Astoria Photografpix

A Turnip by Any Other Name ...

2010-11-24T22:07:00.001-08:00

A turnip by any other name ain't a goddam rutabega. Which I just found out today.

I'm an old Yankee, and when it comes to Thanksgiving, turnips are a must. Most people don't have a clue how to prepare turnips in an edible fashion. But my mother, who was an earnest Yankee, but only a middling cook, knew her tubers.

"It's the sherry. Don't skimp on the sherry," she would say while ardently pouring. And she wasn't referring to that crapalacious cooking sherry, either.

"And plenty of butter." None of that fake non-dairy good-for-your-heart drek, either.

"And don't forget the salt." A heart attack in the making, by current standards.

So when I went to Safeway to get the Thanksgiving goodies, I headed for the turnips. But they looked so small. And ridiculously priced, to my total disgust. We're not talking filet mignon, here, though you'd never know it from the price.

Anyway, since the turnips looked so small and anemic, I decided to buy rutabegas instead. They're the same family, blah blah, how different can they be?

I'm here to tell you, when I boiled those rutabegas, and mashed them, and added the sherry and butter and salt ... well, it tasted like shit, to be honest. So bitter, so awful, so stomach-twistingly bad.

So after giving the rutabegas an indecent burial, I trundled back to Safeway and got some turnips. And boiled them, and mashed them, and drenched them in butter, sherry and salt. Omigod. Bliss. I will never, never, ever make that rutabega mistake again.

Now if someone could just tell me where I could buy some bottles of boiled onions so I could make some proper creamed onions, this old Yankee would probably pass out from joy.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Walk the Planks

2010-09-03T21:33:00.000-07:00

My dog isn't old, but he isn't young, either, and we love to go for walks - especially out on beaches (particularly Benson Beach). I have an SUV so it's a bit high off the ground, which wasn't an issue until a little while ago.

Suddenly, when we'd go places, I couldn't get him to jump back into the car to go home. Sometimes it would take 1/2 hour or more to coax him in. Eventually, taking him anywhere just became un-doable. I don't know who missed our outings more.

Then Clancy started whining and acting like he was in pain. But he was still eating well, and everything else was normal. Dr. Larry Goza (Omigod, is there a better vet ANYWHERE?) figured out the problem:

Clancy had herniated disks in the neck and back. No, we didn't do a truckload of X-rays. A cortisone shot, followed by a regimen of pain pills, followed by the equivalent of a non-steroid anti-inflammatory pill once a day seems to have the problem under control.

Clancy was back to his normal self, walking and wagging, and putting on his smile-on-four-legs prance. But he still couldn't get in and out of the SUV.

I scoured the Internet for ramps, etc. Found a great one, but it cost $169. Then I read the reviews, and it won't safely hold a dog that weighs more than 60 pounds. Clancy is a svelte 135 pounds. OK, some don't think he's so svelte.

I kept thinking this is just asinine, there must be an easier (and a hell of a lot cheaper) way to handle this problem. And of course, there was.

It finally occurred to me to go to City Lumber, find a nice pine plank that was 1/2 inch thick, 12 inches wide and 8-feet long. The guy who waited on me kindly cut the plank in half for me. So for $8, I have a 24" wide ramp that is 4 feet long, once the two planks placed side by side.

The next hurdle was convincing Clancy that he really, really wanted to walk the planks to get in the car. It took a bit of doing, but not much.

We went for a ride, and Clancy was so delighted to be going somewhere (anywhere), he joyfully barked at the trees. And parked cars. And clouds. And telephone poles. And damn near everything.

Thank you, Dr. Goza and City Lumber. Clancy thanks you, too.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Is It All About the Money?

2010-08-14T21:49:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm still trying to figure out how what was once a great event could go so utterly wrong. I'm talking about the Astoria Regatta.

The first year I was in Astoria, 2005, the regatta was held on a single block of Duane Street, right by the Moose Lodge. Everything was all in one place, and the Grand Land Parade marched right through, right in front of my vendor tent, to my granddaughter's utter delight.

The atmosphere was cozy, warm and fun. Everybody and their brother turned out to schmooze and enjoy the festivities, and all it all, it was a delightful event.

There were even gillnet boat races - apparently for the last time, as I haven't even heard them mentioned, since.

The next year, us vendors were fenced in on the old Safeway tarmac, and without telling us, an entrance fee was charged to the non-event. Who's going to pay to come and shop with vendors they know they can visit for free at Sunday Market?

I think I was stupid enough to vend there once more after that.

This year, I noted there were only a very few vendors. I don't know if it's because none of us artisans and artists were asked, or none wanted to participate.

I read on some store window that the admission to Regatta Square would be $2 or a can of food for the food bank. Nope. When my son went with my granddaughter, they charged him $5 to get in - just so she could jump and slide on the inflatable bouncy things for 15 minutes. Sheesh.

OK, I understand they need to pay for the fireworks, bands, whatever. But you know what? Charging $5 to enter Regatta Square to drink over-priced beer or let your kid bounce a bit is a total deal-breaker, in my book.

And I guess I'm not the only one who feels that way. I drove by at about 8:30 p.m., and the band was playing to a few folks who were sitting there, probably wondering why the hell they paid $5 for the privilege.

Don't even get me started on the fireworks. They used to be set off from the Maritime Museum area, where everyone on the North Slope could see them. Then they moved the fireworks to the East Mooring Basin, where only a few can see and enjoy the fun. I didn't even bother to try and see them this year. It was just too damn much trouble - where to park, blah, blah. I used to be able to walk a few blocks for a good view.

And it's all a shame. The regatta used to be fun.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Just Plain Stupid

2010-07-24T12:56:00.001-07:00

I shopped at a large North Coast retailer yesterday (you get to guess which one), and bought a pair of shoes. I really, really wanted those shoes. For a change, the price was the same as I would pay for them online.

Then I wanted to buy some peds to go in the shoes. The ones I liked best were thick cotton, three to a pack, $9 a pack. So they're $3 a pair. Doesn't take a brain surgeon, or even me, with my limited math ability, to figure that one out.

I wanted two packages of the black ones, but there was only one full package. The other package had two pairs in it instead of three. So I figured, well, I'll just take these up to the register and pay $6 and get the two pairs of peds.

I get to the register, explain the situation to the cashier. Nope, he couldn't handle it, had to call a supervisor. She didn't have enough authority to say the deal was OK (for $6 worth of socks??) so he had to call HER supervisor.

The chief wookie supervisor handed down her verdict: she'd give me 10% off.

Huh? Thirty-three percent of the product, i.e. one whole pair of socks, was missing and she'd give me 10% off?

I turned to the lady behind me and said, "Do I have 'STUPID' written on my forehead?" She said "No."

I turned to the cashier kid and asked the same question. He just shook his head "No."

I was so flummoxed I forgot to tell him where the supervisor could put the socks (I have no doubt they'll fit nicely, probably with room left over), paid for my shoes, and left.

What I don't get is this: With people that dense in managerial positions, how the hell has that company ever managed to stay in business? It's downright scary.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Pier 11 has No Peer

2010-07-15T19:55:00.000-07:00

Pier 11, at the bottom of 11th Street in Astoria, Oregon, is a grand place to go.

Yes, Pier 11 has the drink meister, Rich (aka Nacho Biznezz), but you know what else it has? Great, affordable food ... not to mention views to die for while you're noshing.

My son's mother-in-law, Yvonne, came up for her first visit to Astoria in May. We had a wonderful visit, wandering all over the North Coast and Long Beach Peninsula. Her last night in town, we went to Pier 11 and had the prime rib while sitting at one of the riverfront windows. I don't know what was better - the view or the prime rib. And it was a good chunk of beef and yummy- I actually had to take some home, which is rare.

Speaking of rare, I'm one of those barbarians who likes beef beyond rare. When I was visiting in Kansas, and tried to explain to the waitress how I wanted my steak cooked, she said, "You mean slap it on the ass and walk it by the stove?" Yes.

In June, a long-time close friend, Jasmine, came to visit Astoria for the first time. Of course, we went to Pier 11. This time I had the spinach salad. I don't think I can rave enough about it, so I'll simply say: spinach, bacon, cheese, tomatoes, killer dressing.

The artichoke dip is great, too.

And shame on me for almost forgetting to mention it, there's a happy hour menu. My other half was gaga over the cheeseburger, and he's a fussy guy when it comes to cheeseburgers.

I have only one complaint: butt-buster bar chairs. Let's just say I have ample padding, but even so, it ain't enough. Somebody please have mercy and put some nice, comfy chairs at the bar!

Anyone "of a certain age" will know what I mean: a swivel chair with a padded seat, padded back, and a foot rest - all conducive to relaxing and chatting in a good bar with a great view.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Running Rogue in Astoria

2010-05-08T09:16:00.001-07:00

Lately it's occurred to me that Astoria has several organizations that run rogue and do whatever the hell they please because, well, they can.

Here are just two examples (yes, there are many more - just think about it):

A Rogue Chamber of Commerce:

The Astoria-Warrenton Area Chamber of Commerce thinks it's OK to get involved local politics, which is contrary to the charter of any chamber I've ever heard of, and certainly a no-no for U.S. Chamber of Commerce members.

Guess what? They don't belong to the U.S. Chamber of Commerce. They don't belong to ANY governing organization, and consequently, do whatever the hell they please, including touting a local politician at a public event.

It's bad enough the chamber board thinks they can get involved this way, but what's really galling is they clearly don't give a rat's ass if their members espouse the same causes. They can't even obey their own bylaws (maybe they've changed them by now, so they can do whatever they want - officially). I'm just one artist who won't be joining any time soon.

The Rogue County Commission (except Dirk Rohne!):

Oh, this is by far the biggest and baddest of the bunch. Since the list of transgressions against the will of the county residents is so long and egregious, I'll just go straight to the most recent topping on the cake:

They let Bradwood Landing run up huge debts that the taxpayers will have to absorb, now that Bradwood has gone belly-up and declared bankruptcy, leaving the commissioners holding the bag. I don't even want to think of all the implications of this, because they make the commissioners look like utter fools, on a good day, and that's about the nicest thing that can be said.

Let's just say the situation smells. No, it's actually a stench of ... well, I'll let you figure that one out.

Anyway, at least there is hope for the rogue county commission.

Three businesspeople are running for the commission - Scott Lee, Peter Huhtala, and Debra Birkby. I don't think they, or anyone, with even a grain of business sense would have let Bradwood "run a tab." Hell, I think even my 5-year-old granddaughter would have known better.

If Huhtala, Lee and Birkby win, I'm damn near certain I'll be able to take the Clatsop County Commission off my "Rogue" list. And I'd be more than happy to do that.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

The Agony of de Feet

2010-02-19T13:25:00.000-08:00

OK, bear with me, we're about to enter what many might consider to be the Crackpot Zone.

A little background: I've been getting agonizing leg/foot cramps in my sleep for years, which entails hopping out of bed and trying to work out the cramp, going back to bed, then hopping out again when the next cramp hits. Between the agony and the hoppng, the whole experience is not conducive to a great night's sleep.

I'd pretty much given up, and figured it was just something I'd have to learn to live with, when I saw an article in the Oregonian one Thursday (or whichever day of the week they have the homeopathic columns). Their suggested solution for midnight leg cramps made me laugh out loud, but it stayed with me.

Flash forward to the other night. I woke up with a screech when a particularly vicious cramp went over the top of my foot and around one ankle. And I remembered what I read. So I hobbled to the bathroom and grabbed a bar of soap. Yes, soap.

The article said to put a bar of soap under the bottom sheet when you have leg cramps at night. So I put the bar of soap under the bottom sheet. The cramps had abated, so I crawled in and put my feet against the bar of soap.

A few minutes later, a cramp tried to start, then just stopped. That happened several times, but then nothing. No cramps. This is just totally nuts, I thought. But what the hell, I tried it again the next night, and the next. No cramps.

So then I decided to look this whole bar of soap/leg cramps up on Snopes. Their evaluation: undetermined. Enough people say it works that apparently there's something to it, but nobody has the faintest idea WHY it works. Frankly, I'm less concerned with the whys than the fact that it DOES work, and apparently you should change the bar of soap every six months or so.

Snopes said one more thing I thought was interesting: Some people say Dial soap does not work. I'm here to tell you it does.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Several flew over the cuckoo's nest

2009-10-27T16:08:00.000-07:00

Yikes. Some wing nut over at wing nut central, NorthCoastOregon.com, thinks I'm using pseudonyms such as CDG (which stands for what, I wonder?) and posting "LIES" (what lies?) all over the Internet. Like I have the time to bother with such nonsense, much less the inclination.

Patrick McGee has been accused of the same silliness. I bet he's as baffled as I am. By the way, Pat, thanks for the kind words in my defense.

So here you have it for the record: I'm not CDG. My opinions are right out there in the open, and always have been.

I am against LNG for more reasons than are worth articulating yet again, so I'll just re-state one, for the moment: It is simply idiotic to put LNG tanks in an active subduction zone.

Three county commissioners need to be recalled before they can do any more damage by pandering to outside interests and ignoring their constituents. That may or may not happen. We'll see about two of them tonight.

Once again, for clarity, since some seem to be a bit dense on this particular issue: These are solely my opinions. I do not represent anyone or anything but myself.

Wing nuts: Don't bother to post any of your loony, vicious "Anonymous" comments and rants. I won't publish them on my blog - you're not going to get an audience for your hate-mongering here. Go shit in your own cuckoo's nest.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Ship of ...

2009-09-05T10:55:00.000-07:00

I was away for a week, so I missed the letter to the editor sent by the Astoria-Warrenton Area Chamber of Commerce Board, and the Seaside Chamber Board, against the recall of Commissioners Samuelson, Roberts and Hazen.

Nobody says it out loud, it seems, but being against the recall is the same as being for LNG. These commissioners are being recalled because they refuse to listen to the voters who put them in office, and are pushing forward to have LNG terminals built on the Columbia River, which is against the will of the people (as shown in the pipeline referendum).

What I can't figure out is: No. 1, why the hell do the Chambers of Commerce think they have the right to try to tell people what to do in regard to local political decisions; and No. 2, are the chamber boards really that stupid, or have they been bought?

I mean, aside from the obvious idiocy of putting LNG tanks anywhere near a major subduction zone, LNG on the river would destroy the tourist industry in this area, and Astoria businesses (and members of the chamber) are increasingly dependent on tourism. I suppose Seaside doesn't care, because the LNG tanks won't be visible from there if they are built.

I, for one, would like to know which businesses support the chamber boards' stance against the recall, so I can be sure to not shop at their establishments again. And so much for my thoughts of joining the chamber - they don't represent what I want for the future any more than the commissioners under recall do.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Sold Down the River

2009-07-18T21:23:00.000-07:00

Our Clatsop County Commissioners' move to sell their constituents down the river with the 4-1 decision in favor of NorthernStar's Bradwood Landing LNG project, and a letter about the situation by Ned Heavenrich, inspired Marc Auerbach to create the new, more accurate Clatsop County Seal, above.

The dead salmon, dollar signs and "For Sale" sign say it all, but the LNG tanks are a nice touch, too.

A pal of mine mentioned that the other day she saw one of the county commissioners recently, at a local restaurant, writing with a Bradwood Landing pen. The commissioner was utterly oblivious to what people would think, and I'd wager my friend wasn't the only one who noticed.

Incidents like that, and all of the ex parte conversations witnessed by many ... Gee whizzikers and oh my golly, do you think there's a whole lot more to the county commissioners/NorthernStar connection than meets the eye? Surely I'm not the only one who wonders why there isn't an official, and thorough, investigation.

Something smells mighty bad in Clatsop County, and it ain't the fish.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Dancing on a String

2009-07-08T20:12:00.000-07:00

Just in case you're wondering who's pulling several of the Clatsop County Commissioners' strings:

From The Daily Astorian, July 8, 2009, by Cassandra Profita, about today's Clatsop County Commission hearing on NorthernStar's liquefied natural gas project, remanded back to the commission by the Land Use Board of Appeals:

"The disagreements reached a crescendo toward the end of the afternoon, when NorthernStar attorney Ed Sullivan told [elected] county commissioners that their job in addressing the LUBA remand was not to do what 'the clappers' told them to do, referring to the [LNG] opponents in the audience.

"'Your job is to apply your own plan,' he said. 'You're not here to apply the will of the people.'"

Sure sounds like an terse reminder to the commissioners to continue to ignore the wishes of their constituents, doesn't it?

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Kitchen Floor Glop

2009-06-26T21:07:00.001-07:00

My mother, being a classic old Yankee, didn't go for new-fangled luxuries like gas or electric stoves when I was a child. We lived in the bottom two floors of an old Victorian-era hotel on Long Island Sound (the top two floors were closed off), and the stove was a four-burner cast iron model, very similar to the one pictured above, but black.

The stove originally ran off an old coal furnace, which was another cast iron monster lurking in the basement, and was used for burning trash. I don't recall how the stove was heated after being disconnected from the coal furnace, but I do know the stove was on all the time - there was no "off" switch. To cook at a higher heat, you'd remove the rings in a burner, which had four rings you could remove with a little hook tool.

Baking required a knowledge of the wind speed and for some bizarre reason, barometric pressure. We had barometers all over the house, so that part was easy to figure out. Wind speed was another matter, usually requiring going out on the back porch, wetting a finger by sticking it in your mouth, and holding it up in the breeze. Needless to say, in the winter time, this was a tricky business. As I recall, baking was best in a southwest wind.

