Amy's Adventures

Poseidon Adventure

2012-01-31T13:34:00.000-08:00

Bicycling to PV. Hermosa Pier Plaza

Pier Plaza

Tim Kelly Bronze

Volleyball Courts

Looking north to the Poop Deck

Henessey's Tavern

Looking north on the Hermosa Strand

Redondo Pier

More Redondo Pier

Redondo Esplanade

Up Paseo Del Mar

Up Palos Verdes Drive South

View at the top

PV Swim Club

Poseidon

Rest Stop Overlook

Overlook View

Morning Bicycle Commute

2012-01-28T09:51:00.000-08:00

Headed down Longfellow to the bike path

The Journey begins

Manhattan Beach Pier

North on the bike path

Sun Shining on Edison

Unloading at Chevron

South to PV

Shipwrecked

UCLA under the Ballona Creek Bridge

Santa Monica Pier

Traffic on PCH

Out onto the Highway

The Road Narrows

Proceed with caution

Up Los Liones

Coyote Heaven

Overlooking the canyon

Down to work

Morning serenity

Back up

Lifeguarding from PCH

Temescal Canyon rest stop

South toward Santa Monica

Colorful Santa Monica

Cirque du Soleil on the beach in Santa Monica

Under the pier

Venice Beach

Getty Center from Marina Del Rey

Ballona Creek incidental sculpture garden

Obituary for Bill Bevarly

2011-08-08T08:26:00.000-07:00

William Carrroll “Bill” Bevarly , brother of LAXSW Flight Attendant Amy Disparte died of a massive heart attack on August 2, 2011. Bill was 50 years old. He is survived by his parents, Margaret and Carroll Bevarly of Smiths Grove, KY, his daughter Madison Bevarly of Bowling Green, KY, his wife Wanda Bevarly also of Bowling Green, KY, and two sisters Amy Disparte and Lacey Dintzer, both of Los Angeles.

Bill lived an interesting and exciting life full of humor, adventure and love for his family. He served our country honorably as a soldier in the United States Army and was considered a colorful character by all who knew him.

As a young boy, Bill was an accomplished magician amazing children of all ages as a popular birthday party entertainer. In high school he was a promising spelunker exploring the local cave network of Mammoth Cave National Park throughout Warren County, Ky. He loved the outdoors and spent much time hiking in Mammoth Cave National Park and the surrounding national forest. He knew every trail and cave in the area and was expert at wildlife identification in the park. Wild animals were drawn to Bill and he had many unusual encounters with them. Bill spent summers working in the park to help develop and improve the trail network with his best friend “Bo” Turner. Their adventures and hijinks were the stuff of local legend. The only journey they did not take together was the journey to heaven. Bo was called home before Bill and all who knew these two inseparable friends would agree that Bo was waiting for Bill on August 2 to accompany Bill and show him the way. They are buried close together in the Smiths Grove cemetery.

As a young adult Bill worked on the riverboats of the Ohio Valley for Hines Riverboats. He became intimately familiar the Ohio and Mississippi River. He proudly displayed an alligator tooth to anyone interested that he had collected after the unfortunate gator paid an unwelcome visit to the barge. Bill spent his happiest working life on the rivers, but ultimately he missed his family and felt the pull to return home. While working on the rivers, Bill became a master storyteller and spent hours captivating audiences with his stories of river life.

In 1986 Bill decided to try his luck in California, so he headed west to live with Amy for a year. He worked at Okell’s Fireplace in Hermosa Beach and became a popular Chimney Sweep. Bill specialized in celebrity homes and made friends with dozens of local celebrities forming a great autograph collection of 8 x 10 glossies while employed at Okell’s.

Bill’s life was not without pain and suffering. His back caused him severe pain and he struggled for many years with an undiagnosed chemical imbalance in his brain. He fought to gain control of his health, but in the end was unsuccessful. After several hospitalizations and heart attacks, his heart simply gave out.

Bill was loved by those who were fortunate enough to know him well and he touched the hearts of thousands of people from all walks of life. He was loved, supported, and encouraged by his family during his long struggle with his illness and while his untimely departure breaks our hearts, the love endures.

Rest in peace Bill, we love and miss you.

We are comforted knowing you are free from suffering and you are making the Angels in heaven laugh.

