland, the entire refrigerator was smaller than a typical American ice cube. Over the 12 years we lived there, we somehow managed to cope. And then..
… we returned to the United States. Our place in Santa Barbara featured a gigantic refrigerator with an automatic ice maker: a flawed automatic ice maker. In one spectacular failure, it flooded the home. More typically, the simple mechanism to turn off ice making — a lever that rises as the ice piles ups — is especially badly designed and features routine failure. It doesn’t rise with the ice. And, if anyone (i.e. ‘me&rsquo
attempts to adjust it manually, it disengages from the ice maker. This creates matrimonial disharmony. Nazy wants me, as the major user of ice, to manually adjust the (error-prone) lever. Unfortunately, that lever falls apart as soon as I even think about ice. And, every single time it fails…“You did it again!” Nazy exclaims. “Now I have to put it back — contorting my body as I hold a mirror in place with my teeth. You should be careful.”
“But all I did was…” I replied — uselessly.
In the end, Nazy refused to ‘fix’ it again — sending me instead to buy ice at the local 7-11. Naturally, I concurred with her judgment.
“At least I don’t have to climb into the mountains and hack the ice out of a glacier,” I thought as I lugged a bag of ice to the car. “But it seems unfair to get ice the way my grandparents did it.”
Mitra, seeing my discomfort, ordered several ice cube trays from Amazon. Now I don’t have to drive to 7-11 any more. “It’s wonderful,” I thought. “Now I’m getting ice the way my parents did it.”
This week, while Melika, Tom, Tiger and Arrow are in Mexico, Nazy and I went hiking on the Gaviota Coast. This reserve is located a few miles north of Santa Barbara. It is the largest undeveloped piece of ocean-adjacent land between San Francisco and San Diego. The parcel is at risk of development because it was subdivided in 1888, before zoning changes in 1895 and 1972 were put in place. There is an ongoing battle to keep it as conservation land.
When it was purchased in 1888, the plan was to create a town (Naples, California) and build the ‘finest hotel in the world’ — as soon as the railroad came through. Unfortunately for the buyer, the railroad wasn’t completed before he died — and after a large real estate crash in 1892. Nothing was build — except a modest ‘lodge’ that is now abandoned. (See photo of Nazy.)
The weather, like the ocean view, was beautiful for our hike. Nazy and I enjoyed the wildlife (an egret was sunning nearby).
And, finally, a comment on the “leader” of the free world — an ignorant, impetuous, tantrum-prone, pathologically insecure, narcissistically deformed, morally bankrupt ‘man’ with the emotional maturity of a spoiled pre-schooler. He cannot be allowed to create his own definition of patriotism while putting anyone who disagrees with him in the ‘non-patriotic’ bucket. I believe in America — an America of ‘Americans’ who come in all colors, all creeds and all parts of the country. I’m tired of listening to that moron (and Republicans) mumble things like ‘I don’t agree with everything he says, but I support his policy’. News alert: He has no policy. He just makes things up. It isn’t ‘fake news’ when CNN says that the Russians meddled in the election. They did. It’s not fake news when the NY Times says Tillerson called him a moron. He did. (And he is.) It is fake news when he says “The Mexicans will pay for the wall” (They won’t.) It is fake news when he says: “Thousands in NJ cheered when the towers came down.” (They didn’t.) It is fake news when he says: “The USA is the highest taxed country in the world” (We’re not.) It is fake news when he says: “Obama was born in Kenya”. (He wasn’t.) He is the purveyor of fake news. His sole skill is to divide people by playing to their fears. He is an American embarrassment.
Have a wonderful week. We’ll be sharing lots of Bellingham photos of Darius, Christiane and Leandra in next week’s letter.
For last week's letter, please click here
Dan at the abandoned 'inn' in Gaviota Reserve
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