Consequently, any kind of baking that required the oven to be a specific temperature for a specific period of time was a head-scratcher. We'd read the directions on the box, check the barometer, go outside for a wind-check, and then decide whether or not to proceed. Some times of year the oven was hotter than others (winter, when the furnace was going), which also had to be factored into the equation. No, we did not have an oven thermometer.

So you'd just pour the brownie (or whatever) batter into a pan and wait. After 20 minutes or so, you'd have to get a potholder to open the oven door (it was a cast iron latch), grab a toothpick, and poke whatever it was in the baking pan. And you'd keep poking it every 10 minutes or so until the toothpick came out clean. Worked every time.

I learned to cook on that stove, and my first piece de resistance was two eggs, sunny-side up, cooked in an old cast iron frying pan (we had several). My parents were at the neighbors' for cocktails, and for some reason, I just had to try to cook on my own. I think I was about 6.

I cooked the eggs, and I was soooo proud of myself. I called my mother and told her what I'd done, and she asked me if I'd eaten the eggs. I said no, I didn't like sunny-side up eggs, I just wanted to see if I could do it. So she had me bring them to her at the cocktail party, and she ate them.

Casseroles were easy with an oven like that. I remember one night mother was having a dinner party, which she did often, even with that awful stove, and the casserole was ready. It was very heavy, and in a huge cast iron pan, so I had to help her get this damn thing out of the oven. We dropped it.

Everyone was waiting for dinner and seated at the table. We looked at each other over the mess, and both grabbed big spoons at the same time. We scooped it back into the casserole dish, sprinkled new cheese on top, and served it.

The guests raved about the casserole and asked my mother for the recipe. She said, "It's called 'Kitchen Floor Glop,' and the recipe is a secret," she said with a smile.

She finally got an electric stove in the 1960's. Which, in my opinion, took all the fun out of cooking.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Where Old Hippies Go to Die

2009-06-12T21:40:00.000-07:00

I remember, when I was very young, watching this really impossibly idiotic black & white TV show called "Ramar of the Jungle." About the only intriguing part, in my book, was the myth of the mysterious Elephant Graveyard. Old elephants supposedly had an internal radar, and wandered there to die when they knew their time had come. I really believed there was such a place.

Many moons and many graveyards later, the time had come to bury my parents. They were staunch old Yankees (although my father was a transplanted Confederate from Kentucky) who died in 1990 within six months of each other at the very respectable ages of 85 and 91.

At the time of my mother's death (she went last), I flew back to Connecticut from Los Angeles, where I had been sunstroking my brain for 8 years, to meet with the venerable funeral director, Earl, who was no spring chicken, himself.

We exchanged the usual terse New England pleasantries, did our business, then settled in for a proper chat. I don't remember much of the rest of the exchange, but I will forever remember one thing he said about my future demise. "A real Yankee has no damn business being buried in California. You need to be buried on Yankee soil, where you belong."

There was no way I was going to go back to New England, for several reasons, the least of which was I had no one to go back to. But what Earl said stuck with me through the years.

When I finally got my shit together, as it were, and decided to move to Astoria, Oregon, my friends in L.A. were appalled. One of my best friends, Harry, finally called me on it, and demanded to know why the hell would I even think about leaving L.A. The answer that fell out of my mouth, unbidden and unexpected, was, "I don't want to die here." And that was the bottom line. I just didn't know I had drawn it until that moment.

So here I am, five years later, still in Astoria, and still loving it. Today, I was walking my dog on the Riverwalk, and happened to notice at least five other geriatric hippies. They still have their long hair, bandanas, and other badges and accourtrements of our era. My hair won't grow long any more, but I still have my 5 ear-piercings in each ear and I don't remember how many tattoos.

And the first thing that came to my mind was "so Astoria must be where old hippes must go to die." Well, I can't think of a better place to live, or die, for that matter. With apologies to Earl, it looks like this old Yankee will stay in Astoria for the duration.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Pour it on at Pier 11

2009-06-03T20:47:00.000-07:00

Although I am not actually a fan of the cocktail per se (I'm a beer drinker), I love the art of the pour.

Remember Tom Cruise in the movie "Cocktail," tossing glasses and bottles around with great elan and scary coordination? Hell, even a stodgy old fart beer drinker like me, parked at the bar, can appreciate the fun of a good performance.

Rich, aka Nacho Bizznez, who holds forth on KMUN, and used to be at The Schooner on 12th Street, is a cocktail artist (read about him here). I do not say this lightly. Not only that, he's a nice guy.

So naturally I was horrified when The Schooner put up the announcement on the door that all they would be serving was breakfast.

I'm sorry, but who gives a crap about breakfast? Where's the fun? Where's the show? Where's the bartender?

He's at Pier 11, at the bottom of 11th Street in Astoria, that's where he is. Hallelujah.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

When the Phone Rings, Run

2009-02-11T19:58:00.001-08:00

I was thinking the other day about telephones, and how much they have changed. When I was a child, there were no cell phones, no push buttons, no Internet phone service and nobody used local codes like 503.

There were operators who were actually live human beings. If they weren't busy, you could call them and chat, even if you were six years old. You could call information, and someone would even look a number up for you. It was called "directory assistance," and it was free.

To call out, you dialed four numbers, not ten. The phones were rotary-dial (does anyone younger than 50 even remember that?). Often neighbors had what were called party lines, which meant you shared a phone line with your neighbors.

There was always a ring code, i.e. if the phone rang once, paused and started ringing again it was for one family, and if it rang twice, paused, and started ringing again, it was for the other family on the line. Which meant if you picked up the phone on the wrong ring tone, you might accidentally overhear some really juicy gossip.

My father was a pediatrician, so the phone rang all the time. I had to learn at a very tender age how to answer phones and deal with crazed mothers (whose children had put a marble up their noses) who wanted to speak to my father whether he was "on duty" or not.

Father and three other doctors formed a little group and would take turns covering emergencies on weekends. I had to know when it was father's weekend off, and to tell crazed mothers to call the "physician's bureau," and give them the number, so they could call the physician on duty.

The Physician's Bureau was actually a lovely lady who had an old-fashioned switchboard in her apartment, and she would take the messages and call the on duty doctor at home. She was also available for children of doctors (like me) who wanted to chat with a kind and caring adult.

Some of my father's patients were too savvy for this arrangement, and would call him directly at home, and to hell with the Physicians Bureau. I was told to be stern and turn them away. It didn't occur to anyone that it might be difficult for a child to disobey one adult (the crazed mother) to appease another adult (my mother, who hated the interruptions on father's free time ... father didn't really care).

One particularly persistent mother called during the cocktail hour on one of father's "off" weekends. She was not going to take "no" for an answer, particularly from a child. She told me her two-year old son had swallowed a safety-pin, and she needed to talk to my father immediately. She would not let me hang up, and I was too polite to just do so.

My father was about 1/4 of a mile away at a cocktail party. This woman convinced me to get on my bike and go talk to him, and she would just "hang on."

Bigod, I got my bicycle, which was one my mother had in 1912 (no, I'm not kidding) and heavier than whatever Atlas had on his shoulders. I struggled up a large hill, and down the other side, ran into the large cocktail party, and found my father.

After I finished panting for air, I told him that Mrs. Pain in the Ass was on the phone, at home, holding, and that she needed to know what to do about sonny-boy, who had swallowed a safety pin.

My father asked,"Was the safety pin opened or closed?" If it's closed, it's no big deal, and will pass through. If it's open, it can be problematic, indeed.

I jumped on my bike and tore back to the house, ran inside, grabbed the phone, and gasped the question. The reply? "I don't know."

Back on the bike, back up the hill, back down the hill, back into the mob to find father. Yes, she was still holding on the phone. "She doesn't know," I told him.

Perhaps it was my crossed eyes, perhaps it was the fact that I was reeling ... I'll never know, but father took mercy on me. He got into the car and drove home to take the damn call. I followed on my bike. Yes, she was still on the line.

I caught hell every which-way that day. For letting a patient bamboozle me into tracking down my father. For disrupting my parents' "social life." For tying up the party line for more than an hour.

I should mention that all the hell-catching I got was from my mother. My father was an old-fashioned doctor who thought a doctor should be available at all times for his patients, and yes, he did house calls. Every night after work. And any time there was an emergency.

Okay, he probably wasn't the most attentive husband and father, because he was never around, but he was one hell of a doctor, and everyone loved him.

But I still don't like telephones.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On

2009-02-07T10:23:00.000-08:00

Anyone who has lived through a major earthquake can tell you how traumatic it is, but they probably can't tell you how long the fear stays with you. Probably because it never really leaves.

I went through the magnitude 6.7 Northridge Earthquake Jan. 17, 1994, and lived only 8.5 miles from the epicenter. What a lot of people don't know is that earthquakes are incredibly loud. The noise of what sounded like a gigantic freight train approaching my bedroom at high speed on very bad tracks woke me up seconds before the quake actually hit, and made me sit up straight.

The second the quake slammed into the house, I was thrown flat while the house buckled and rolled and the walls shimmied all around me. It was beyond terrifying.

When the shaking finally stopped, two of my three dogs were on top of me, and my son was screaming in his room. My son calmed down, and the third dog was found in the kitchen happily snacking on the pot roast and other goodies that had been literally thrown out of the refrigerator onto the floor.

Like an idjit, I got into the car as soon as it was daylight and started driving around. The only word I can think of to describe the landscape is "eerie." Everything was unearthly quiet, especially for such a huge city. Stray dogs and cats were running about madly, fences were down, none of the traffic lights worked and naturally, there was a lot of rubble everywhere.

What was most disconcerting, though, were the aftershocks, which ranged in magnitudes 6 and below for days and days. Even so, things returned to "normal" rather quickly, but then, L.A. is used to earthquakes, and well prepared for them, and repairs started almost immediately.

Everyone was spooked, of course, and for years, every time I got stuck under a freeway overpass on a red light I would break into a sweat, terrified an earthquake might start and I'd be buried in tons of concrete. Post traumatic stress disorder, I guess.

Anyway, when I moved to Astoria, I thought, "At last, I'm out of an earthquake zone." Hah! I had never even heard of the Cascadia Subduction Zone, and was in for a very rude awakening. The Cascadia is capable of a rupture that can produce a magnitude 9 earthquake and a 100-feet high tidal wave, which makes the Northridge Quake's shaking seem like the effect of a big truck driving by in comparison.

The last time the Cascadia did its dance was Jan. 26, 1700, which we know from records kept by the Japanese of the resulting earthquake and tidal wave there, and from Pacific Northwest Indian legends. But Japan is a long way from the fault zone ... Astoria is less than 100 miles from it.

I kept wondering why I couldn't find anything about what happened to Astoria during that 1700 quake. What happened then could tell us more about what might happen here the next time the Cascadia Subduction Zone blows. There was nothing written, which isn't surprising, but the land itself should speak of its history.

Finally, in frustration, I wrote to Robert Witter, Regional Coast Geologist in the Oregon Department of Geology & Mineral Industries in Newport and asked. His prompt and thorough reply was:

"We don't know exactly what happened in Astoria as a result of the 1700 earthquake and tsunami because there is no written record of the event here in North America. From geologic evidence, native American legends, and geophysical modeling we can make some educated guesses. Damage to the area probably resulted from the following:

(1) Strong shaking during the earthquake;
(2) Liquefaction of soil causing extensive settlement and lateral spreading along river banks;
(3) Landslides triggered by earthquake shaking;
(4) Land subsidence (~1 m drop in elevation) caused by earthquake deformation;
(5) Tsunami.

"A tsunami probably reached Astoria based on computer models that simulate tsunami inundation in the Columbia River. Outcrops along the Lewis and Clark River, west of Astoria, expose thin sand layers that may have been deposited by tsunami currents in 1700.

"The easiest maps to get a hold of that show how far a tsunami might reach near Astoria were produced in 1995 to implement building code statutes that restrict development of new buildings in the tsunami inundation zone. The map for Astoria can be found on this page: http://tinyurl.com/astoria-tsu"

He also sent a link to earthquake hazard maps: http://tinyurl.com/astoria-quake (scroll down to IMS-10). Just above IMS-10, you can buy a tsunami hazard map for Astoria (IMS-11).

I found an interesting publication about how to survive a tsunami here: http://pubs.usgs.gov/circ/c1187/

Yikes. Very scary stuff. Buildings in L.A. are built with the earthquake factor taken into consideration. Not true in Astoria, from the looks of it. So I jumped from the frying pan into the fire earthquake-wise, but oh my, what a beautiful fire it is.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

A Cat by Any Other Name ...

2009-01-22T12:03:00.001-08:00

I recently rescued a young marmalade-colored tomcat we named Buster (as in ball ...). I thought having him neutered (which I would do anyway) would have the beneficial side-effect of perhaps calming him down. Hah!

Buster throws a paw over the shoulder of our elderly Cocker Spaniel, Mackie, and wrestles the totally bewildered dog to the ground. Mackie now flees when he sees Buster. I should clarify ... Mackie waddles for shelter as fast as a very fat spaniel on arthritic legs can.

The Butterscotch Blur chases and torments all of the household geriatric female cats (two of whom have now ganged up on him). He unrolls paper towels by the yard, shreds them and drags the remnants around the house. What he does to toilet paper is unspeakable. He tucks pens under carpets. When he's bored, he leaps out in front of us from behind curtains, trying to startle us. It is quite effective, especially on the upstairs landing, at the top of the stairs.

The last time I had a young male cat was a decade ago. I had an old dresser that the drawers didn't quit fit into after warping in the Calfornia climate, which is quite unkind to anything wooden. Consequenty, the drawers were always open an inch or so. The kitten tore all of my underwear and socks out of the drawers and tossed them all over the bedroom on a daily basis.

When he wasn't engaged in undergarment sorting, he was busy overturning the cats' water and food dispensers and tossing aromatic lumps out of the catbox and sporting with them in batting practice.

He was such a frustrating little bugger I kept yelling, "You little shit!" repeatedly at him. His name was actually Banjo, but to this day, he thinks his name is Little Shit, and he will only respond to that.

Now that we have a new terrorist in the house, Little Shit prefers to nap on the back of a couch and observe from the sidelines. I swear he is smiling.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Heat it Up

2009-01-21T19:39:00.000-08:00

Recently, I had a friend visiting from Kansas who did nothing but bitterly complain about the cold here. It's cold here? This is Hawaii compared to friggin' Kansas.

Nonetheless, she was perpetually draped with blankets, layered with sweaters, and surrounded by electric space heaters spewing waves of warmth at her ... yet she continuously took me to task for the house being too cold.

Meanwhile, the furnace was set on 70, which heated my Yankee blood to the boiling point. I was seeing dollar signs dancing in my head (I could just see that gas meter pinwheeling along) while I was wearing T-shirts and feeling like I was living in a sauna.

The chilly house guest has gone back home, and I am left with an unspeakable heating bill, which means now I have to scrimp more than ever this month. However, I have tried to mitigate the problem in this drafty old uninsulated barn of a house without spending wads of cash.

The furnace is back on a sensible 60, and I've put up an inexpensive shower curtain between the front of the house, which is very cold, and the back of the house, which at least retains a bit of heat.

So here I sit, in the somewhat heated part of the house, wondering what the next gas bill will bring. On the bright side, I am secure in the fact that if the fridge dies - no sweat. The kitchen is in the back of the house, and easily as cold as a meat locker.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Stories from Big Red

2009-01-19T20:44:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago, Frank Mahoney contacted me, wanting to use the image above for a video he was producing called "Stories from Big Red" about Royal Nebeker's Net Loft, aka Big Red, which sits out on the Columbia River at the bottom of 31st Street in Astoria. My image was of interest because it shows the building before the lid got blown off in the December 2007 storm.

At this point, I should mention that the aforementioned storm had winds reputed to hit 150 mph, yet on the North Coast, it was referred to as a "winter storm" or a "gale." I have never seen such winds in my life, and I was mightily impressed. Being an old Yankee, I had previously thought winds of 60 to 80 mph, which were often during a hurricane, were a big deal. Hah!

Anyway, the video, which is an hour long, gives quite a detailed tour of the old cannery, and also shows some concert footage from the Big Red fundraiser last summer.

You can see the video here: Stories from Big Red

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Dead Ducks

2009-01-14T19:20:00.000-08:00

That Noel snow siege we had in Astoria, all wrapped up as a White Christmas present, really got me galloping down Memory Lane.

When I was a little girl, back on the shoreline of Connecticut, in my little oystering/lobstering village, winter was a very big deal for most of the town's residents. Everything just stopped, period.

Except school, of course, and since my mother was always a social butterfly who didn't recognize seasons, I spent more time than ever during the winter with my babysitter, Mrs. Gay, after school and on weekends.

Yes, her name really was Mrs. Gay. She lived in an unpainted shingled house that was snuggled against a seam of pink granite that was 50 or 60 feet high and ran east about 150 feet.

Mr. Gay was a lobsterman, which meant that during the winter he had nothing to do but mainly sit at the kitchen table and weave new nets for his lobster pots, drink copious amounts of beer and swear. I learned to cuss listening to him, and also learned to revere tattoos (yes, I now have several) and Ford trucks.

When he wasn't weaving nets and swearing, he and his son, Junior (aka Junie), would take their hunting dog, Baggott, their guns, and liver-paralyzing amounts of liquor to hunt Long Island ducks, which were highly prized by the rich folks in the area. It was about the only way they could make any money in the winter.