Caught in a Rip

2010-05-10T17:42:00.001-07:00

Sunday night my husband and I headed south on the bike path for an evening bike ride with no idea that an exciting drama would unfold right before our eyes. We parked at the end of the bike path to take a short break and to watch four adults laughing and playing in the ocean. I pointed out the four swimmers to my husband and noticed they were in a powerful rip tide and moving quickly away from the shoreline. Just as I was about to pull out my phone to dial 9-1-1, the County Lifeguard truck arrived on scene. The Lifeguard was fully dressed in long pants and a windbreaker for the cool evening wind and he was carrying his red rescue buoy. We have lived in Hermosa Beach for 32 years and are at the beach regularly, but neither of us has actually witnessed a rescue. It was a compelling, dramatic, and nerve-wrenching scene.

The Lifeguard walked to the water. The four swimmers were still laughing and swimming as they moved further away from the beach. They were oblivious to the danger. I wasn’t sure I could watch since I had no idea how this one man could pull four people to safety. He motioned and yelled to the swimmers to come in to the side and suddenly their laughter turned to cries for help. They realized they could not swim against the current and it seemed they did not understand how to swim to the side and exit the rip current. One swimmer was, by then, far beyond the other three.

Calmly and efficiently the life guard began to undress to his swim trunks. He reached into the truck for a handheld radio and made a call but he did not get into the water. He quickly walked to the back of the truck with his red buoy and began to remove the paddleboard from the roof rack of the truck. He went to the water with the buoy and began to paddle toward the swimmers. We were amazed how powerfully the rip current propelled him through the water on his paddleboard. He paddled to the three swimmers and left them the buoy. He then proceeded on his board out to the swimmer who was beyond the group. The distant swimmer was obviously tired and had difficulty climbing onto the board. When he did make it, we were astonished by his size – twice the size of the Lifeguard. With a display of strength, the lifeguard turned his board and passenger into the current and paddled the board to the other three swimmers. We watched in amazement and relief as he pulled all four to safety – just as backup arrived from points north.

We were not able to express our gratitude to this hero first responder because he was busy compassionately educating the four swimmers, but his actions did not go unnoticed or unappreciated.

According to the U.S. Lifesaving Association, 80% of those surviving water rescues nationwide are victims of rip currents.

This past winter the local beaches have seen many powerful storms with large surf and the bottoms of our local shoreline have eroded in many places. Rip currents pose a grave danger to the unaware and uneducated where those erosions have occurred.

But even the unaware and the uneducated can learn to recognize dangerous ocean conditions as I did in 1978 when I moved to Hermosa Beach. Once you understand how a rip current operates, it becomes easy to recognize them, and knowing how to respond if you find yourself caught in one of these powerful currents can save your life.

I am an avid swimmer, Flight Attendant, and member of the Association of Flight Attendants and two years ago, I wrote an article for my work colleagues on ocean safety and awareness citing many of the safety techniques I have learned since moving to California. Many Flight Attendants find themselves on beaches around the world on layover and off-duty and I hoped my layman’s explanation could help them enjoy these beaches safely. I used information and expertise from retired County Lifeguard Ross Mackinnon who lifeguarded for many years on Torrance Beach and had an excellent explanation of rip currents. Here are excerpts from that article that may help you negotiate the ocean safely this spring:

Always check in with a local Lifeguard before entering the water, and inquire about the conditions.

Many things must be considered when using the ocean, but riptide recognition and understanding is of primary importance. Mackinnon explains riptides like this: “As you watch the ocean waves folding over a peaceful shoreline, note that as the size of the wave increases, the need for a channel to develop to allow the water to return to the open ocean develops as well. A riptide is a river in the ocean that forms to allow this to happen. It is deeper in a riptide and the water current can flow laterally AND away from the shore with great force. Often you may notice the waves will not be breaking as large in a riptide or will be breaking with increased frequency. The water, especially at the mouth, of the rip can be deceptively calm. Other times you may find the water appears to be muddier, darker, or sandier because the rip current is picking up sand from the bottom and carrying it out to sea.”

The LA County Lifeguard Association has an excellent brochure on ocean safety and it says to watch for the following signs a rip current may be present:

• A channel of churning, choppy water.
• A difference in water color.
• A line of foam moving seaward.
• A break in the incoming wave pattern.

In many cases, you cannot swim against these currents. YOU SHOULD ALWAYS SWIM ACROSS these currents where you will find the water currents calmer and shallower. Riptides are mistakenly referred to as “undercurrents” particularly when the current flows laterally to the shore.

Mackinnon also advises, “If you are caught in a riptide you should swim parallel to shore or across the current until you are out of the opposing current. Once you are able to stand and you are out of the current, observe the sandy bottom of the ocean as you return to shore and do not wander back into the rip current channel where the ocean bottom is no longer visible.”