One of my less fond memories is of walking up the steep and creeky stairs to the porch and being met by brightly colored feathers and rows of dead duck eyes. The hapless foul would be hanging by their feet all around the porch, and especially around the sides of the front door, which opened into the kitchen.

One fall, when I was about 8 years old, Old Man Gay and Junie were drinking beer and target shooting in the yard, getting ready for duck-hunting season. The target was set up in front of the wall of granite. Baggott was watching with great interest, but didn't understand why he didn't have anything to retrieve.

I wandered up to them, and was just hanging around, watching. Old Man Gay said, "Hey kid, you think you can shoot this thing?" Well, I had no idea, so I said, "Maybe." He handed me the rifle, showed me how to hold it against my shoulder and aim it at the target they'd set up, and told me to go ahead and pull the trigger.

I did, and next thing I knew I was flat on my ass and looking at the sky. Old Man Gay and Junie were slapping their knees and howling with laughter. I would have laughed, too, but I was too startled by the unexpected landing.

I think that was the first and only time I heard Mrs. Gay - whose first name was rightfully and fittingly Grace - actually bellow, which she did from the upstairs porch.

Needless to say, Old Man Gay and Junie made no more attempts to "teach" me to shoot, and were sternly chastised for their efforts. But I never forgot the lesson, and nobody ever had to worry about me "playing with guns." A bruised backside and aching shoulder, not to mention all those dead ducks, spoke louder than any adult warnings ever could have.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Let it Snow

2009-01-04T10:35:00.000-08:00

I guess all those years of dreaming of a White Christmas finally paid off, in a place I never expected it to happen - Astoria.

The last snowy Christmas I had was in 1981, back in Connecticut. The winter that year was particularly brutal, for some reason. I always wondered if it was Connecticut's farewell present to me, as that was the last winter I spent there before moving to California, and I remember well thinking I would never be warm again.

The clothes froze to the bedroom chair, the quilt froze to the bedroom wall I was vainly trying to insulate with it, and the only room with any heat was the kitchen. I felt like Scarlett O'Hara, but my line with fist upraised on an icicle-covered porch (and California dreamin') would have been, "I'll never freeze my ass off again!"

From there on in, before moving to Astoria, it was California palm trees for Christmas. It's true - be careful what you wish for. I will just say that palm trees don't go well with much besides tree rats and recluse spiders, and especially not with Christmas. Sunny 75 degree weather doesn't go with Christmas, either, so I used to light up the fireplace and set the swamp cooler on stun. But I digress.

Once I got to Astoria, the locals assured me it never snows in Astoria. But that it used to, long ago. With a heavy sigh, I figured I would never see a white Christmas again. And I reminisced mightily about childhood Christmases in Connecticut, on the shoreline, when Long Island Sound froze over with ice cakes, the Victorian houses on the islands in the sound looked like Christmas cards, and the snow was always at least a foot deep by Christmas.

Which then led me to think about the best and worst Christmas presents ever. The best was a TV, when I was only 3 (which was sometime during the first Pleistocene era, I believe) and my father lugged that damn thing uphill to the house from the driveway.

I still believed in Santa back then, so I was damn near delirious when I woke up and saw the beloved TV, which at that time, got a total of three stations that ran about 6 hours each per day. It was black & white, of course, and a screen and lots of tubes surrounded by some sort of pressed cardboard. That is the Christmas present I will always remember, and it still makes me smile to think about how I felt that Christmas morning.

The worst present wasn't the fault of the present, naturally, it was a case of faulty expectations. I was about 6 or so, and this one present under the tree just intrigued me. The shape was interesting, and it was wrapped in many, many layers of tissue paper. It only made a thunking rattle when shaken, and I could not for the life of me figure it out. I must have picked it up 20 times a day to shake it, or feel it, or try to puzzle it out. I was aghast to discover that it was a flashlight. To this day, I can almost feel my face falling again when I realized what it was.

Now, in my dotage, I appreciate the fact that the best Christmas gifts are not of the material kind. This year, it's having my friend Margot here for a month. And a wonderful blizzard on Dec. 20. I was down at Pier 11 doing the Saturday version of the Sunday Market, and looking out at the river with the snow swirling all around, and was tickled to my toenails.

The icing on the seasonal cake was to wake up Christmas morning and see falling snow out the back window that overlooks the city and river. Oh, I chuckled and giggled with glee, and felt like I was 5 years old again, when I would stand in my long-john pajamas (with the button-down butt flap, of course), staring out the window, waiting for Santa on Christmas Eve.

Santa arrived this year, at last, and brought lots of snow and a sleigh-full of memories. I'm still smiling.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Photo Show in Astoria Tonight, Astoria Visual Arts Center

2008-10-10T06:15:00.000-07:00

Above, one of the photos in the show, "Afternoon Moon," Astoria Photografpix

To see the poster above, click here: AVA Show

Well, I'm finally biting the bullet and doing a show at the Astoria Visual Arts Center on 11th Street with two other photographers, Gail Lansdown and Rosetta Hurley.

Let's just say it's a challenging space to work with, but I think it's an interesting show.

The show opens tonight, from 5 to 8 p.m. Drina Daisy restaurant is generously supplying the food refreshments, which will, I'm sure, be yummy.

We'll also be open for Second Saturday Arts Night tomorrow night, and Sunday afternoon, too.

Hope anyone who can will stop by and say hello!

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Dog Days

2008-08-20T20:57:00.000-07:00

Another reason I was into non-blogging mode for many months was the sudden and inexplicable demise of my beloved wolf-dog, Leo, at the end of March.

The photo above was taken in early January, when we went on a long walk on the beach to go see the Iredale Shipwreck once I heard the bones of it were sticking out of the sand again.

The photo below was taken a few days before he died, when there was a wonderful snow storm at the end of March. Flowers were blooming under the snow.

He had never seen snow close-up, so I had an urge to take him out for a walk during the storm. I had a nagging feeling it was a one-time-only experience, and felt compelled to take my camera. I am so glad I did.

It was so strange seeing the blooming flowers look so alive under the snow, even as they were dying, especially since a few days later I realized that was the case with Leo, too.

When I took him to Dr. Goza, he took a sample of the fluid in Leo's chest. It was full of cancer cells, and already his breathing was labored. With great difficulty I made the decision to end it then and there before things deteriorated into a crisis state, and I stayed with Leo and held him while Dr. Goza did the deed.

To say we were devastated would be putting it mildly.

However, I've always felt the best way to honor a rescued pet (and Leo was a pound puppy) is to rescue another. So five days later, I rescued a St. Bernard mix, Clancy, from a shelter.

Clancy and I are getting used to each other. It's been about four months now, and we're taking long walks all over the place. Leo would approve.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Sunday Marketeering

2008-08-20T20:08:00.000-07:00

Ah well, I've been a very bad blogger. I have no excuse except that the approach of the Sunday Market season, then the actual arrival of same, has kept me from pounding the keyboard blog-wise. Been slaving making new images for months, but not doing much else computer-wise except those damn online jigsaw puzzles, which are rapidly becoming some sort of weird addiction.

Sunday Market has been a revelation this year. And I don't mean in a good way. The gas prices have made things unpredictable at best. People who travel to Astoria have spent so much money on gas to get here, and to feed themselves once they arrive, that there is little disposable income left for frivolities like photos. Heavy sigh. It just ain't my year.

And it's getting to be a bummer to be there every Sunday, what with all the empty booth spaces all over the place. It looks like a ghost market. So this will be the summer of passing out business cards. Seems like a hell of a lot of work, emptying the car and setting up the tent and schlepping all that heavy crap under it, but hey, what the hell.

You may ask why I bother. I wish I could say I had a rational answer. I don't. Perhaps it is sheer masochism.

I tried the Grays Harbor Market, a good idea in theory. Yes, indeed, there is a parade of traffic going by on either end of the market, but ... there's no way to stop the traffic, and no place for the cars to park if they actually did decide to stop. Another heavy sigh.

Like Bette Davis said, getting old [and marketeering] ain't for sissies.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Ain't They Grand

2008-03-07T21:14:00.000-08:00

A new pal of mine, Angel, is an incredibly talented illustrator who lives in Spain. He was asking about houses in Astoria, and was interested in all the bright colors, thinking he might like to draw one. Which made me think, yet again, about how wonderful and quirky the houses here are.

They're fascinating to look at just whizzing by when driving around. But from a walking point of view, they're downright amazing, since you have the time to stop, look, and admire.

Even the decrepit ones are fun, because I immediately go into "if I had a zillion dollars" mode, and think about all the things I would do to fix it up, sparing no expense in the restoration, of course.

Just about everyone I've talked to would love to get their hands on the "other" Flavel house, the bitch empress of "fixer-uppers."Anyway, I was going to walk the dog and take some photos of houses for Angel. But it was raining, and not being fond of dealing with large wet dogs, I drove around in the drizzle, opened the car window and shot photos of interesting and/or colorful houses. Just for the hell of it.

And it was hugely entertaining, even tho some of the photos have visible raindrop splotches on them. The important part of the deal is that this was an exercise in fun, not something I "had" to shoot, so rain splotches don't count.

Anyway, what here's what I came up with on my first foray:
Astoria House Adventure 1

I know, I know, I haven't even begun to scratch the surface as far as interesting houses go here in town. I'm thinking of making it a "mission" to go around taking photos of intriguing and/or colorful houses. Again, just for the hell of it. Might be fun. Today's venture sure was.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Mr. Lee

2008-03-01T13:37:00.000-08:00

"One, two, three, look at Mr. Lee
Three, four, five, look at him jive"

The Bobettes sang that many years ago, but it keeps bouncing through my head lately.

In today's mail was the postcard pictured above. The No. 1 box gives you three choices: I would support the recall of Richard Lee; I would oppose the recall of Richard Lee; and I am undecided at this time.

The No. 2 box asks the yes or no question: Is there a chance you would change your mind?

It's already postage paid, and suggests that you "Please return immediately" to Hoffman Research Group in Portland. Just try finding them on Google, and you'll send yourself on a merry chase to nowhere. So who the hell are they, really?

The only thing at all about them is a thread of a discussion on BlueOregon: Hoffman Research Group

I expect these people are the same ones responsible for the ugly telemarketing push-polls that have been going on lately, trying to convince people to vote "no" on Lee's recall.

Well, you know what? I'll return the damn card, just to let them know my mind can't be changed. Not that I needed further convincing, but that poll-card was the final blow. It's offensive they would even ask if my mind could be changed.

The recall is soon upon us. When Lee gets recalled, it just might scare the pants off the other three commissioners who kowtow and follow obediently in his wake.

It's probably too much to hope for that the Muddled Three would start thinking about LNG with their heads instead of their asses, and listen to their staff and their constituents, but hope springs eternal.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Ferry for Sale

2008-02-23T22:35:00.000-08:00

I happened to notice a ferry for sale on ebay. The sale ends today, actually - M.V. Chinook Ferry on Ebay (large file). Only $4.5 million. Geez, spare change.

Anyway, it made me think of how things must have been before the bridge connected Astoria to Washington, and about the ferry that ran from Astoria across the river. I've never been on that particular ferry, more's the pity. But I'm a big fan of ferries in general. I love the ferry from Westport to Cathlamet. And the ferries from Seattle to the outlying islands are grand, too. Tourist's Seattle Ferry Ride

But I think the grandma of all ferries is The Staten Island Ferry in New York. Where else can you get a view of lower Manhattan, cruise by the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island, and get a ferry ride that lasts 25 minutes each way to Staten Island and back, all for free.

When I was a kid, the ride cost a nickel, and I used to go back and forth just for the hell of it every time I went to New York. The last time I was on it was back in the early 1970s, and it cost a quarter. The World Trade Center was under construction, and cranes were sitting 75 stories above Manhattan. I wish I could have seen the completed buildings before they were destroyed.

I also recall a memorable ferry ride to Block Island, Rhode Island, when I was about 6 years old, during which I managed to embarrass my entire family by walking up to a man with a huge beer-belly and asking him if he was pregnant.

The only other thing I remember about that day was a lady taxi driver who smoked cigars and drove us all over Block Island while telling us the local history. My father was delighted. Back then, there was actually a lot of empty space on Block Island, and it hadn't been ruined yet. New York and Boston hadn't discovered it, and it was still a nice, quiet place to go.

There's also the funny little Hadlyme Ferry in Connecticut that crosses the Connecticut River near Gillette's Castle. Gillette was a stage and film actor who specialized in playing Sherlock Holmes.

And of course, there's the Catalina Ferry from San Pedro, California, out to Catalina Island. Not the express service, the good old-fashioned pokey ferry that takes a while to get there - long enough to relax and have a couple of beers. That's one of my all-time favorite ferry rides.

Anyway, back to Astoria. When I saw the ad for the ferry on ebay, I thought how cool it would be to have a ferry here again. I know, it's expensive and impractical, but I'd sure love it. And I bet those tourists everyone's busting ass to attract would love it, too.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

A Trek up the Coast

2008-02-17T19:06:00.000-08:00

Saturday my partner in crime and I decided to do a reconnaissance mission up to Aberdeen, Washington, to check out were the Grays Harbor Street Market will be held. The town ain't pretty, and reminded me of how Naugatuck, Connecticut, used to look in the 1960s, i.e. pretty run down.

Fortunately, pretty ain't what matters in a street market.

We skedaddled out of there pretty fast, and went straight to the Westport (Wash.) Marina. All I can say is, Yikes! It will be condo city in no time. The development is still in its infancy, but the writing is on the wall. Right now, Westport, too, is a little run down, but it's easy to see that in 10 years it will be a polished tourist trap. I was shocked to see there's actually still vacant land near the marina. That, too, will be gone in no time.

Since we were hungry, we decided to check out the Half Moon Bay Restaurant out near the end of the marina. Omigod, you'd have to really try hard to get a worse plate of fish and chips than that one (for $13!).

The meal was like something you'd expect to get served in some landlocked wasteland. The menu purported that this piscene obscenity was cod. The breading tasted like overcooked styrofoam, and the fish was so dry it was damn near dessicated. I think it might have died in 1932, and the resurrection was unsuccessful. However, the ensuing attack on my credit card was successful, more's the pity.

While we were consuming the ill-fated fish, we noticed a helicopter that kept hovering over the jetty, which it did for more than 1/2 hour. We finally saw someone being hoisted aboard, and it took off. I kept wondering why the helicopter looked so familiar. Well, hey, it was our very own Astoria Coast Guard, rescuing some kid who fell on the jetty.

Astoria Coast Guard to the Rescue

After lunch, a little exploring was called for. For me, the lure of the beach is always strong, so we headed down the road to the beach. On the way, in the woods, what did we see but a lighthouse - the Grays Harbor Lighthouse.

Yes, in the woods, what seemed like more than a quarter of a mile inland. It looks a great deal like the North Head Lighthouse, and that's no coincidence; it's designed by the same man.

The lighthouse keepers were there, and even though it was only 10 minutes till closing time, the wife of the team agreed to take me up the very narrow and winding metal stairs to the top.

She knew a lot about the history of the place, and to me, the most interesting part was that the ocean used to be much closer to the lighthouse - only 400 feet away. In this instance, the ocean added land instead of taking it away.

Of course, right near the ocean on this spit of land, some enterprising soul built a huge three-story condo/vacation suites project that is a complete eyesore. Perhaps the sea will get angry at the desecration and reclaim the land.

The view from the top of the lighthouse is spectacular if you can igore the condos and look directly north. You can see all of Grays Harbor and really get a sense of the place. It's a climb well worth taking.

Grays Harbor Light House

All that wandering around included a side trip to Bay Center. It reminded me so much of the way my home town (also an oystering village) looked when I was a child that it was very nostalgic. So much so that it was a little scary.

I was more than ready to head back to Astoria, and I'm looking forward to the Ship Inn's heavenly fish and chips.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

The Biggest Box

2008-02-16T08:49:00.000-08:00

I can already hear screams of horror ... I am about to hold forth on a very unpopular topic around here - WalMart.

Since we're encouraging the big box business over in Warrenton, I'd like to see a WalMart go in. Not even a Super WalMart, just a plain old WalMart. Okay, you can start screaming now.

Oh, I know all the arguments, one being that they pay their employees poorly. Well, nobody tied 'em up and made 'em work there, for heaven's sake. In an area like this one, it could make the difference between having a job and not having one at all. And McDonald's pays just as poorly, if not worse.

The biggest argument is that WalMart puts little stores out of business. Frankly, that's a crock, and most of the time, when people say that, they're referring to what are known as Super WalMarts, which include a grocery store. And even that argument is a crock, since the other big box stores, such as Safeway, have already wiped out the mom & pop grocery stores, for the most part.

As for other merchandise, if you want high quality expensive shoes, pants, whatever, you're not going to go to WalMart, anyway. But if you want the best value for your dollar, and are happy to settle for just good quality school clothes (which they're going to grow out of in a year, anyway), WalMart is the place to go. The clothes aren't fancy, and often aren't very stylish, but they're more than adequate, and functional. Same goes for the shoes.

The only store that would be put out of business in this area would be Fred Meyer, and that would be no great loss. When I first moved up here I needed the usual stuff for the house, including a shower curtain. So I went to Freddie's, and found one I liked with a lighthouse on it. It was $19.99. I thought it was a bit much, but I paid it, and went on my merry way.