Mackinnon also recommends several informative and educational websites:

U.S. Lifesaving Association (USLA)

L.A. County Beach Safety

California State Parks Ocean Safety

American Red Cross Water Safety

Enjoy the ocean safely this summer and remember the following tips from the Los Angeles County Lifeguard Association:

• Always swim near an open lifeguard station and never swim alone.
• Check with the lifeguard for safe ocean and beach conditions.
• Never dive into shallow water… Remember… Feet-first every time!
• Use swim fins and a leash whenever bodyboarding.
• Keep a safe distance from piers and rocks, and always obey warning signs.
• Never throw sand and always fill in holes before you leave the beach.
• Please do not litter…leave the beach cleaner than you found it!
• Protect yourself from the sun…use sunscreen and wear a hat.
• Respect other beach patrons and remember your beach manners.

One final note, if you see a swimmer in distress, notify a lifeguard or call 9-1-1.

Pesky Prospect Polecat

2010-01-18T19:01:00.000-08:00

There was plenty of warning and I thought I was prepared. Enticing little weasels wearing beautiful black and white fur coats have been parading down Prospect Avenue in the wee hours of the morning every trash day for some time now. Heed my advice, these charismatic little polecats have a devastating air about them and live EVERYWHERE in the South Bay. Innocent canines find them compelling and intriguing, so be prepared and learn from my unexpected encounter with these urbanized wild beasts.

They’ve made cameo appearances in my neighbor’s back-yard and granted me an audience to gaze upon them from my deck. They’ve strolled unnoticed through my yard. (Watch for the telltale sign of this trespassing: your four-legged property patrol becomes obsessed with tracking a strange animal scent through your yard on trash day.) They’re regal and aloof and it is as if they’re saying, “So, you think you are safe, do you? Have your fun and watch us now, but just wait, we have a surprise for you.”

You guessed it, another victim of skunking in the South Bay. My beloved border-collie, Panda, was the direct target of this odiferous assault, but it made no difference, it smelled like the South Bay Skunk Society scored a perfect bulls-eye on me.

In order for you to learn from this consciousness expanding experience without suffering my pain, I will attempt to provide you with my lessons learned. Hopefully, you will be able to avoid this disaster entirely, but if not, at least you will have enough information to mitigate the damage of this painful encounter.
At 0430 in the morning on Thursday, I levitated out of my bed retching with my eyes burning. It was a mind-bending discomfort. When I could see through my tears, I recognized my dog’s head lying on the edge of my bed looking mournfully at me as if to say, “Please, oh please, help me. I don’t understand what is happening and I am in indescribable pain!” (Oh, those expressive eyes!) But she was in luck, I have smelled this malodorous scent in our lovely beachside community on previous occasions and I instantly understood the problem… my docile little companion had completely lost her mind, chased and cornered a skunk, and now she (and everyone else in my house) was going to pay the price. Trust me on this one: the veil of skunk spray wafting through the neighborhood intermingled with the fresh ocean breeze is not even a distant relative of the overpowering, painful, and traumatic stench of fresh skunk spray in closed quarters.

My husband came running into the house shouting “Amy, I am so sorry, I think Panda was sprayed by a skunk!” (You think? What was your first clue???) “She ran across the street and chased a big skunk (Pepé le Pew if you ask me) into our neighbor’s yard. SHE CORNERED HIM RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE BIRD OF PARADISE!” (Well done genius.) “Then she started backing up quickly, (Well, she is not completely daft!) and when I called her she ran in front of the only car on the street!” (Now who is genius? What was the dog doing off leash at 0445?) “The CAR must have hit its’ brakes because I could smell them so strongly!” (Now we, all women that is, understand that men can’t smell, and this is, of course, a naturally endowed self-protection mechanism. But really, Dear, you couldn’t smell a skunk? Specifically, my husband can't smell, and this fact is divinely unjust given that he has a fine Italian proboscis. It is possible, however, that he may have formerly been able to smell. Saturating himself in a dense cloud of haze nightly with cigars in our garage could not have improved his sense of smell.

About the time I was lowering back to my bed from my levitating wake-up call, my eyes were clearing and I could just see out of the corner of my eye that my lovely little pooch, who usually smells like Fritos, was trying to wipe her head on the beautiful overstuffed club chairs in my bedroom! Actually, I have never liked the chairs very much and I must tell you that recently, I have been considering buying some new furniture, but this is not the right time to consider new furniture purchases!

As I ran screaming after my pooch in an effort to stop her hysteria, she tore through my house wiping her head on every piece of upholstered furniture, no doubt terrorized my by my unusual state of distress. After I cornered my bad girl, I grabbed her (by the collar of course) and drug her while retching and gagging, down to the garage. Here is where the advice begins and you can learn from my mistakes, because until now, common sense should prevail. Don’t touch the dog.

Skunk spray is an oil. Whatever it touches it desecrates. It was all over Panda’s head and collar which is the most common target on dogs who have lost all ability to think and are consumed by their primal desires. If you were looking at a skunk’s derriérè, wouldn’t you move? Note too that if the skunk is very lucky and he scores a direct hit, the dog will have been sprayed in the eyes. This will require a call to the Vet, more on that later.

Next scene: Vons Grocery in Hermosa Beach at 0500: I am there in an unusual fashion statement; a combination of pajamas, shorts, and bad hair to buy tomato juice. We have all heard about the tomato juice remedy for skunk spray, right? As I said earlier, being a safety conscious Californian, I thought I was prepared for this disaster, but someone drank my emergency stash and there was no tomato juice in my cupboard. Now, Vons always seems to have plenty of cashiers at the register, but at 0500, all available cashiers are busy stocking the shelves for all those hungry Hermosans, so by the time the cashier showed up, I was beginning to smell Pepe le Pew again and I became so flustered thinking about the effect of this odor on all the poor unsuspecting personnel at Vons, I could not remember my store code or my debit card number. Needles to say, I owe a debt of gratitude to the cashier who, while not amused, displayed patience and kindness and seemed to understand my dilemma. Thanks to her demeanor, I calmed down and regained my memory.

Next, I tried to drive home and lo and behold that darn stench followed me right into my car (and it remained there until I attacked it with Febreeze later in the day.) Times like this, it is good to own a convertible.

Here are my neighborly tips to help you avoid this catastrophe: but first,
buy your morning coffee at the Starbucks in Vons because when you arrive back at your house, the stench will be wafting through garage into your living room like August heat rising at 4PM off I-10 in Blythe and you will lose all appetite for approximately 12 hours. At least if you have your coffee, you will not suffer from a caffeine headache later in the day.

Skunk tip #1 : Check your dog for bites (really stupid, slow or old dogs can be bitten and skunks carry rabies.) For the record, Panda did not fall in any of the above categories.

Skunk tip #2: Don’t touch the dog – remember that skunk perfume is an (unessential) oil.

Skunk tip #3: Try to keep the dog outside. It will be much more pleasant for everyone (more on tip#3 later…)

Skunk tip #4: Don rubber gloves and old clothes (see tip # 2)

Skunk tip #5: Douse the dummie in tomato juice.* It will not get rid of the smell but it will help to neutralize to burn in your nose and eyes. At this point my retching stopped and my dog started to calm down. Tomato juice is also a very effective way to even the score a bit, especially for light colored dogs. It turns them a humiliating shade of pink and anyone who has ever dealt with this problem will wave to you on the street and feel your pain.

*with regard to #5: Apply outside and let the tomato juice stand on the dog for 15 minutes before rinsing and good luck, we all know what dogs do the second they are soaked with anything.

Skunk tip #6: Don’t even bother to call your vet. You are now persona non grata (unless, of course the dog had a skunk bite or burned eyes) There are, however, a few dedicated grooming salons who are willing to help for a price.

Skunk tip #7: Don’t waste your money on professional “secret” enzyme de-skunking products. They don’t work any better than tomato juice. (remember, however, that tomato juice was a valuable aid because it stopped my retching and reduced the panic in the dog.) Fortunately I did not spend time or money on professional de-skunking products, because I have a wonderful neighbor who provided me with her stash. (I am not the only Southern Californian who is prepared for disaster!)

Skunk tip #8: Search the internet (make sure your fingers are clear of all unessential oil) for the skunk spray remedy that sounds best to you. There seem to be a variety and it is very comforting to know many others have shared your pain. I found a great recipe: 1 quart of fresh 3% hydrogen peroxide (fresh because H2O2 eventually turns into H2O.) ¼ cup of baking soda, and 1 tsp liquid soap.
http://dan.drydog.com/patsyann/skunk.html
This was the most effective solution we tried, but care must be exercised NOT to get the solution in the dog’s eyes or ears. Oh yes, one other minor thing…..mix these ingredients in an open container, preferably outside, or you will blow yourself and your dog to smithereens and wear latex gloves. It is also recommended to let the mixture stand on the dog for 15 minutes.

With regard to Skunk tip #3, many have asked after the well-being of my husband. Since he left for work before the scene of the drama began to unfold he escaped the skunk spray and my wrath unscathed and all’s well that ends well. My husband is safe, we are not moving out of our home or selling our furniture on Craig’s List any time soon, and my dog seems unfazed by the trauma.