Three years later, it needed replacing, and the very same shower curtain was now more than $25 at Freddie's. But by then, I knew where the WalMart is. So I looked at the WalMart shower curtains. I was utterly pissed off to find the very same shower curtain ... identical in fact, down to the manufacturer ... for $9.99. Whoa. Now I keep an ongoing list of things I need at WalMart, and the next time I have to go to Portland, I stop at WalMart in Longview.

At the time of the shower curtain fiasco, I decided to cruise around the store to check the cost of other things I was buying at Freddies. And I was horrified. Freddie's was charging $1-$3 more for almost every single item, same brand, etc. In the clothes department, there was no comparison at all. WalMart clothes and shoes are affordable. Freddie's are not (at least in my opinion).

I'm a photographer. I use a lot of photo frames. If I bought my photo frames at Freddies I'd be in the poor house. WalMart has perfectly good frames for reasonable prices. Can't beat it.

I should also mention that now WalMart only charges $4 for many prescriptions. A pal of mine in Texas is overjoyed, since she's on a lot of prescriptions. I don't have to tell you that for those without medical insurance, and there seem to be a lot of them up here, that would be a lifesaver - and maybe the difference between being able to afford needed meds or doing without.

I could go on and on, but I'll spare you. All I know is that I ain't the only one around here who has to watch every buck they spend, and I'd rather get the most bang for my buck as possible. So I'm all for good old affordable WalMart. Bring it on.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Ol' Man Winter

2008-02-08T20:43:00.000-08:00

My pal Margot from Kansas was here for most of December, and into a bit of January. Strangely enough, after living through decades of wicked Kansas winters, the entire time she was visiting, she complained about being chilled to the marrow.

She spent a great deal of her time here wrapped in sweaters and blankets, parked by an electric fireplace.

In today's email, after mentioning that not so long ago the temperature hit -20, she said, "I really have cabin fever. Monday the fog was terrible ... the fog never really lifted so I couldn't drive ... It began to snow and rain and sleet Tuesday morning. There was also wind. By this morning my car was buried under three foot drifts. I think the actual snow fall was about a foot. I think I will be able to go to the office tomorrow."

I was brought up in New England, where the temps would often hit -20 in the winter. It ain't no picnic, and we won't even go into what happens to your face and nose when you walk outside when it's that cold.

Oregon winters at the coast sure seem very mild to me. Yet she thinks OUR weather is unspeakable? Go figure.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Dreams of Pier 11 - It Could Be So Grand

2008-02-07T20:15:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking about the Pier 11 building ever since I posted about the ill-fated John Jacob Waterfront Grill in Astoria getting grilled.

I've spoken to many people around town, and there's one thing we've agreed on, even in currently contentious Astoria ... that one piece of real estate probably has the most potential in town to be a really great gathering place for locals to enjoy good food and drinks and a fabulous view. IF the food and drinks were reasonably priced (i.e. not the cost of a car down payment), and IF the atmosphere was comfortable and welcoming.

In the process, we had lots of fun brainstorming about what the place COULD be like ...

First of all, and this may sound a bit radical, we would have the bar run across the whole back wall so the customers are facing the river. As I recall, there's already a step down to that section of the building.

We'd remove that wall that separates that section (if it's possible structurally) and just leave whatever posts are structurally necessary. That way the area would be open to the rest of the building. And all the booze would be below eye-level on shelves, but lit and visible. And, please God, LOTS of beer taps.

It goes without saying that there must, must, must be comfortable swiveling bar stools, with padding, almost shoulder-high backrests, armrests and footrests! Lord have mercy, that alone would be a revelation in this town of butt-busting bar stools.

We all thought it would be great to have regular restaurant tables and chairs along the east and west sides, next to the windows. And more tables in the middle of the place ... the high ones, with those same lovely comfy bar stools, for diners who don't want to sit at the bar but still want to see the view.

Where the old bar is would make a good spot for the gamblers amongst us. Lord knows, their vices have kept many a bar afloat, and hey, they're going to do it anyway.

One of the problems with the place is that it's too damn big. How about, on the west side, making a dancing area with room for a band?

Of course, the main thing that would make any venture on Pier 11 successful is to have the booze and food prices local-friendly and reasonable. Lots of sandwiches, burgers, reasonable steaks, and of course, fresh seafood. I know I'm gilding the lily here, but I personally would almost kill for a decent salad bar.

Anyone else out there have any thoughts on our "vision" of Pier 11?

So many restaurants around here are victims of backward-thinking, i.e. let's price this shit so high only tourists can afford to come here. It's the locals who are the life blood and who keep establishments going in a seasonal town like this one. Capture the hearts of the locals, the tourists will follow.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Beware the Half Moon

2008-02-03T20:34:00.000-08:00

When men are young, they go bare-chested and flex their muscles as signs of display to court or attract women, or just for the hell of it. For the most part, if they're in any kind of shape, nobody minds, and they may even be appreciated for their efforts.

However, something bizarre happens to the male when they hit middle age. Some glitch happens in their wiring, maybe. I call it BCDS, otherwise known as Butt Crack Display Syndrome. They can be affected by this syndrome at any time, anywhere, and feel an inexplicable need to bend over or sit down and expose 4" of butt crack.

Today I was at a local tavern, sitting at a table and watching the Super Bowl Game. I'm fibbing. I hate sports. I was actually reading a book while the game droned on. We went there because our pals were there, sig other loves sports and the tavern has a wide-screen TV.

A spaghetti dinner was being served, and the barmaid plopped a plate by me. Distracted by my book, I didn't pay much attention, and started scarfing down the food.

Then, I had the misfortune to look up to get her attention to thank her and ask for another beer. What was I greeted by, with a forkful of spaghetti on my way to my mouth? The butt crack from hell.

This mother must have been a yard wide. It was blaringly white in the otherwise muted light, parked on a bar stool right in front of me. It's not like there was any subtlety, or that you could, perchance, miss it.

Nobody can tell me that the owner of this dermatological billboard didn't notice a very distinct and chilly draft on God's little acre of posterior. I mean, he was wearing a coat and two shirts, plus heavy pants and boots. Yet he made no move to cover up. Who the hell knows, maybe he thought he needed an airing.

He was obviously a victim of BCDS. Which is, apparently, incurable and untreatable, more's the pity.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Another Sell-Out?

2008-02-01T20:50:00.000-08:00

Geez, just when you think the majority of the Clatsop County Commissioners couldn't possibly do any more damage than they already have, trying to literally sell Clatsop County down the river to the highest LNG bidder ...

Whoa, we have yet another decision looming on the horizon. You gotta give 'em credit ... they just keep 'em coming.

The latest lunacy involves DeLarua Beach, an undeveloped expanse of ocean front property. There are three alternatives: do nothing and keep the land, sell it to the Oregon State Parks and Recreation Department to turn into park land, or go for the gold and sell it to private interests.

The first two alternatives would, of course, protect that pristine section of beach from development and save it for us, and for future generations to enjoy. The third alternative would block off that whole section to everyone but the wealthy elite who could afford to buy and build there. Malibu, anyone?

To quote The Daily Astorian today, "Commissioners Ann Samuelson and Richard Lee said they didn't think the $1.3 million offer from the state matched the value of the property."

Once again, Sam Patrick seems to be the only one who isn't in a greeding-frenzy. He thinks the county should keep the land. Is he the only one who gives a shit about the future of Clatsop County? I'm beginning to think so. And no, I don't know him, and I'm not related to him. Hell, I've never even met him.

Hasn't anyone ever told/taught the wayward commissioners that there are some things that are impossible to place a tangible value on? And just shouldn't be for sale?

If they succeed in selling us out to LNG on the river and/or to private interests at DeLaura Beach, they will leave an embarrassing legacy even their great-great-grandchildren won't be able to live down.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

In the Dark

2008-01-31T20:26:00.000-08:00

Happily, I finally discovered digital photography. But it was a long time coming.

For many years, I wallowed in fumes developing films and papers in a series of home and professional darkrooms, burning shoes, ruining shirts and pants, destroying linoleum floors, up to my elbows in foul odors and fouler chemicals.

My first darkroom was of the home variety, and the enlarger was so bad it was beyond belief. The edges of the prints were fuzzy and underexposed, and the centers were overexposed. I was thrilled when I sold it years later at a yard sale.

My next enlarger was a Besseler 23C, a very fine and sturdy enlarger that I used until my home darkroom days were over.

The first photo lab I worked in was back in New Britain, Conn. And that black & white darkroom was a doozie. The enlarger was a top-of-the-line Besseler with an Ilford filter head that could enlarge to 16x20+. You old-time photo buffs out there will know what I mean.

The cool part was that there was only one tray for processing, instead of three. You developed the paper in the tray, then tossed the print into this ancient rectangular metal contraption called a rocker. It stood about waist-high, and had five metal mesh trays - two stop baths, two fix baths, and a final tray of water.

The rocker was about 10 feet long and 3 feet wide. It ran on chain, with cogs, and had a timer. It would rock back and forth like a cradle to slosh the chemicals around, clicking all the time like a demented alarm clock. Every 3 minutes the trays would start to dump. It would dump one tray at a time seqentially, moving the processing photo paper down the line from left to right till everything wound up in the water bath. It really was a wonder.

I left the ancient rocker behind to move to California, and the first lab I worked in was in the San Fernando Valley, run by some pot-smoking brothers. Both of them were too lazy to do the processing, so that was my job. After spilling a gallon of developer on myself when one of them stumbled into me in the darkroom, and semi-frying my clothes, I moved on.

One of the nicest darkrooms I ever worked in was a darkroom created by a Beverly Hills photographer. It was state-of-the-art. Everything had been thought of, right down to exhaust fans, heat, and air conditioning. That was top of the line all the way around.

Alas, she retired. After working for a few more labs, the last of which was abandoned by its owners one night when they fled to Mexico, the California Department of (un)Employment thought I really should be a secretary instead of a master darkroom printer.

One last fitful excursion into the darkroom game had me locked in my pantry, inhaling stinking fumes and swearing, "Never again!"

And that's when I capitulated, and got my first damn digital camera.

Just before I moved up here, I decided I would give away my faithful Besseler 23C enlarger. Incredibly, an Asian student at UCLA went completely apeshit over it, oohing and aahing over it like it was a lost work of art. Hell, maybe it is.

So with it, he got all of my trays, film developing cans, and any other stray piece of darkroom equipment I could dredge up. He was practically delerious when he left.

Now instead of headaches from chemical fumes, I get headaches from Photoshop. The pain's the same, but photography is now a hell of a lot neater, and easier on the clothes.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Moon Over Astoria

2008-01-26T18:27:00.000-08:00

Last weekend I was more lazy than usual, so I put off my inevitable Costco shopping trip till Monday afternoon after work. I was heading back into Astoria after shopping, and just crossing the Youngs Bay Bridge around 4:30 p.m., looking at the cars ahead of me, and at the bay, merrily trundling along.

And then I just happened to look up. Wow ... the sight of that full (or almost full) moon just hanging out over Astoria in that afternoon sky visually hit me upside the head as the waning sun hit the hillside and lit it up. It was eerie, and lovely. But the closer I got to Astoria, the further down in the sky the moon appeared, until it was hidden behind the hillside.

So I whipped around the traffic circle and went back across the bridge to Warrenton, turned around again, and pulled off the road in a little turnoff just before the getting on the bridge back to Astoria. The photo above was taken from there. The wind was whipping and it was icy cold, but it was worth every second to get that shot.

For the hell of it, I took the back way home, going up 7th and 8th streets. Just as I turned right on Jerome, there the moon was again ... even more amazing from this angle, shining over several tankers lazing at anchor. The sun was bright on Pier 39 and Tongue Point, making them sparkle, and accentuating the snow caps on the mountains in the distance. It was one of those take-your-breath away, stop-you-in-your-tracks sights.

It's sights like those that make me even more acutely aware of why Astoria is so beautiful and unique.

I can't even imagine how out-of-place an enormous LNG tanker with an armed Coast Guard escort would look in that scene.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Total Recall?

2008-01-25T21:31:00.000-08:00

Well, I had to laugh at Patrick McGee's portrayal of the latest in-fighting amongst the beleaguered Clatsop County Commissioners on northcoastoregon.com (click on "Take a Look" near the top of the page):

North Coast Oregon

And I also got a huge chuckle out of Sam Patrick giving the finger during a recent commission meeting. Okay, okay, it's juvenile, but sometimes The Finger can say more than volumes of bullshit. Speaking of which, I believe he used the word "bullshit" too, and I suspect it was apt.

He was a good boy and publicly apologized. I hope he didn't mean it.

However, the majority of the Clatsop County Commissioners have become a joke, and nobody with two brain cells to rub together is laughing. I seriously doubt that when they were elected that most people had a clue what kind of power this group would have over the LNG issue. Or, that they would be so completely clueless and so brazenly ignore their constituents.

Hell, I'm still having trouble believing the majority of the commissioners aren't hanging their heads in shame for trying to sell us out to LNG interests. I have no idea how they can even look at themselves in the mirror every morning, much less face their families, friends, neighbors and constituents.

So hey, I'm all for recalling Richard Lee. Especially if it will give the renegade commissioners the wake-up call they so sorely need, i.e. clean up your act, or your asses are outta here.

In fact, when I saw the petition guys in front of the Liberty Theater today, I made a special trip around the block so I could find a parking space and sign it. I hope everyone else in his district does, too.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

John Jacob Got Grilled

2008-01-23T06:18:00.000-08:00

Can't say I was overly surprised that John Jacob's Waterfront Grill failed. The only thing it had going for it, aside from one of the best damn views in Astoria, was the "happy hour" menu - which was great! Their regular menu was completely over-priced.

And, from the few people I've talked to who actually gave their credit cards panic attacks paying for a meal, the food was just "okay." Just "okay" is hardly a rave review when you're charging pocket-busting prices, no matter how wonderful the view is.

My biggest complaint about the new wave of bars/restaurants around Astoria, including the John Jacob, is yuppification. Barren walls, sterile environments and seriously ass-busting narrow, spindly wooden chairs. The second I plant my butt at the bar in one of these joints, I can't wait to get up and get the hell outta of there.

I mean, what the hell happened to the concept of COMFORTABLE bar chairs? You know ... the ones that swivel, and have padding, and have backs on them, and arm rests, and foot rests. Now that I think of it, tho, the price of the beer is so high in a lot of these yuppified joints it's just as well the chairs are unbearable. At least now I'm so worried about splinters and a splinted wallet I don't even think about actually conversing with people. Which makes the whole reason for being there in the first point completely moot.

If you want a comfortable place to sit and drink beer and talk in THIS town, you'd better go home, open a beer, find a comfy chair, and get on the phone - the notable exception being the Golden Star's little bar, which is both comfy and cozy, and the food is cheap and plentiful.

Unsolicited advice to whoever buys the John Jacob: throw out those goddam chairs and get some new, comfortable ones. Add more beers on tap. Simplify the menu, and make it affordable to the town residents. Get the gambling machines back, too, if you want locals, as they're a good source of revenue (ask any local successful bar owner). In other words, don't just aim for the tourist crowd - they're only here a few months a year, and you need year-round regulars.

I'd really like to see that place succeed for a change, and I suspect if whoever buys it doesn't get greedy and aim strictly to fleece tourists, they might have a chance.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Iredale Redux

2008-01-20T08:34:00.000-08:00

Someone told me that the big storm in early December unearthed more of the Peter Iredale Shipwreck in Warrenton, which has been quietly sinking into oblivion in the sand since running aground in 1906.

I am totally fascinated by the Iredale, and have been since I first heard about it several years ago, before moving up here. Even though it doesn’t have a dramatic history, and isn’t a victim of the “graveyard of the Pacific,” the Columbia River bar, it is still compelling.

So, I got out of work early today, grabbed the significant other and the dog, and off we went to go check it out and take some photos. I went into Fort Stevens Park the way I usually do, by way of the entrance nearest the Hammond Marina, and found that the road to the shipwreck is still blocked – as it has been since the storm. Totally forgetting about the other entrance to the park across from the KOA, I drove to Lot A, figuring we could walk to the Iredale on the beach.

We climbed the hill overlooking the beach, and way, way off in the distance I could see the Iredale’s prow sticking out of the sand. We looked at each other, sighed, and walked down the steep hill to the sand, which was littered with huge chunks of driftwood that had been tossed up by the big storm.

The driftwood lay at the bottom of the small bluff that runs along the edge of the beach. It was obvious that the tide during the storm had run exceedingly high, all the way to the bluff, and had eaten away a good chunk of it. It appeared that the sand level on the beach had dropped by five or six feet.

We started walking closer to the water, where the damage was less obvious. The Iredale seemed a light year away. But the dog was having a grand old time just loping along, and my partner in crime, who was not raised near the ocean, was having fun doing a little shell-collecting and enjoying the sea air and walk.

Way up on the beach we saw a very strange little critter, not familiar to my East Coast eyes. It was about the size and shape of a walnut, i.e. a rounded oval carapace, with the head at a narrow end. But it was grey, and it had six legs, but no claws. I know that butterfly or umbrella crabs washed up dead after the storm, but this didn't look like photos of either one of those, and it was very much alive.

It reminded me a bit of a horseshoe crab, minus the tail, but the shell was more fragile than that of a horseshoe crab. It seemed to be stranded, whatever it was, so I took it down near the waterline. Once there, it started to happily dig itself in. If anyone knows what it is, I'd sure like to know.