Finally, please note that Febreeze is your friend and Orange-cleaner is a terrific de-greaser. Even though I would have tried ANYTHING on Thursday morning to chase the stink away, and I did try Febreeze and orange cleaner, I cannot recommend them since I have no idea what effect they have on a dog’s coat or skin, so check with your local vet. Perhaps they will talk to you over the phone.

P.S Skunk tip #9: When all else fails, cut the evil oil out of the dog’s coat. I am very pleased that my dog is sporting a lopsided coiffure. She looks a bit silly, but her humiliation is a small price to pay for the day I spent in stinko.

School Daze

2009-09-18T19:52:00.000-07:00

Student-tourist (n.): a student who is more interested in fun, the opposite sex, and travel than studying.

I was horrified when my French Professor recently gave this description of non-comitted foreign students because you see, the shoe fits…. This was me WHEN I was a student at Université de Paul Valéry in Montpellier, France in 1973 - more interested in French men, adventure, and travel than my studies. And oh my, what an adventure it was….small town girl from Kentucky travels to France- first trip to New York, Paris, Lyon, and of course Montpellier on a newly designed Calder jet via Braniff to JFK and on to Paris via Pan Am! The naissance of my life-long love of aviation at a time when travel was glamorous. (Let’s play count the relics.)

Sure, I was appalled to learn from my Professor that there is such an accurate description of my former academic status and although it is a bit embarrassing to come clean at this time, I must confess that I have freely applied this student description to my entire life. Give me a break, at least I can claim some success and you are more than a little curious. Here’s the tally so far: I’ve enjoyed my career and would choose it all over again given the chance which means a certain amount of fun encountered along the way. I have managed to land a great husband, soul-mate, and partner in life, which scores well in the opposite sex column, and finally I have become a professional road-warrior tallying up to millions of miles traveled over 31 years. Convinced? You should be. I have actually traveled so much that I now prefer to stay home!

So, why am I lamenting this new (to me) description of etudiante-touriste? Seems I have managed to live long enough to actually enjoy learning and I have decided to go back to school. You guessed it – French 3. Not to worry though, I am still on the fun-track. It is officially called, “Fun with French.”

Rumor holds that the Professors at Community Colleges in California are excellent – most either retired from or escaped from a major University (teaching small classes because they enjoy teaching to students who are grateful to learn.) Judging from my limited experience with my French 3 Prof (third week of class), I have joined the chorus and I am officially singing, “Praise the Prof.”. Note: if you were one of my Profs, back in the day, please do not be offended, I am well aware (and fortunately so is the rest of the educated world) that an etudiante-touriste is not the easiest or most receptive student to teach and missing out on truly excellent Profs was probably due to the simple fact I slept through most my (former) academic career. (For the record, the sleep theme has also followed me throughout life and is directly related to the fun theme. I still need my 8 hours because I am only pursuing 6 hours of fun daily. None of this Einstein-like getting by on 4 hours-of-sleep-a-night baloney.) Please indulge me further and let the record show that I am eternally grateful to my alma mater for graduating me (barely) and putting up with my nonsense.

Why French you ask? I would love to say that it is some esoteric reason involving the music of the language, the love of the culture, and their unique world-view, but I must be more truthful and reveal that I simply wanted to master something I had failed to master in the past. Oh, yes, there is also another small motivator I should mention…my lifelong love of horses.

What in the world does a horse have to do with going back to school to study French, you might ask?

The flying fickle finger of fate focuses again. The World Equestrian Games, specifically the Alltech FEI Games 2010 are being held in Lexington, KY in September 2010 and I want to be a volunteer for the games. To the point, a language services volunteer, are you getting the picture? What better opportunity to have a little fun, watch beautiful horses being ridden by the world’s finest riders, work in a world class facility at the epicenter of horsedom (in the United States at least,) and be close to all my old friends. Although I have lived in California for 31 years you have probably realized by now that KY is my birthplace and my umbilical cord is still attached (if you haven’t come to that conclusion, perhaps you should go back to school.)

Now you understand a little more about my lifelong love affair with horses AND my desire to finally master French. I should interject here that it is a well-known fact across the globe that Kentuckians love horses, basketball, and bourbon. (The entire world also depends on Kentucky to produce the finest caliber of these life-enhancing exports.) Since the FEI games are high on my fun-meter and provide a wonderful opportunity to give of myself and my talents to an entire State (after all, it was their educational system I shirked over 30 years ago,) I’ve signed up.

(You can too:
http://www.alltechfeigames.com/.)

Stay with me, you are probably beginning to get the picture. Alltech is a French Company and there are elite equestrian types running around all over Europe these days (and probably since man first domesticated the horse) who are planning a trip to the Bluegrass State next year. Alltech is asking for Language Services Volunteers and last but not least, I have a year to prepare! What better motivators could you ask for? (Well, maybe just a little Bourbon, after all KY invented a bourbon drink to enhance a specific equestrian event - The Mint Julep at the Kentucky Derby.)

By the way, I wear my Fleur de Lis proudly in class. Not because I come from a line of Capetian royalty – The House of Bourbon (off with their heads) in case you are not a Francophone - but because I hail from the State of Bourbon! (Don’t even get me started on that Tennessee knockoff some mistakenly request when asking for the royal drink of Kentucky.)

Back to school: French 3 – difficult decision number 1. Where should I begin? After all, I haven’t spoken French in over 20 years and even then, my language skill was less than stellar. There is also this little problem of no grammar base. That’s right absolutely no foundation at all and I dumped my gorgeous French college boyfriend on the spot for demanding I improve my grammar.(Andre, forgive me, you really were the cat’s meow.) Luckily the,"What level should I take dilemma?" answered itself - scheduling constraints. I needed to attend a morning class – my 8 hour sleep requirement forcing me to bed around 9PM and making me sufficiently brain dead after 7 as to render evening classes impossible. I was also free on Monday, Wednesdays, and Fridays thanks to my career choice. There you have it. French 3 was my ticket.

Now for drama number 2: a friend of mine is a Professor of Languages at the local Community College (this has NOTHING to do with my plug for Community College Profs earlier, she is actually my neighbor and friend) and she has been encouraging me to attend one of her classes for some time. But this scenario was untenable because you see, I would be forced to reveal my ineptitude in French and my lackluster academic accomplishments all in one fell swoop! Enter the added bonus of French 3: the Prof was a complete unknown (to me.)

My, oh my, college has changed.

My first clue was the internet – don’t you love it? Everything you need to know is at your fingertips. I began the process of my online registration and before I knew it, I had a student identification number. Now for the big decision, should I audit or take the class for credit? Before I answer that question I will tell you that my decision had nothing to do with courage or cost. While a certain amount of courage is required for a 56 year old returning student, the cost difference is negligible – CHEAP (welcome to California now go home.) It did, however, dredge up my fear of rejection, so I chose to audit simply because I could avoid producing my 1977 college transcript (to prove I was qualified to take French 3.) In case you are doing the math, it takes me a few years to actually graduate when you sleep through class. (It wasn't all partying, I worked as a waitress at night too!)

As it turns out, auditing was the correct choice. Returning to academia produced a multitude of anxieties –school daze - for me in the weeks preceding my return to campus life. Attempting a class for credit would have given me the excuse I needed to allow this little scheme to hit the dust. As it was, I couldn’t get out of bed on day 1 because I dreamed all night of an irascible language professor with no tolerance for sleeping students. Knowing I was only going to audit eased the pain considerably and bolstered my confidence.

Now I had only to show up, petition the Prof for an audit or space in her class and hope that her workload would permit me access. Apparently 2009 is not the best year to increase a Professorial workload in CA because the Community College Campuses are OVERWHELMED with students who cannot gain access to or afford California Universities. More than the usual number of students has chosen to downsize their education. Not to worry, French 3 while popular, is not overwhelmed and I was accepted!

I have always been a team player so to help those of you who may be considering a return engagement in academia, I will provide a list of difficulties to help you avoid “School Daze” and make your life easier.

Returning student problem #1: What should I wear? Read it and weep, this age old female issue NEVER goes away but the old age confidence confirms that it doesn’t matter any more because nobody gives a rat’s ass what you wear on a college campus if you are over 25. While we’re at it, today’s college students aren’t winning any fashion awards either. They are lacking the style, grace, and common sense of the 1960's and 1970's. The fashion statement du jour for the male student appears to be keeping one hand on your baggy pants in order to prevent them from falling to the ground instantly. Could the male student be de-evolving to an animal form that breathes from its butt? While their derriéres are covered with adorable boxers, they are completely exposed.

Returning student problem #2: Where do I park? Note: all California students drive or ride something – this IS Los Angeles after all. You cannot secure a parking pass until you have paid and have a student ID and you can not pay for an audit until the beginning of week 3. Get the picture? I had interim parking needs. In a pinch, you can always count on your cheapskate son who happens to be a student at the same college, for a little student anarchy. He parks miles away and rides his skateboard to class –illegal and subject to a fine – apparently inheriting my disregard for authority and my financial nerve since parking passes are expensive. I not really nuts or an anarchist and I don’t ride a skateboard. I walk.