Once we finally got to the Iredale, I was surprised at how much more was showing, but it certainly did prove that the sand level on the beach truly had dropped at least five feet. Now you can see the whole outline of the ship, two mast heads, and even one of the masts, which has broken off and is lying on the sand on the ocean side of the wreck.

One of the guys who was there said that this much of the Iredale has not been visible for at least ten years. Some of the ship’s original wood is still attached, strangely enough. A guy who climbed on top of the bow said there’s about an inch of cement up there, as well as some old wood. And now you can actually make out the shape of the rudder, too.

On the long trudge back, we walked closer to the bluff, and that’s where you can really see the damage from the storm, aside from the obvious chunks of driftwood stumps, loose limbs, and even whole trees, minus limbs. What was really depressing was all the crab carapaces. Hundreds of small crabs were killed in the storm just in that stretch of beach. I can’t help but wonder how many thousands must have been killed along the North Coast.

We also noticed the corpse of a sea lion, which we hadn’t noticed on the walk the other way. The entire skull was showing, but otherwise it was mainly intact. I imagine, by the fact that it had decomposed to that point, that it was a victim of the storm, too.

Just as we (finally) got back to the steep sandy walk up the bluff to go back towards the car, we noticed one more thing we didn’t see on the walk out … someone had built a little hut out of driftwood near the base of the trail.

Since it turned out I wasn’t wearing proper shoes for this little hike (my feet started killing me by the time we got to the shipwreck), I was very tempted to crawl in and take a snooze. Fortunately, the dog kindly hauled me up the steep trail to the ridge, and we trundled off home. Feet notworthstanding, it was one of the best walks I’ve ever taken.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Say It Ain't So

2008-01-19T11:35:00.000-08:00

Got a very depressing letter in the mail Thursday. Shanahan Gallery (http://www.shanahangallery.com/) on Commercial Street in downtown Astoria, where I’ve got several of my prints for sale, is on the verge of extinction. The owners, Daryl and Cindy Moore, who “need to be able to travel out of the area regularly,” are looking for “someone (or a group) to take over ownership of the gallery.” Argh.

I think it’s the best gallery in town, by far, with a great selection of artists and their work. Okay, I might be a tad prejudiced because I have some of my work there, but I don’t think so. I go in there just to “ooh and ahh” over other artists’ work, and there have been several pieces I’ve outright coveted.

I remember back in 2005, when I first heard by email from Daryl Moore, saying he and his wife were moving to Astoria and opening a gallery, and they wanted to talk to me and see my work for possible inclusion. They came to visit me one day when I was down at the dock selling my photos to passengers from one of the cruise ships.

The first thing that struck me was how young the Moores were. They looked like they were in their early 30s, and I was expecting people in their 50s or 60s, so I was really shocked. The second thing that struck me was how earnest they were, and how dedicated to creating a really fine gallery to showcase Northwest artists and photographers.

They had their opening the following February, and there were only about 10 artists on exhibit, all photographers, as I recall. I was honored to be one of them. Since then, they’ve added many artists, including sculptors and painters, and there are a lot of things in the gallery to feast one’s eyes on. So I’m totally bummed out at the mere thought of there not being a Shanahan Gallery any more.

I checked it out, and the gallery is even on Craig’s List for sale (Craig's List). Heavy sigh. I can’t imagine anyone running it as well as the Moores do. The next to last paragraph of the letter says, “If we are unable to find someone or a group of people who have the means and passion to operate Shanahan Gallery in a manner consistent with our principles we will be closing the gallery at the end of February, 2008.”

All I can do is cross my fingers and hope to hell someone miraculously appears who is capable of taking over the reins. I’d really hate to see the gallery close. I sincerely believe it would be a terrible loss for the art community, not just in Astoria, but for the North Coast.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Astoria's Long and Winding Roads

2008-01-13T20:25:00.001-08:00

While out prowling in Svensen and Brownsmead for old canneries, I went down an endless number of intriguing roads. In my quest, it almost seemed to me that all roads in Clatsop County either dead end or loop. So it would seem impossible to actually get lost for more than an hour or two, as it all hooks together in some convoluted way.

As my friend from Kansas, Margot, and I were looping around (literally, not whooping it up with a six-pack) the outback in the Brownsmead area, I mentioned to her that there really ought to be a road map of Clatsop County so we could see where the hell we were and where the hell we were going. Not that it actually mattered, mind you, since we were just wandering around - it just would have been nice to know where.

So a few days later, I called the Clatsop County office and asked if they had a road map of the county available to the public. Well, yes, for $30. Well, no, forget it.

I muddled it over a few days more, and finally it occurred to me to look online. And yes, indeedy, there is a road map of Clatsop County. It's a whopping big file that takes minutes, not seconds to download, and it's a pdf file, which I saved to my hard drive. Now I can just open it in Adobe Reader and zoom in and look at specific areas I want to check out. It's pretty damn nifty. You can get the road map here, just scroll down the page:

Clatsop County Maps

Now that I can actually see where those roads we passed by go, I have to go back and check them out. With the camera, of course.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Cannery Blues

2008-01-12T18:06:00.000-08:00

Astoria, Oregon, is, or was, famous for her canneries. There were many booming years for the fishing industry, and the canneries were going strong. Gradually, the fishing industry faded and the canneries were left to rot on their posts and fall into, or blow into, the Columbia River with the fierce winter wind storms the area seems to attract.

One of the first things I noticed when I moved to town was the net loft, or Big Red, on the east end of town at the bottom of 31st Street. It is, or I should say was, a wonder to behold. I often used to drive down to look at it just to enjoy its simple design and the majestic way it stayed on its pilings through literally hell and high water. I can't even guess how many photos I've taken of it, from many different angles. It was also one of the most intact canneries around, and its owner, Royal Nebeker, worked his ass off to fix it up and maintain it, which was a mammoth job.

This last storm, with winds exceeding 120 mph, was the straw that broke the camel's back. The top floor of Old Red blew away, and damn near took Nebeker (who was in it at the time) along with it. You can read the story here:

"After the storm, a glimmer of hope"

I feel crushed just looking at it now, and I can't even imagine how he must feel. With any luck, public support and funding will put things right.

There's another red cannery on the east end of town, tucked into the Alderbrook area. It looks very similar to Old Red, and it sure looks like someone is taking care of it. So I'm hopeful it will be around for a good long time, as it doesn't look like it sustained any damage from the recent storm.

Just to the east of the Alderbrook cannery there used to be the skeleton of a cannery in the process of being repaired, but it was reduced to splinters in January 2006 ... just about a month after I took some photos of it. At least I have a record that something was there at one time.

A lady came into my booth at the Sunday Market a few summers ago and asked me to go take photos of a cannery that was hidden away upriver. Had quite a time finding it, but find it I did, and took several photos of it. This one, too, obviously had someone taking care of it.

Last summer I was at an event with my photos, and an old gentleman was browsing through my photos. Suddenly he looked up at me, scowled and said, "You've been trespassing!" and he held up a photo of that cannery upriver. Whoops. Okay, yes, I was. What can I say?

Turned out the lady who sent me up to take photos of his cannery was his sister, and thankfully I remembered her name. So all was forgiven, sort of. And I did give him a matted copy of the photo, which seemed to mollify him a bit. At least I got a smile out of him.

Just last week an old fisherman told me about a cannery hidden away in the Brownsmead area. It took a lot of driving around in circles, but I did, indeed find it. And a very fine old building it is, indeed. I was so captivated I took dozens of photos of it.

Now the trend seems to be to take old canneries and modernize them, like Pier 39 and the Red Building near the Cannery Pier Hotel. I guess it's a good thing, but I'm not totally convinced. I'm just glad I got photos of the Red Building before it got completely yuppified. Truth be told, I liked it better in its original form. I didn't see Pier 39 before the renovation, except in old photos, so I have no idea how much was really changed.

So many canneries have just disappeared. I hope I can photograph the ones that are left before they do, too.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

A Soggy Season

2007-12-25T08:40:00.000-08:00

I have been a bad blogger, but it was a horrendous vending season (Sunday Markets, etc.), and it completely wore me out and did me in.

First of all, I think it rained just about every Sunday this season. When it wasn't raining, there were high winds. Mostly there were both at the same time. There were maybe one or two days with less rain (not NO rain) and wind. I will not go into dramatic detail of what it is like to try to put up a 10'x10' tent full of photographic merchandise, much less take one down and put everything into the car, in torrential rain with wind gusts. Suffice it to say, that I believe by the end of the season my feet were webbed.

Plus, for the first time, I lost a tent. Perhaps I should more factually say it ran away. I was vending at a show on Nehalem Bay in Rockaway Beach. Some of the other tents were sheltered by a hill. Not mine. I was directly on the bay, after being assured that the winds there were "really nothing to worry about." Right.

Anyway, I was sitting in my tent, which was rapidly sinking into the 4" of mud all around me. The wind was blowing at a steady 30 knots (no wind, eh?), and the rain was monsooning sideways. I was attempting to read a book in my dark and muddy corner of the tent a few feet from the bay's edge, when there was a loud WHOOSH! and suddenly there was daylight, accompanied by a lot of crashing noises.

As the tent vaulted over my head into the bay, it knocked over all of the tables and the card rack, sending all of my merchandise into the aforementioned 4" deep quagmire I was, by then, attempting to stand in. So much for 50 mph gusts that are "really nothing to worry about."

Four guys chased the tent down the embankment as it skittered into the bay, each one holding onto a tent leg. As they tugged it back to land, the tent top worked like a sail, and the wind kept pushing it back into the bay - it was a standoff tug-of-war for quite some time. They finally managed to get the tent back onto land, get the top off, and wrestled the whole wretched mess into submission.

Several other Good Samaritans helped me stuff the whole sodden mess into the car for the long, exceedingly cold and soggy drive home. I bought a new tent that evening, ready (sort of) to do battle another day.

Another time I was foolish enough to vend down on the docks for a cruise shit. I mean ship. Everything was just peachy until 1 p.m., when, like clockwork, the winds started, as they always do down on the pier. First I had to reef two sides of the tent. Then I had to reef the other two. Then I had to totally remove the back wall. Then things started flying off the tent walls, so I had to take everything down.

Then the card rack tried to become airborne, finally crashing to the ground and spewing cards everywhere. Bungee'd it up. Then the tent tried to take off, so I had to physically hold it down. Did I mention it started to rain somewhere in the middle of all this?

Total aggravation: beyond belief. Total sales: $80, and I stupidly paid $35 to be there. Moral of the story: Vending on the docks only lines the Sunday Market management's seemingly bottomless pockets, not mine, and is a prime example of an exercise in futility.

The next to last weekend of the Sunday Market was a saturated hell. I was soaked. My tent was soaked, and leaking by then. The wind gusts peaked at about 40 mph, so I had to reef up all around the tent and let the rain blow in.

Only a few vendors loyally showed up, but oh yes, even though we made next to nothing, we still had to pay the $25 fee to be there. Loyalty pays alright. It pays the city, and leaves you feeling like a chump. I felt like I had SUCKER branded on my forehead, and KICK ME, I'M A DUMBASS printed on my back.

The last Sunday Market day looked to be more of the same, so I called up and cancelled. I hadn't forgotten that it took two hours wrapped up in sweaters and blankets to dry off and get the chill out of my bones the previous week. I stayed home and kept the $25, thank you very much. I know I appreciate what it takes to make that $25 a hell of a lot more than they do.

I can only hope next season will be better. But then, damn near anything would be an improvement.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Vote for Astoria

2007-05-09T20:32:00.000-07:00

Okay, the Astoria May 15 elections are upon us. At stake are the fate of the Clatsop Community College and the makeup of the Port of Astoria Commissioners.

Of course, my bone of contention is the LNG issue. Naturally, I am only interestd in voting for people who are firmly and unequivocably AGAINST any LNG on the Columbia River. And the issue is being utterly ignored in this port race ... you know, the brontosaurus in the living room that's crapping on the floor and eating the wallpaper. Everyone sees it, hears it, and smells it, but nobody talks about it.

So I voted by inference. For example, I know Peter Huhtala is anti-LNG from his running for the port commission last time around. He endorsed Kathy Sanders in a letter to the editor at the Daily Astorian. So okay, that's good enough for me, I voted for her even though he didn't say a goddam thing about LNG in his letter.

I already know about Patrick McGee ... he's written lots of letters to the editor about LNG, and I KNOW where he stands. And I'm right there with him. He got my vote without even a nanosecond of hesitation.

The Bill Hunsinger/Jim Bergeron boondoggle ... what can I say? Bergeron is old guard, and he's automatically on my shit list just for that. But Hunsinger? He came into my tent hustling votes while I was vending my photos at a cruise ship down on the docks. I asked him FLAT OUT what his position was on LNG.

He gave me some utter crapola about "we have to know more before we can make a decision." Huh? Gee, what more is needed to know besides eyesore tanks destroying the view, total disruption of river traffic and behemoth floating terrorist targets trundling up and down the river with armed guards? It doesn't take a brain surgeon to figure out that LNG is some seriously bad and ugly shit.

He did admit though, that MAYBE putting LNG tanks on the Skipanon Peninsula isn't such a good idea. Do tell.

Okay, okay, I admit it, I did vote for him. But it was ever so reluctantly, and amounted to the choice of what may or may not be the lesser of two evils.

And off the subject of the election, but on the subject of LNG, I was very amused to find that Mary Louise Flavel rented office space to the cheery Bradwood Landing folks who want to bring us better living through gas pipelines and habitat destruction. I just KNOW she's giggling all the way to the bank, and probably happily dreaming of Astoria being blown up in a firestorm.

Anyway, back to the election ... that goddam college bond. Some people just don't know when no means NO. This bond is the hustle from hell. That's some prime real estate up on that hill - maybe the best in town. Sure would be a tasty treat for some greedy developer, wouldn't it? So if the college would just get the hell out of there so everyone can cash in, everything would be just peachy, wouldn't it?

One word succinctly describes the Clatsop Community College bond: bullshit.

I honestly don't know whether to laugh or cry. They want us all to cough up our hard-earned money for 21 years (and ??? more) to pay off a bond to put a college in a tsunami zone. Oh please!!

So it's another no-brainer for the CCC bond: Just fix the damn thing already, and shut the hell up.

Our ballots are signed and mailed. Are yours?

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Astoria Rant

2007-03-24T08:27:00.000-07:00

Well, I've been quiet a long time now. But several things have happened in the last few weeks that have got me seriously pissed off. In fact, I'm not sure where to begin, so I'll start with my chronic and ongoing rant, this LNG mess, which just won't seem to go away.

Just ask Boston Mayor Thomas Menino what he thinks about LNG tankers going into Boston harbor:

Study Backs Up Mayor's LNG Tanker Concerns

Are Ships Natural Gas "Bomb Boats?"

Is this what you want to see going by on the Columbia (photo below)? Yes, that huge orange blob is the LNG tanker, dwarfing the condo complex it's passing.

An LNG tanker passed by condominiums in Charlestown on its way out of Boston Harbor. Mayor Thomas M. Menino has declared the LNG shipments too dangerous to continue. (Boston Globe Staff Photo / David L. Ryan)

I know I mentioned it last time, but it's something else nobody seems to consider: Let's not forget the Cascadia Subduction Zone. When the tectonic plates do their thing, and the inevitable tidal wave and earthquake hit, those gas tanks will be goners. Don't you think we'll have enough to worry about without having to also consider being blown up and/or barbequed?

Okay, that's my LNG rant of the moment. But I won't be done ranting on that problem until the powers-that-be finally grow a brain and make it go away.

The next item on my hit list is condos on the waterfront. Another greed-grab like LNG, just locally based. And that's the thing that gets me the most ... it's not some outside consortium, it's LOCALS who want to line their pockets and ruin the waterfront views for all of us, their neighbors. I don't know what's more maddening - that it's being done by locals or that it's being allowed to happen at all. Thirty years from now this place is going to look like Marina Del Rey in California. No, that is NOT a compliment.

My final rant of the moment is illegal aliens. I used to live in L.A. where illegal aliens have reached astronomical levels, to the point where they have disrupted the entire economy. And those poor morons in L.A. like to feel warm and fuzzy, so they keep pouring tax money on the illegals, making the problem worse by attracting even more of them.

I see that warm and fuzzy crap going on up here now, too, and frankly, it's very disturbing. It starts with the coddling, and the wanting to protect the illegals from the big bad immigration service (who every now and then actually decides to do its job), with everyone forgetting one simple thing ... they are here ILLEGALLY, and they are breaking the law. So simple, but so hard for so many to figure out.

Anyway, I digress. The problem of illegals in L.A. ties in directly with the Mexican mafia, which essentially controls the recreational drug supply in L.A. And what did we have here the other day? Yup, a big drug bust. And coincidentally, what nationality were the perpetrators? Oh, take a wild guess.

I have no doubt that the long arm of the Mexican mafia is up here to check out new and fertile ground for some hefty sales. One thing I had to laugh about is the estimated street-value of the drugs the cops recovered in the raid ... all I can say is, they don't have even the smallest clue of the real street value if the figure quoted in the paper is correct. Check it out in the Daily Astorian:

Astoria Drug Bust

Before anyone goes nuts calling me racist, blah blah, let me make this very clear: I've got no problem whatsoever with people of any nationality who go thru the hoops, do the right thing, and come here legally. But I have a BIG problem with illegals, and for whatever reason, the preponderance of them seem to be Hispanic. They use services they are not entitled to (that WE pay for) and act as though they are entitled. Illegal immigration is a festering boil on the ass of society wherever it happens. And it's starting to happen HERE.

I don't want this scenario to happen here in Astoria: When I first moved to L.A. from New England, I finally found an apartment in the San Fernando Valley. As I was moving in, the daughter of the manager (who spoke no English) came up to me and said, translating for her mother, "So, when are you going to learn Spanish?" Huh? I was astounded that I was EXPECTED to learn Spanish. I replied, "Excuse the hell out of me, but we are in America, and this is an English-speaking country. If I ever go to YOUR country, I'll learn Spanish." Hint, hint.

Why is this too much to expect: If you want to come here, learn the damn language, and come here LEGALLY. Okay, rant over. That drug bust just set me off - it's a marker for what's really going on up here behind the scenes.

Oh well, I must get ready for the Sunday Market season. Back to wrestling with PhotoShop.

Click here to see Elleda's photography at the Astoria Photografpix web site

Astoria, LNG, Bradwood, waterfront condos, illegals, illegal immigrants, drug bust, Boston, Menino

LNG Gets Ugly Again in Astoria

2007-02-09T20:38:00.000-08:00

Okay, I've been down for the count for a while here, neglecting to post. I let the whole winter hibernation thing take over, and essentially spent my life either at work or in my coma-chair, listening to the rain pouring down and the winds howling down the alleys on either side of my house trying to rock me into the Columbia.

And who could believe a few inches of snow? That actually stayed on the ground for a while? Astoria looks like a Victorian winter dream in the snow, all Currier and Ives and aching of the 1890's. It damn near killed me to be at work all day with the fresh snowfall ... I wanted to be out there with my camera shooting everything in sight.

Once I got out of work, a lot of snow had melted, but the effect was still there, especially in the areas that don't get sunshine, like up on Irving Avenue. I walked in the woods part of the way up to the Cathedral Tree, and it was eerily like my childhood in Connecticut, where I spent many hours walking in the snow in the silent icy woods. Time was literally suspended for me.

One morning my car got stuck in the ice on my street, which gets no sun to speak of. No four-wheel drive, no snow tires. I was really stuck. Fortunately I had a brain-fart, and remembered that I had about 50 lbs. of cat litter in the basement. Aha! A pound or two saved the day, and I was on my way.

In the meantime, life in Astoria has trundled by me as usual, with so much happening I can't even begin to keep track of it all. All the goings on with the port commission make me want to scream. Their arrogance, and their total disregard for the river and the community is beyond alarming. LNG is raising its ugly head again, despite Calpine's bankruptcy, which is utterly unbelievable.

Has anybody even thought about the Cascadia Subduction Zone, 50 miles offshore, which is capable of a 9.1 earthquake and a monster tidal wave? Oh yeah, this is a really great place to put some monster explosive LNG tanks. Holy shit, who was the genius who thought that one up?

Oh sorry about that, nobody cares about earthquakes, tidal waves, LNG tankers with exclusion zones, potential explosions or fires, whopping ugly tanks on the horizon ... all anyone cares about is hey, we might make a few bucks here. So what if we make ourselves terrorist targets, kill the salmon, trash the river, and destroy the view! Hmmm ... do we have a little greed problem here, or what?

Okay, I'm getting pissed off again. It just makes me sick that a few money-grasping fools want to sell out this pristine area for a few bucks.

Astoria Photografpix

Astoria, Astoria LNG, Cascadia, Astoria snow, Astoria port commission

T'is the Season to be Folly

2006-12-18T20:24:00.000-08:00

Well, here I am, wrestling myself through another Christmas. My checkbook has hives and my credit cards are genuflecting while visions of bankruptcy dance through my head.

Lights are going up all over Astoria, and it's starting to look like a Victorian Christmas card around here. Now all we need is some snow.

I did have some time off from the holiday madness when I got distracted by the storm of last week. I would have preferred a blizzard, but 100+ mph winds was pretty damn impressive. Even more impressive was the way the house stood up to the onslaught. Last year's heavy gusts made the house sway like it was going to fox-trot right down the hill. Pass the dramamine and valium. With the new foundation on the back of the house, it didn't even move. I may not end up serving breakfast from my kitchen in the middle of the river after all.

We had about 24 hours of no power, which was excruciating for me. Fortunately, I had already pulled out the hurricane lamps that belonged to my grandfather, and they were ready on the counter when the lights went out.

I hadn't realized what a slave I was to the computer and TV till they weren't right at hand. I would have handled it all a lot better if we'd had snow. I know, I know, I'm obsessing about snow. Sing along with me ... I'm dreaming of a Currier & Ives Christmas ...

The children can't be here for Christmas, so we've been feeling rather down and out about it. But it turns out the Triangle Tavern, ever sensitive to its orphan customers, will be open on Christmas Day. So we won't have to spend the day all by ourselves missing the kids after all. I'm perking up already.

Astoria Photografpix

Astoria, Astoria storm, high winds, Pacific Northwest storm, Christmas

Astoria's Marble Man

2006-12-05T19:33:00.000-08:00

I had to mention the passing of a local celebrity of sorts, Stan "The Marble Man" Brown. He was a fellow vendor at the Astoria Sunday Market, so I saw him every Sunday, almost always wearing a black top hat. He always gave me a marble when I went by his tent.

One Sunday, he actually came into my tent and dropped off a marble on one of my tables. "For luck," he said.

Well, I didn't have a lot of luck that day vending, but I sure appreciated the thought.

The Daily Astorian did a nice writeup about him:

The Marble Man

Anyway, this last weekend I was vending at the Starving Artists Faire at the Astoria Yacht Club. And I was doing incredibly, wonderfully well - my photos, cards, and magnets were just selling like hotcakes, and I was really tickled.

Late Saturday afternoon, as I was reaching into the magnet box to get another magnet for a customer, I saw something shiny. Yup, it was a bright orange marble, one of many given to me for luck by the Marble Man.

So a belated "Thank you!" Marble Man, and I hope you're having a grand old time wherever you are.

Astoria Photografpix

Astoria, marble man, marbles, luck, good luck, stan brown

It's snowing in Astoria!

2006-11-27T18:27:00.000-08:00

When I trudged down to the back 40 with the dogs for their morning pee at 5:15 a.m., I really thought I was still dreaming ... there was actually white stuff falling from the sky that sure looked a LOT like snow to my dazed and semi-conscious eyes. Upon standing outside in my nightie and slippers gazing dumbfounded at the sky, the very wet snow on my face and the very real chill in my bones made me finally believe I was awake. Yes! Snow!!

Being an old Yankee girl, I have an inordinate fondness for snow. I can't ever seem to get enough of it, still having Currier and Ives fantasies of lovely snow draped on the trees and eaves. Of course, the passage of years has made me forget the less savory aspects of snow like pouring hot water into car door locks, digging myself and/or my car out, frozen ears, and a perpetually sore ass all winter from repeated hard landings. Be that as it may, I still love snow.

Astoria Photografpix

Astoria, snow, snowing in Astoria, Astoria winter

Turkey Wrestling in Astoria

2006-11-23T19:35:00.000-08:00

Happy Turkey Day to one and all!

I don't know what I was thinking, buying a 21 lb. turkey for the two of us, but I suspect it was a Yankee thing. Got the bird for $5, and the price and "the deal" got the better of my common sense.

As I was hefting the critter into the ever-handy brown-in bag this morning, I couldn't help but think of Thanksgivings past - of all of the women in the family struggling and fighting with slippery and recalcitrant birds, embalming them in tin foil tents, nursing them through the night with bastings ... all to be ravaged in one sitting by the herd of Visigoths who passed themselves off as relatives.

Steaming platters heaped with decadent goodies were placed on the table, along with (gasp!) home-made gravy, which usually required the culinary efforts of four women and several drinks to be stirred to smooth perfection. And turnips. Yes, turnips. Yankees love turnips, and it's probably because of all the butter and sherry they're dosed with to make them yummy. And parsnips (same treatment as the turnips). God forbid if anyone forgot to make the creamed onions, there would be hell to pay. And, of course, pumpkin and mince meat (never did figure out what they put in those things) pies with ice cream.

The feast would be followed by the obilgatory football games on TV played at ear-splitting decibel levels that were only out-done by the sonic snores of all the menfolk, comatose in their chairs in front of the screen. When they would awaken, whatever was left of the bird would be stripped to the bones as though flesh-eating beetles had discovered the carcass, not leaving enough to make even a weak broth of soup.

They're all gone, and so are the big decadent dinners I still dream about. Kind of makes me feel guilty when I think that with these wonderful cooking bags I can throw the turkey in the bag, throw the whole mess into the oven, and take a nap. No more turnips or parsnips or creamed onions, as no one will eat them but me, and I won't make them for just one person.

Ah well, so much for childhood reminiscences of turkeys past. The present turkey, having been wrestled into submission and baked, is nestling in its fridge-bed as visions of tettrazinis dance through my head.

Astoria Photografpix

Astoria, Astoria Thanksgiving,Thanksgiving, turkey, cook turkey

Voting and Flooding in Astoria

2006-11-12T15:54:00.000-08:00

The Astoria elections are over, and I can breathe a sigh of relief. The mayor, Willis Van Dusen, is still mayor, despite the efforts of do-gooders with sour grapes on their breath. He's the best salesman for the city of Astoria to come along in a few generations, and it's right and fitting that he just keep right on doing his magic thing. Congrats, Mayor!

The other issue that sent me over the edge was the college bond - a misguided effort to trick the unwitting and gull the public into relocating the local Clatsop Community College to a bog in a slide zone (aka the local high school football field). The reason? Perhaps to free up the current location, an immensely choice and valuable chunk of land up on the hill overlooking the river, for a land grab and sale to the highest bidder? Condos, anyone? I think NOT.

Of course, that wasn't the reason stated, which was some insipid blather about moving the college closer to (failing) businesses, such as the silly overpriced Aquatics Center, to boost local business. Fortunately, the voters of Clatsop County are not stupid, as was supposed by the promoters of this probably underhanded plan, and the college bond was resoundingly voted down two to one. Hooray for Clatsop County voters!

Now perhaps the college board will actually be forced to sit down on their cosseted tuffets and come up with a SENSIBLE plan to renovate and repair the existing campus, instead of being allowed to indulge in expensive fantasies involving swampland in a flood zone.

Speaking of flood zones, the start of rainy season was heralded with a monsoon of epic proportions. Fortunately, there was very little effect on Astoria, but the neighboring towns like Seaside got nailed. Tillamook tried to pull a "Malibu" and chunks of it jumped into the ocean like lemmings, leaving waterfront land-owners suddenly minus a yard and teetering on the edge of a cliff. It's hard to be sympathetic with them, though. After all, it's not news that the oceans reclaim land on a regular basis, and by putting a house in a spot like that, it's like thumbing your nose at Mother Nature. You know, like that old Toyota ad, "You asked for it. You got it."

Now that rainy season is under way, it's time to batten down the hatches and settle in for a nice winter snooze. Which sounds pretty damn good right about now while the rain is typing on the window and the wind is whipping around the corner. Nightey night.

Astoria Photografpix

Astoria, Astoria mayor, Willis Van Dusen, Clatsop Community College, northwest flooding, flooding, Tillamook

Politically Incorrect in Astoria

2006-10-29T17:51:00.000-08:00

Well, the elections are coming up soon here in Astoria, and a particular bone of contention seems to be the mayoral race. The incumbent mayor, Willis Van Dusen, had an embarrassing DUII around Labor Day, not his first offense of that nature, and all hell broke loose on the home front.

Ironically, he was actually the victim, as he was the one who was hit ... by an unlicensed driver who ran a stop sign in an unregistered, uninsured vehicle. But it was said that the mayor had a boozy smell about him, and he refused a test, so that made him automatically at fault.

Many townspeople are up in arms, and some pretty unpleasant moralizing has become the local sport. Should he resign? Should he pull out of the election? Blah, blah, and blah.

Okay, so driving around smelling of booze was stupid. I'll grant you that. Here's where the politically incorrect part comes in. I don't give a flying rat's ass what the mayor does in his personal life or on his own time. At all. Not even one teeny tiny little bit. I don't care if he stops drinking, or continues drinking, or if he swings from a chandlier in a lilac teddy in the privacy of his dining room. The only thing I care about is this: Is he a good mayor?

He's been a fabulous mayor, very approachable, and has done an incredible job keeping the peace at city hall and with the development and promotion of Astoria. I've only been here for two years, and I've never heard the citizens of a town praise a mayor as much as I've heard him praised. He's a bit of a legend, and probably one of the only mayors mentioned in the Internet Movie Database:

Willis Van Dusen

The city is a phoenix rising out of the doldrums into which it had fallen, and a lot of it has to do with Willis Van Dusen's enthusiastic promotional efforts. Even his worst critics will often begrudgingly admit he's done a good job. He's a natural at it.

So I'm sure you can guess where this is going. No, I don't know him personally. Yes, I'm voting to re-elect Willis Van Dusen. Without even a nanosecond's hesitation. He's been a damn good mayor.

Astoria Photografpix

Astoria, Astoria mayor, Willis Van Dusen, mayor DUII, election

Squeaking Under the Bridge in Astoria

2006-10-29T07:40:00.000-08:00

Well, I meant to write about this a long time ago, but got derailed getting ready for the Sunday Market. Hell, my whole life got derailed.

Anyway, back in April it was announced that a collosal ship carrying a monster crane would be coming up the Columbia River to Astoria early in the morning at the lowest possible tide to try to squeak under the bridge on its way to Portland. This sounded like too good an opportunity to miss, so I ran down there to take pictures. Here they are:

Under and out

About 100 people showed up to see if the ship would make it - it was an incredibly tight fit - and we all gave them a big cheer when they slipped through. It was choreographed beautifully.

Astoria Photografpix

Astoria, Astoria bridge, Astoria-Megler bridge, crane, ship, Columbia River

Whale Tail near Astoria

2006-10-22T15:35:00.000-07:00

While pal Margot from Kansas was here visiting, and before she could click her red shoes and get outta here before rainy season started, I heard news that a dead whale had washed up somewhere out on the Long Beach Peninsula. Okay, I know it sounds grim, but my curiousity was piqued ... I mean, how often do any of us get to see any whale, alive or dead?

With a little digging, I found out that the whale, a humpback, had washed up just south of Klipsan Beach, which is a good ways up on the peninsula. I grabbed Margot (how many whales was she going to see in Kansas, eh?) and off we went. As we drove up that way, nothing looked unusual - there was no extra traffic, or anything to indicate something different was going on - until I made the left turn to Klipsan Beach.

There was a small army out there, all milling around or walking. A big satellite truck was sitting down by the tide-line. It was hard to say if it was parked, or just plain stuck. Tire-tracks had been made all the way down to the packed sand near the water, and some SUV's were driving around. Not one sign of a whale anywhere, though.

Finally, I leaned out the car window and yelled to a local, asking where the whale was. Down the beach, about half a mile. So we took off down the beach, and it didn't take long to find the very large creature surrounded by a lot of cars and trucks parked on the sand near her, and people milling all around her. It was quite a sight.

Some scientist-types where there measuring her tail flukes and her flippers and lots of people (including me) were taking pictures. Most could not resist touching her, and neither could I. She felt like warm rubber, but soft, like an eggplant. The warmth was apparently not from the sun, but from internal decomposition, and she was bloating pretty fast.

She had a whole eco-system of very large barnacles on her which were slowly dying, and that only added to the sadness of the whole situation.

Here are the photos I took:

Klipsan Beach Whale

The next problem was: what to do with her? Certainly not a repeat of the exploding-whale debacle. Yes, I said "exploding whale," a uniquely unsuccessful attempt at getting rid of a whale carcass many years ago. I can't resist, here's a link to that odiferous fiasco, caught on film by trusty KATU:

Exploding Whale

Anyway, that lesson was apparently learned, and a proper burial was held a day or two later above the tide-line for the unfortunate lady whale.

The Daily Astorian also ran an article about her, and you can read it here:

Daily Astorian: Scientists probe why whale died

So far, nobody seems to know what happened to her, but a post-mortem was performed. Here's what they know so far:

Cascadia Research findings

While it was very sad that she was dead, I was grateful to have the rare opportunity to see such a magnificent creature up close. I can't even imagine how beautiful and graceful she must have been in the ocean.

Astoria Photografpix

whale, whale on beach, Astoria, Klipsan Beach, Long Beach Peninsula, humpback whale

Last Sunday Market Day in Astoria

2006-10-19T19:50:00.000-07:00

Okay, I am finally back at the keyboard. The Sunday Market season did me in for several months, and took up all of my time and energy. Now that it's been over for two weeks, I think I may recover after all. A few more Sundays in my coma-chair should do the trick ... it sucks me in and knocks me out before I know what hits me. Everyone should have a good coma-chair to drop into and escape the daily wear-and-tear crap.

Anyway, it was a dismal market season. At least from my point of view. Last year we had lots and lots of tourists due to the Lewis & Clark Bicentennial and the wonderful Explorer Train coming in every weekend. This year we had around 200 vendors and a few stragglers wandering about every weekend. As usual, the food and produce vendors did beautifully (hell, people gotta eat!). In other words, there were way, way too many vendors for the size of the crowds we were getting.