Returning student problem #3: Book-store sticker shock. Two paper-back used text books cost $171!!!!! Holy cow. How do these students afford the tools of their trade? Here’s how: some students refuse to buy the texts – they just buy photocopied pages (of the text.) I applaud their creativity (and anarchy) in beating these greedy text-book publishers at their own game. I can understand why the publishers don’t make this information available in digital form – why every student could easily and freely (if not a bit illegally) access their texts and college would be affordable! Let's hear it for an I-tunes store for textbooks! There was one redeeming factor, I was very pleased to find the Campus Bookstore was a few dollars less expensive than Amazon. At least not everyone is trying to cheat students.

Returning student problem #4: Where the heck is the humanities building? Fortunately there are nice employees zipping about campus in golf carts that take pity on old women and offer to drive them on day 1.

Returning student problem #5: No patience for long lines. Take a book you dummy. You have lived long enough to know how to be productive in any situation.

Returning student problem #6: I can’t see my 1973 Larousse English-French Dictionary – even with my cheater glasses (and all the pages are yellow now that it is an antique.) No solution in sight…. Apparently too, my distance is going. I can’t see the blackboard either.

Three weeks into my latest adventure appropriately titled, “Fun with French” and emerging from my school daze I have discovered returning to school is fairly easy (and fun of course) and the above list of problems is easy to overcome. In addition, this cloud of difficulties offers a silver lining to the unaware returning student: should I ask for my “student discount” or my “senior discount” when I employing my purchasing power?

For the time being, I choose student affiliation, after all, senior discounts are few and far between when you are not yet collecting Social Security. Proudly displaying the student label is guaranteed to stimulate conversation and after all these years I have learned that I am still a student at heart. I guess the old adage is true, you are only as old as you feel.

Passion Play

2009-09-07T18:37:00.000-07:00

Here’s the dilemma: the neighbors next door have gone out of town for the Labor Day weekend and left their teenage daughter behind. (I am sure she told her Parents she would be staying with friends.) Teenage behavior is nothing if not predictable and you guessed it – we are talking about a Saturday night party entertaining casts of thousands underneath my bedroom window.

I know we have all been teenagers, and most of us have raised teenagers, but to be reminded how silly teenagers really are underneath my bedroom window after I had gone to bed was a veritable rude awakening. Let me explain further. In this densely populated urban beach town we practically share bedrooms with our neighbors, and it is a small price to pay to live on the left coast And either due to the noise coming out of my house – face it, life is noisy - or the noise coming out of theirs, we are not bosom buddies.

So, Saturday night, there were teenage boys running though my neighbors back yard enticing their dog Franklin, to bark (and believe me, he needs no enticement to speak his mind in such a fashion that it ricochets off their back wall and directly up into my bedroom) and cursing at the top of their lungs. It was almost as if these young men had been freed from language jail and for the first time in their young lives. They were without the supervision and control of adults and they had chosen to let the profanity FLY! In addition to their need to sound cool they apparently had the need to look cool, so each teenager at the party carried a longneck bottle of beer. These same young men were tearing around the back yard in the dark screaming AND carrying glass bottles.

So my first dilemma, should I call the police? I decided that no, I should be tolerant, after all, teenagers, yours truly included, have all done things they weren’t supposed to do and survived. I would have to live with myself, my guilt, and my neighbor’s ire if I called the authorities, not to mention marking these children for life with a possible police record.

Next I asked myself, what if someone gets hurt, then what? After all, they were running with the alcoholic equivalent of scissors. Another resounding answer from my recesses of my memory – surely there was a RESPONSIBLE teen at the party who could dial 911 if needed.

About that time, I kept hearing someone call “Fiona, Fiona” and it became evident that “Fiona” was in charge - dodged that bullet! (I should tell you here that those requiring Fiona’s attention did not appear hurt, there was only usual teenage drama underway, requiring her assistance.)

Well, that take charge Fiona resolved the issue, whatever it was and I knew I had an ally –whether she knew it or not.

On with the drama, after all, it was 11PM and my normal bedtime was 8:30! I stood in the dark watching from my window (sure, I felt a little sneaky and my husband irritatingly enough was to be able to sleep through the whole thing!)

Through the fog of teenage angst, Fiona appeared! She was a vision in loveliness and confidence and wore an adorable red blouse. Please note: I have lived in this house for 16 years and this family has been my neighbors for at least 2 and it was the first time I laid eyes on Fiona. Did I mention that they are not a friendly bunch?