The last day of the market was particularly grim. I'm not even sure why I did it. But I did, fool that I am. And of course, it was pouring. My dear pal Margot was visiting from Kansas, and she thought it was her duty to drown with me that day. She perched gingerly on her chair in the tent, leaning on her cane, ready to flee, but not willing to get soaked in the process.

Nobody but a few desultory dogs with their even more desultory owners were out and about. And they sure as hell weren't buying. I mean, nobody in their right mind would have been out in that crap, anyway, much less flitting from tent to tent in a buying frenzy.

Around 2 p.m. I had the bright idea that I should try to get the water off the tent-top. I did. Right on me. Think it must have been about 2 gallons - a direct hit on the top of my head. By then I was so stupified by how awful the day was going that the dousing actually felt good. Dementia must have been setting in.

At 3 p.m. I was so relieved to have the damn day over I could have wept. I could have wept even harder for having to pay a $25 vendor fee to sit there in that shit all day. I think Margot was about ready to start whacking people with her cane by then, me included, so I put her in the front of the car while I loaded up the back of the car and took the tent down.

And then it happened. The tent top got caught in the tent-frame. Not just caught, WEDGED. I could not put the tent back up, or take it down. It would not move. So I stood there in the pouring rain, growing gills, shaking the tent and swearing. I didn't have the height or the leverage to get the tent loose. A few people tried to help, but to no avail. Finally, Michael, who sells the wonderful bonsai trees and oyster-ornaments, came to my rescue, and was successful. Thank you, Michael!

So there I was with about 50 pounds of soaked tent to stuff in an equally soaked bag. We won't even go into how pruned-up I was by then. Nothing like ending the season with a wet tent. I wonder if it's some sort of mildew omen or something.

Anyway, I did get the tent home, and draped all over the basement to dry. The only thing that made the day liveable was an extended visit to the Triangle Tavern, then follow-up therapy at the bar at the Golden Star and a double Manhattan for the less soggy, but equally disgruntled Margot. Don't ask me why a Chinese restaurant has a yummy, but cheap, cheeseburger, but it's a fact. And it works as a great bribe for disgruntled friends, too.

There's much more to blather about, but I had to get that last day of Sunday Market off my chest first. I'm in no rush for it to be market season again any time soon.

Astoria Photografpix

Astoria Sunday Market

Astoria Bar Pilot Death - another update

2006-06-03T19:03:00.000-07:00

Not too long ago, I received a comment from someone about my April 17, 2006 post concerning Bar Pilot Kevin Murray's death, and the ensuing investigation. The writer urged me to express my displeasure about the series of preventable mishaps that caused Capt. Murray's demise, and to ask what newer/better safety precautions were under consideration.

I emailed the Oregon Board of Maritime Pilots, and was sent a copy of the special session minutes concerning the investigation into Capt. Murray's death. You can read the minutes here:

Bar Pilot Death Investigation Minutes

The minutes make for some pretty grim reading, as you can really get a feel for the panic and frustration during the incident. The safety improvements called for make sense, except for one thing - the improvements do not take human error into account, and it was a combination of human errors that caused Capt. Murray's death.

So when is someone going to figure out how to get around the human error factor?

Astoria Photografpix

astoria oregon, bar pilot, bar pilot death, Columbia River bar

Astoria Sea Lions

2006-04-20T21:03:00.000-07:00

I know, I know, sea lions are considered to be pests in Astoria. I have heard many a fisherman call them "rats of the sea," and far worse.

I have also heard many tales about "the fish that got away." But around here, the fish (mainly salmon) didn't get away on its own ... the salmon being pulled into the boat by an expectant fisherman was snapped up by a sea lion that popped up out of the water like a jack-in-the-box with jaws.

Sea lions are federally protected because they were once being wiped out, but now they are now proliferating like cockroaches, so the fishermen have no recourse. The salmon are not quite as prolific in their procreation, and now the salmon are threatened.

There was an article in the Daily Astorian today about controlling sea lions that really made me wonder.

Sea Lions

Don't get me wrong. I love the sea lions around here. I love hearing them bark, and love watching them romp and cavort in the river and laze around. And frankly, I don't even like the taste of salmon. But I understand the fishermen's point of view, too ("shoot the bastards"), although I find the idea repellent. I also understand that this has traditionally been an area for salmon, and that the situation for the salmon has become critical.

What concerns me is just WHAT do they plan to do about the sea lions? I've heard tales of them being tagged, then transported very far away, and having them turn up right back here a few weeks later. Sea lions are very bright. Fishermen tell me they are easily as bright as a dog.

Okay, you can't transport them. I sure wouldn't go for shooting them. Then what's left? To that, I have no answer. Personally, I like sea lions more than I like salmon, but that's irrelevant in this ecological tug-of-war, and I don't want to see salmon get exterminated, either.

Hopefully, a way will be found to maintain a balance that will not harm either species.

Astoria Photografpix

astoria oregon, sea lions, salmon, Columbia River bar

Astoria - Bar Pilot Death Update

2006-04-17T21:30:00.000-07:00

The Columbia River bar (where the Pacific Ocean meets the mouth of the Columbia River) has rightfully earned its reputation as the Graveyard of the Pacific. There was an article last week in the Daily Astorian about the conclusion of the investigation into the bar pilot's unfortunate death in January.

Bar Pilot Death Investigation

After reading it, I find it hard to believe that the safety measures they are now contemplating putting into effect weren't there all along. Sure, some of it was caused by errors on his part, and the rest was total mishap. However, it seems to me that there shouldn't be any room for mishaps in such a dangerous occupation, and that there should be safeguards in place to bypass possible bar pilot errors as well.

I hope he rests in peace, and that his death will spur safety enhancements swiftly for the other bar pilots.

Astoria Photografpix

astoria oregon, bar pilot, Columbia River bar

Ruptured Easter Egg Epiphany in Astoria

2006-04-15T22:05:00.000-07:00

I've had a lot on my mind lately, what with the new market season coming up.

Changing the store-room piled high and wide with boxes into a matting studio. Forty tupperware containers later ... check. Cross that one off the list.

Getting the sub-basement cleared out to make more storage for the aforementioned tupperware containers. Haul out old stove, and assorted garbage, etc. Put in a sub-floor. Check all those off the list, too.

Update my own photo biz website (Astoria Photografpix). Update the North Coast Vendors Association website (here it is). Check and check, and I'm still dreaming in HTML code.

Get all my stuff off an old laptop I'm selling, and reinstalling goodies in the new owner's name. Check.

Okay, so tonight, to relax a little, I thought what the hell, I'll make some deviled eggs, my one consession to Easter tomorrow. Unfortunately, while I was boiling the eggs, I was also working on an Excel spreadsheet of my photo inventory. The smell of burning boiling eggs is really quite interesting, at least enough so to distract me from my spreadsheet. Or maybe it was the exploding egg that blasted off out of the pot like a misguided missle that caught my attention.

Anyway, I was able to salvage most of the mess, and decided perhaps egg salad was a better bet, so I chopped celery, and onions, and did all that egg salad stuff, but the salad was in too big a bowl, and I had to find a smaller container.

This brought about my epiphany of the day. I had the large container of egg salad, with the smaller container next to it. As I was puzzling over which utensil would work best to DOWNLOAD the salad from one bowl to the other, I actually caught myself. Download???

Omigod. It MUST be time to go to bed.

Astoria Photografpix

astoria oregon, astoria, easter eggs, easter, eggs

Sloping in Astoria

2006-04-09T22:17:00.000-07:00

At last ... an explanation for why my kitchen addition has a decided downward slope!

I got in touch with an old-time contractor here in Astoria, TG, and he came over for a look-see about jacking up the house, which is trying to head down the hill for a swim in the Columbia River, just like any other house on the north slope. The kitchen addition sags about 3" below the rest of the house, which I found worrisome.

No measuring tape for this guy, he just came in, stood in the kitchen addition for a while, looked things over, and asked to go to the basement floor below (which, by the way, is still 10 feet above the ground). On the landing right below the kitchen addition, he started to laugh.

"Has anyone bothered to look up?" he asked.

"Nope."

"So do it."

I looked up, and then I started to laugh, too. The kitchen addition slopes for a damn good reason ... it was built right on top of the sloping porch roof below it. The porch no longer exists in its original form, but the roof sure does. And of course, the original porch roof was sloped to slough off the rainfall. So the kitchen isn't sinking, after all. It was just built on a sloping roof to begin with. Go figure.

Then we went down to the very bottom of the house. He stood there, too, and shook his head in disgust.

"Back in the old days, they knew where to stop a house."

By that he meant that they knew how far out onto the hillside they could go on that slippery muck they were building on, and to go no further out onto the slope than absolutely necessary. If the house had stopped where they originally stopped it, and the porch hadn't been added onto the back, and the kitchen addition hadn't been put on top of the misbegotten porch, I wouldn't be having all these problems.

Another gem from TG: "Actually, a house should never have been built in this location."

Ummmm, well that one really gave me pause, but hell, it's here, so let's do what we can.

So then we went up to the second floor, where it is obvious that the weight of the kitchen addition is tearing the north end of the house away from the framing. On the northeast corner second story bedroom, there is a gap in the ceiling that is nearing an inch wide.

"Yup, gotta shore this thing up damn near immediately. The north end of the house is trying to leave."

So what it boils down to is that the house is not "jacking up" material. It needs to be shored up, which entails putting in new footings on the north, east, and west walls, and pouring a partial cement foundation about two feet high. Then we will put posts in the cement, so that when the house inevitably shifts again, we can add shims to the tops of the posts.

Anyway, the bright light on the horizon is that I have at last found someone who will work on the house.

Astoria Photografpix

astoria oregon, astoria, north slope, sliding house, foundation problems

Spring Cleaning in Astoria Yields WW2 Artifact

2006-03-22T19:48:00.000-08:00

In a sudden spurt of premature spring fever, I have decided to attack the dreaded store-room on the second floor, which was stacked to the ceiling with boxes I've lugged around with me for years. Decades, actually.

This sudden burst of energy is due to the coming market season. The bottom floor of the house, specifically the kitchen, is over-packed (okay, cluttered) with all of my photo stuff. Boxes of photos, boxes of mats, and an endless array of photographic odds and ends. I thought it might be a good idea to make the kitchen usable again, tho I don't know why, as I hate to cook.

I digress ... as lovely as it is to sit at the kitchen table and enjoy the wonderful Columbia River view while I mat my prints, it is a major pain in the ass to trip over photo stuff to get to the washer. Or to have an entire counter-space totally cluttered with photo crap. Having to worry about irate cats taking their feline frustrations out on my work is also a consideration. Hence the concept of making the store-room upstairs my new matting studio, where I can mat my photos in a cat-free environment, and restore the kitchen (albeit probably still cooking-free) to being a kitchen.

Back to the store-room. I have been lugging and tugging, and repacking for days. Today I finally got down to suitcases I packed in 1991 in Connecticut when I was emptying out my parents' house after they died. No, they hadn't been unpacked since then.

Anyway, in one of the suitcases I found a Japanese flag from WW2, with the red rising sun, and a ton of Japanese characters handwritten on it. After a bit of research, I found that when a Japanese soldier went off to war, his family and the people in his village would write good wishes and prayers on a flag, and he would wear the flag folded up under his uniform. Upon his death, the flag was supposed to be returned to his family.

Here's some photos of the flag:

Japanese WW2 Flag

I remember my father telling me that someone gave him the flag when he was stationed on Guam as a Navy doctor. For some reason, this flag didn't get returned to the family, although my father always intended to do so. Tonight I did a little research. The places to inquire about returning WW2 Japanese artifacts are here:

Returning Japanese WW II Artifacts

They require a form to be filled out, and lots of photos of the artifact, and it can take up to a year for them to try to identify the origin. I filled out the form, and mailed it, along with a CD of high-resolution images of the flag, to the Japanese Consulate in Los Angeles. So I've done my bit to get the flag back to the soldier's family.

I can't help but wonder what else is stashed away in that room now that I'm getting down to the boxes that haven't been touched for 15 years.

Astoria Photografpix

astoria oregon, japanese flag, japan, ww2, ww2 memorabilia

Astoria Crud, Snow, and other ramblings

2006-03-17T21:08:00.000-08:00

Ah yes, I've been silent a long time, mainly due to a bad case of what the locals call the "Astoria Crud," which entails a cold that comes on literally within minutes. One minute you're fine and fancy-free, two mintues later you are explosively sneezing, your eyes are draining like broken fire hoses, your head has suddenly filled with cotton batting.

As disgusting as this ongoing episode has been (4 weeks and counting), I must say that during the first two weeks I made up for all the lost sleep from the last two years. I'd get up every morning, drip down the stairs (armed with nasal spray, chapstick, cough syrup, ibuprophen, and a large box of Kleenex), fall into my coma chair with a heavy blankie, put on the old movie channel, and sleep all day. At night, I would trudge up the stairs with all of my deal-with-it stuff, and fall into bed.

Unfortunately, the first few days of this seige I had already committed myself to do a Home Show at the Seaside Convention Center, in the hopes of selling some pre-season photos. Oh, please. I would rather have been shot than do it, but I had spent a month getting ready for it, and paid $225 for my exhibitor space. It was 35 outside in Seaside, with wind gusts of 40 mph blowing in off the icy Pacific. Every time I wanted a cigarette, I had to venture out to the car.

After going through this three-day exercise in vending torture, and not making enough to even cover the exhibitor's fee (nor did anyone else ... there was almost a vendor rebellion that I didn't have the strength to participate in), I retired to my bed and chair for two weeks.

Unfortunately, just as I was getting a tad better for the first time, I ventured out after a major fit of cabin fever, and just happened to venture out into a hail storm that turned into a wind/rain storm.

The second time I started to feel better, the weather came to me. I decided to have thermapane windows installed on the lower floor, and the day they came was, of course, rather chilly. So here I sat at my computer, with large gaping holes in the wall, while they fought to put in the new windows. The house has been so canted by the sinking addition pulling the house towards the river that one window frame was actually cockeyed. On the upside, the house is much warmer now.

On the downside, I have to get the house jacked up sooner rather than later. Which also means that I need to replace all of the windows on the bottom floor north wall of the house, and it's all windows. While they provide a fabluous view of the river and town, they are single-paned, and it is more or less like being outside. There's even a plus side to that, though, as you really don't need a refrigerator in the kitchen, it's cold enough to store food right on the counter.

One of the bright lights of this whole ordeal has been the Shanahan Gallery. Fortunately, I've been selling very well there, and I sure do love those commission checks. Unfortunately, between a very nasty kidney infection (which blasted my socks off just before being stricken with the Astoria Crud) and the Crud itself, I have not been up to replacing the inventory that they've been selling. Now that I'm feeling a tad perkier, that's the first thing on my agenda.

Regarding the Astoria Review ... if you will recall, they used my photo on the cover, and I did not get credit. It all sounded dealable-with when Daryl, owner of the Shanahan Gallery with his wife, Cindy, called me about it. When I actually saw the cover at my beloved Triangle Tavern, I almost blew about 4 head-gaskets. They had not only neglected to give me credit, they had given the credit to someone else! It was suddenly NOT dealable-with.

I emailed Mike Strom, the editor, and was a tad dramatic, but did manage to leave out all of the expletives I felt were suitable for the occasion. He emailed back right away, and was apologetic, and said I could have some free advertising and an interview to promote my work, etc.

The next Friday, I went down to the Shanahan Gallery, where he took photos of me with the photo in question (I look like a demented dwarf), and taped and interview with me. Inexplicably, the article came out with a photo of me, but the interview was with Daryl and Cindy Moore, owners of the Shanahan Gallery. Guess my interview must have bored him.

Here it is:

Astoria Review

However, the highlight of my last several months was that it snowed in Astoria last week, which is apparently totally unheard of in March. It started at around 5 AM, and was gone by 11 AM, but it was glorious. The snow never made it all the way down to the river, but the further up the hill I went, the more snow. Near the top of the town, kids were out making snowmen, and throwing snowballs. Up at the Astoria Column, there were 3" of snow. It was all so Currier & Ives and incredibly beautiful.

I ran around for two hours, between 6:30 AM and 9 AM (by 9 it was already 36 degrees outside), shooting photos and traipsing around in the slush and snow, having a grand old time. Before the snow plows came, I actually was dumb enough to try to get up Coxcomb Hill to the Column with my 2 wheel drive car without chains. Made it about halfway up, and then suddenly went totally sideways. It was only slightly humiliating to wave at the trucks going up the hill while I slowly backed down in the downhill lane. You can see my snow photos here:

Astoria in the Snow

All for now, think I'll go defrost some meat on the kitchen counter for lunch tomorrow.

Astoria Photografpix

astoria oregon, Astoria crud, hail, Shanahan Gallery, Astoria Review, Astoria Snow

Notes from Astoria - Never Turn Your Back on the Sea

2006-02-07T23:39:00.000-08:00

Crab season is in full swing ... everyone around here in Astoria is in a state of drool over dungeness crab. It's been a rocky crab season, what with crab fisherman strikes and foul weather, but now things are temporarily under way. And the sea has received her first sacrifice of the season in the form of the Catherine M, all hands presumably lost.