I had a plan! I would go outside and wait until Fiona emerged again from her hostess duties inside the den of iniquity and ask her to dial the volume down a bit. She was a very active hostess after all, flitting from room to room talking to each guest and inquiring about their romantic attachments. I should also tell you that by this time the cursing and running with scissors crowd had worn themselves out (and apparently Franklin too), given up the ghost and gone inside to act like normal males. So, I donned my best and most presentable housecoat – a lovely cotton Kimono given to me by my sister – and stood on the deck behind my bedroom until Fiona appeared again. After all, I did not want to appear like a crazy old woman snooping and standing on a balcony at 11PM. It did not dawn on me however, that a new character in this passion play might emerge from the den, but after a few moments a lovely tall blonde girl (when you live at the beach in California, they are all lovely tall blonde girls) stepped onto the back porch stage and looked up at me. You could see the terror in her eyes – there was a crazy old woman standing on the balcony at 11PM in a Kimono (exactly what I was trying to avoid!) – and she started yelling for Fiona. I made my move, I asked her if she would ask the hostess to keep it quieter. I tried to be as charming as possible knowing that I had not avoided the crazy old woman thing so this beautiful girl just replied politely that yes, they would be quiet.

AND THEY WERE!

I must tell you that this close encounter with the teenage kind has restored my faith in youth. Fiona, true to her red blouse, was an in-charge hostess and was successfully able to dial the volume on the party dial down to a murmur (where it stayed until the wee hours and I was able to sleep only waking up every so often to a loud giggle or screech. (Why do teenage girls screech? Did I ever really do that?) And as for the boys, it appeared that they were able to successfully run and scream with scissors without damaging themselves or anyone else (except for my sleep, that is.)

Now I would like to tell you that the story ended here, but no, there is more. Apparently the parents were not to return until late Monday so there was another opportunity for mischief on Sunday night. Fiona, however, was practiced at her skills and knew the game well. She kept the volume to a dull roar and in the front of the house. It seemed, too, that there were not as many players. Could they have worn themselves out howling at the moon on Saturday?

She did however make one mistake. When she packed it up (again in the wee hours) to go back to her temporary digs, she left Franklin outside. Oh woe is me. Not only is he loud and he a full-blown sissy. He lays on the back stoop (the best spot for sound magnification) and barks at every shadow he sees compared to my magnificent canine who merely places herself safely under an open window – no AC here in paradise- and growls (All night long in this case.)

Now I had a new dilemma – should I call the law on the dog? Have him arrested? Give him a record for life? (Sad but true- our city keeps a record of these gregarious canines and the fine increases with each violation.) No, I decided, it would only make matters worse (the barking would increase when the police showed up) and it would probably give my neighbors good reason to continue their unfriendliness (and really dislike me) – I hold out some hope of friendship and I have a dog too… So I sucked it up and got up Monday morning feeling very cranky and tired.

I did have one moment of magnificence. I found an opportunity for revenge and a possible alliance of forces in the dog wars. I’m not sure whether I have made a friend for life or an enemy….

About 4PM Monday afternoon Fiona came home with one of her beautiful tall blonde friends. I knew this because I could hear deep male voices and surfboards rattling in the back yard. I recognized my opportunity to launch an offensive, so I waited until the boys left and made my move. I marched right over to the den of iniquity, which necessitates walking around the block (with helmet hair from my bike ride, and saliva glued to the side of my face from the nap I was required to take to get through the day further reinforcing my image of a crazy old woman) and I knocked on Fiona’s door. Franklin, that coward, barked, just to gloat.

I am certain I presented a vision of loveliness and possibly confirmed all their suspicions of insanity, but nonetheless, I introduced myself and tried to act like I did not know who Fiona was even though I had been a good spy and knew exactly who the players were. I asked who lived in the house. Fiona introduced herself and then apologized politely when I told her that Fletcher had barked all night long. I asked her if her Parent’s were home and they both started giggling. I knew I had them – I was winning. They said no their parents were not home. I asked when they would return and they said tonight.

I decided to play my ace, a risky move indeed! I said, ”Do your Parents know about Saturday night?” I could see the look of defeat in their eyes. I had won and now they were scared. Questions like, “Was I really a crazy old lady? Would their cover be blown?”, were running rampant through their minds. I felt their pain so I said, “Well, I am not going to tell your Parents and I think you did a very good job keeping the party under control and managing the noise, especially when I asked.” You should have seen their faces, I was winning.

I now have a genuine ally in the war against silly, sissy dogs who bark all night because I have noticed Fiona, making the effort to keep his comments under wrap in the evening. After all, there is the clear and present danger that a crazy old woman could rat you out at any given moment. Teenagers, get it, after all no one was injured during the observance of this passion play and no one has a police record for life. Apparently too, there are some things Parents are better off not knowing. This I know from experience.