Catherine M Story

After being out of work most of the season, my partner B did work a few times unloading the crab boats in heavy rain and foul weather. His knee-high waders split in several places. I was looking all over the place for new ones, and whined about this to one of our pals, Bobby Wilson, a local artist and former fisherman. As chance would have it, he actually had a pair that had belonged to one of his brothers, and miraculously, they fit B to a T. Crisis resolved, once again with the help of the ever-resourceful Bobby Wilson! There seems to be no end to how helpful and kind people are here in Astoria.

But back to the subject of the treacherous sea ... another fisherman pal, Rodney, told me a clamming story. Razor clams are tricky little critters, as they are normally around the tide line, and they can whiz around under the sand. But everyone around here loves these clams, so they go out in droves to dig them when it's allowed.

Razor clams are certainly unlike the clams I am familiar with in New England, who have the good grace to stay put. And therein lies the problem ... you have to go to the tideline and take a risk to get these damn clams. You have to keep one eye on the sea for rogue waves, and one eye on the clam air-holes and your clam-digging tool. If the clam decides to go dancing off somewhere, you have to move your tool (which looks like a post-hole digger) to try to trap it, but meanwhile you'd better be damn sure you are watching the ocean, too. If a rogue wave comes up, the rip-tides are so vicious that if you wind up in water even up to your knees, you can easily have your feet pulled out from under you, and get pulled out to sea.

Rodney told me the tale of a fisherman pal of his, and his wife, who decided to go clamming one day. They were so busy chasing clams, that even though they both knew better, they did not keep an eye on the sea. A rogue wave did, indeed, come in, and hit them. He made a grab for his wife, but only managed to grab a piece of her sleeve before she was ripped away from him. He dug in his clam-digger, held on, and managed to not get pulled out to sea, but all he was left with was a piece of her sleeve. Her body was never found.

Like they say around here, never turn your back on the sea. And don't turn your eyes away from it, either.

Astoria Photografpix

astoria oregon, dungeness crab, crab, clamming, razor clams, sea

Blustering in Astoria

2006-02-02T22:19:00.000-08:00

Wow! A whole two-day reprieve from gale force winds! I was actually able to walk outside without grabbing onto telephone poles or other deeply-embedded stable objects. So I took advantage of the calm to start cleaning out the store-room upstairs, which is an unspeakable abyss of clutter. I'm finding things in there that are antediluvian. Of course these "antiquities" are in cardboard boxes that are in various states of rather repulsive decomposition.

The task at hand was to save these family treasures (more because I don't know what the hell to do with them than any other reason) by transferring them to sturdy tupperware containers, labelling them, and moving them to the basement where they can once again be consigned to benign neglect, albeit neatly packed and stacked.
Which would then leave the problem of disposing of the fetid cardboard boxes that once contained all these white elephants, and that is where the lack of wind comes into the picture.

If I had tried to stack all those empty festering boxes on the porch before crushing them into the garbage can, the wind would have whisked them to Alaska, Japan, and who the hell knows where, and I would probably wind up under indictment for international toxic waste-dumping. However, since it was a nice calm day, I was able to stack and crush with impunity, and was not attacked, even once, by rollerblading garbage cans with attack-lids.

In the midst of this purge, the handy-dandy window-installer guy called. I'm finally having some thermapane windows put in the lower part of the house, mostly because I am tired of my hands turning blue and going numb when I sit in my coma-chair by the one of the windows. When he did the window estimate, I asked him if he knew anyone who could jack up the back end of the house, which is sinking into oblivion in the tar-pit equivalent of what passes for a back yard. The upstairs ceilings are cracking as the house tilts more north towards the river, and unless I want to wind up with my kitchen in the Columbia River, I need to get the house back on an even keel.

Window-guy called this morning to tell me that yes, indeed, he has found a experienced contractor who can jack up the house, which is very good news. I have asked and asked for a whole year, and everyone tells me how it's done, but nobody wants to do it. So to have an actual live body say they will undertake this task is amazing. And maybe scary. But what the hell, it has to be done. I just hope to hell this guy knows how to do it right. Since everyone SAYS they know how to do it, but nobody WANTS to do it, I don't have a lot of choices. And it really needs to be done soon ... the Maytag guy can't jack up the washing machine any higher to compensate for the slope in the kitchen.

Just to add to the sanity of my day ... my so-called coup of having one of my enhanced photos of Astoria's Liberty Theatre used on the cover of the Astoria Review is a complete debacle. Oh, it's on the cover all right, WITH NO PHOTO CREDIT. Let's just say I am pissed beyond belief. I let the singer who wanted to use my image to promote her concert at the Liberty have it for the cover as a one-time thing as a freebie ... all in the interest of supporting other artists, and all that good-will crap. My ONLY stipulation in our contract was that I get photo credit for however she used my image. So there she is, an image of her super-imposed over my image, right smack on the cover, and not one teeny tiny word of credit for me. She's lucky I'm not a lawyer.

If I wanted to play hardball, I could demand they pull every single edition of the Astoria Review out of circulation for breach of contract. However, I'd rather let the owners of the Shanahan Gallery handle it, as they also got screwed on the photo credit. I know they will make every effort to come to a resolution with the Astoria Review that will stop me from gnashing my teeth. At my age, I can't waste what teeth I have left on gnashing.

The truly inexplicable part of all this, at least in my view, is that there are posters of this same image all over town, and the photo credit is there. So why did the Astoria Review NOT give the credit where credit was due? What the hell were they thinking? ARGH!

Okay, I'm getting too wound up. I'm going to move to my coma-chair by the as-yet-unthermapaned window, let my hands turn blue again, and watch trash TV ... which is soothing enough to make me almost forget that my hands are getting numb.

Astoria Photografpix

astoria oregon, astoria review

Blown Away in Astoria

2006-01-29T21:48:00.000-08:00

The ocean winds are swooping around Astoria after racing in off the sea, and down the Columbia River. At night they howl around the houses and through the alleyways, shaking and tossing everything in sight.

My house is up on a hill overlooking the Columbia River and the Astoria Bridge. It is built on posts and piers on a steep slope, so the front part of the house is sitting on solid land, but the back part, which faces the river, is standing on old posts sunk into an ever-moving hillside.

It's an old house, built in the Victorian era, so it is balloon-framed, which means that the wood studs in the frame go from the bottom of the first floor to the top of the house. The studs are continuous slats of wood, i.e. visualize a large tree cut into full-length stud boards of 20+ feet in length. It is because of the balloon framing, which almost all of the old houses here have, that the houses are still intact, since it allows the houses to give and sway in high winds.

And the winds have been horrific lately ... 65+ mph gusts, particularly during the night. The house is rocking and rolling while the wind, sounding and feeling like a freight train, shakes it like a terrier with a rat.

Going outside when the wind is like this is downright risky. But the other night I had to take the garbage out. The wind doesn't care about menial tasks that have to be done. I almost got the can to the curb when a huge gust howled around the corner of the house, and whipped the garbage can lid up. I got nailed right square in the face. I was almost knocked out cold, and my glasses got broken. Think I'll pass on garbage night during monsoon season.

There's no end in sight, and the winds have been whipping themselves up for the last several hours. I expect I will be rocked to sleep once again.

Astoria Photografpix

astoria oregon, wind, storms

UFO's, Bar Pilots, & Crabs

2006-01-23T19:44:00.000-08:00

Well, all the hoopla about the UFO sighting has pretty much died down, and now MUFON is looking for more witnesses. It's a very nice idea, but I really doubt anyone else saw it besides me, my son, and my daughter-in-law. The MUFON field investigator's request for more witnesses did make it into the Daily Astorian, and you can see the article here:

MUFON Request

On a very sad note, one of the local bar pilots was lost at sea. For those of you who aren't aware of what bar pilots do, they go on board incoming and outgoing ships to guide them across the Pacific Bar, which is where the Columbia River meets the Pacific Ocean. It is one of the most treacherous stretches of sea in the world, and it is known as the "Graveyard of the Pacific" with good reason.

The night in question was very rough, and the bar pilot, Kevin Murray, had already guided the outgoing ship across the bar. To get off the ship, bar pilots have to grab a ladder and get back to the pilot boat (or helicopter), timing the swells of the ocean, etc. for a safe landing. You can get an idea of how tricky all this is at the bar pilots' web site:

Bar Pilot Web Site

Anyway, on January 9th, in some very rough weather, bar pilot Kevin Murray did not make it back to the pilot boat, and fell into the water. The other bar pilots were not able to rescue him, and he was lost at sea. From what I understand, the bar pilots wear inflatable vests with GPS tracking systems on them. Somehow, everything went wrong, and his body was found two days later on the coast sixty miles north of Astoria.

The bar pilot's death put a pall over the whole town. What they do is so incredibly dangerous it's amazing they don't get lost at sea more often, but apparently this was the first loss in thirty years. In the Daily Astorian there was a notice that there would be a ceremonial wreath-dropping into the river last Friday, and that it could be seen from the Fishermens' Memorial under the Astoria Bridge. We wanted to show our respects, so we went.

Only about ten people were out there at the Memorial, and I was truly shocked. What we didn't know at the time was that there was a very large group of people out on the decks of the Cannery Pier Hotel a little to the west of us. We could only see the back of the hotel from our position, so we couldn't see the gathering.

After about 15 minutes of waiting, the pilot boat showed up, and just sat out in the river close to shore. It rained heavily for a few minutes, then a luminous rainbow appeared on the east side of the bridge. A fitting tribute, to be sure.

Eventually, the bar pilot helicopter showed up, swooped in east towards the bridge, then came around west and positioned itself above the pilot boat. Everyone seemed to hold their breath as the memorial wreath was dropped from the helicopter into the river. I just happened to catch a photo of the wreath in mid-air. You can see the photo, and the article from the Daily Astorian here:

Bar Pilot Memorial

I wish I had known about the service actually being at the Cannery Pier Hotel, as I would have gone. But it was beautiful where we were positioned, and at least we were there to send our thoughts to him and his family.

Crab season has also been the talk of the town. Or rather, the lack of it. The season got started late because it was felt that the dungeness crabs had not meated up enough after growing their new shells. More about the dungeness crab here:

Dungeness Crab

When the season finally got started, the crabbers and the markets couldn't agree on price. By the time they agreed, the weather had turned foul and dangerous, and they couldn't go out over the Pacific Bar, as there were 15'+ ocean swells.

Finally the weather let up a little, and while it was still extremely rainy, windy, and treacherous, the crabbers went out. My significant other was out there on the docks in Warrenton, in full rain-gear and knee-high rubber boots, helping unload the crab-pots from the returning boats ... for about eight days.

Then the crabbers went on strike. The issue of price came up again, and the crabbers were not happy. The markets are selling the crab for $4.99 a pound, but only wanted to give the crabbers $1.50 a pound. Crabbing is one of the most dangerous professions in the world, and the markets are quibbling on price?

But today my significant other got a call to come back to work, which must mean that the crabbers have stopped striking. I hope.

Astoria Photografpix

Astoria, UFO, bar pilot, crab, dungeness

Astoria UFO ... the drawing

2006-01-06T15:43:00.000-08:00

Well, you may or may not recall that I posted a week ago about seeing a UFO east of Astoria, out on Hwy 30, while driving my son and daughter-in-law to the Portland Airport. It was on Friday, December 30th, 2005.

Nope, I wasn't kidding, but I couldn't draw it, and didn't have time to take a photo of it. However, once my son got back home, he drew it, and mailed the drawing to me, which I scanned. And there it is, below:

For a larger view, go to UFO Drawing

His drawing fills in a lot of blanks for me, anyway, as I really had more of an impression of the object's shape ... he saw the details.

Call us crazy, call us what you will, but there it is, and that's what we saw.

Astoria Photografpix

Astoria, UFO, UFO drawing

LNG Still Looms Over Astoria

2006-01-04T20:36:00.000-08:00

Well, the LNG controversy once again is upon us in Astoria. However, it's taken a new and interesting twist.

The lease deal on the Skipanon Peninsula in next-door Warrenton, between the Port of Astoria and Calpine, was one of those back-room deals you used to read about back in the Mayor Daly Daze in Chicago; signed and shuffled under the table without a city-wide vote. Suddenly, wet-lands on the Skipanon Peninsula are supposed to be declared industrial zones to enable the building of humongous LNG tanks that will disrupt the flow of traffic at the mouth of the Columbia River. I mean ... what the hell were they thinking?

Signs started cropping up all over town, a circle with a red bar across the initials LNG, saying, "The Columbia River deserves better!" Yet when the election for the Port Commissioners came up, the good ol' boyz were voted right back in, lock, stock & barrel. Go figure.

Now a loophole has turned up in the lease, whereby the Port Commissioners could actually extricate themselves from this boondoggle. Calpine is on the verge of bankruptcy. Oh, I'm soooo sad. There is a clause in the lease that says Calpine can only transfer the lease to another LNG company IF the Port Commissioners agree.

Will the Port Commissioners agree to let Calpine transfer the lease? If so, they'll go down in history as the blackguards who destroyed the mouth of the Columbia River. Maybe the Port Commissioners think infamy is the same as fame? Getting your name in a history book is just peachy, but you would think a person would care about WHY they were mentioned. But then again, maybe not.

I wrote a letter to the Daily Astorian comparing the situation to a Grimm Fairy Tale:
My Letter.

But a seventh grader at the local middle school wrote a letter to be reckoned with: Seventh Grader Letter. It's getting scary around here when a seventh grader understands the implications of having LNG tanks around here better than the powers that be.

It's not over yet. There's still hope that the Port Commissioners will come to their senses and refuse to let Calpine transfer the lease. Let's just say I'm not agog with confidence in the Commissioners' ability to make sensible decisions, but here I sit, toes crossed, hoping they have a moment of revelation.

Will the Port Commissioners jump off their black horses, jump on some white horses, and gallop in to save the day? Tune in for the next episode ...

Astoria Photografpix

Astoria, LNG, Calpine, Skipanon Peninsula, Warrenton, Daily Astorian

Puzzling Astoria Bird Swarm

2006-01-01T09:22:00.000-08:00

Yesterday afternoon I went to meet some out-of-town friends at the Ship Inn on the Astoria riverfront for a few pre-New Year's toddies. We sat in the bar area, but as we were leaving, they wanted to go into the dining room to see the view of the Columbia River, which is breath-taking.

Just as we arrived at the window, the air over the river suddenly filled with birds. The flock kept assuming different shapes while they moved ... sometimes they would resemble a swarm of bees, sometimes they would reshape into a comma; the patterns were intricate and varied all the time. In the course of re-forming, they would fly about 100 feet east, do a swooping reverse, then fly about 100 feet west, and repeat the east-west route over and over again. They dove down towards the surface of the river, then up into the air, all the while swirling and creating new formations.

Meanwhile, every 30 seconds or so, a clump of hundred or more birds would appear from nowhere, seemingly, and join right in with whatever pattern the others were forming at the time. Soon there were thousands of birds performing complicated aerial acrobatics over the river. Gulls appeared every now and then, but flew over or under the starlings, as if they didn't want to interrupt them. One of the customers in the dining room said the birds were starlings.

The starlings were not feeding; they appeared to be playing. I went outside to observe this phenomenon up close, and was struck by the fact that the birds were silent. The only noise was the beating of their wings. By then, several people were lined up on the riverwalk railing watching the bird-play. I kept wondering why the starlings were doing this, and couldn't help but get a little shiver thinking about that old Hitchcock movie, "The Birds," even though the starlings were completely oblivious to us.

As soon as the birds somehow knew the last group had joined them, several of them dove straight for the pilings under the senior condo building next to the Ship Inn. It took several minutes for them to keep re-forming, and diving in groups, to get under the building.

Finally, the air was clear, and all of the starlings had somehow made it under the building, where they roosted on the supports under the building. The screeching and squawking echoed against the water, and bounced off the cement subflooring. It made a hell of a racket, and I couldn't help but think the residents on the first floor must have felt like they were roasting in avian hell.

That's two strange phenomenon in two days. I can't help but wonder what's next!

Astoria Photografpix

Astoria, birds, starlings, phenomenon, Columbia River

UFO's in Astoria?

2005-12-31T18:07:00.000-08:00

Very early Friday morning, while it was still night-time, I was driving east on Hwy 30 from Astoria, heading to Portland Airport with my son and daughter-in-law. It is a densely forested rural area, there are no street lights, and the sky was very black. The only lights around were my headlights. I don’t remember there being anyone else driving near us on that stretch of road at the time.

About 8 miles east of Astoria, between John Day and Svensen, I suddenly spotted an extremely bright strobing light (like from a professional camera strobe light) in the sky, which appeared to be to be on the northeast side of the road. However, there were tall pines in the way, so there was no way to tell the direction from which the light was actually coming. When my son commented, so did my daughter-in-law, and we realized that all three of us noticed it at the same time.

In about a minute, I would guess, I rounded a bend, and there was an object in the sky to the southeast, now on the other side of the road. Which means it traveled about 200-300 feet to the southeast. It was not very high in the sky at all (less than 500’), and I only saw it for a few seconds, but my impression was that of a saucer-sort of shape, with square-ish porthole-type windows with black cross-bars, like four-paned house windows.

All I could see in the windows was that the interior of the object was intensely lit, but the light did not seem to beam out from the windows. There were at least two windows, and probably three, visible. One window was larger than the others.

There was a hazy light above and around the object, and the light below it was strobing. The object did not appear to be moving, but it was hard to tell, since the car was moving. My son also had the impression that the object was not moving, but hovering.

I was so startled, I slowed down almost to a stop, but it is a very narrow and treacherous road, so it would have been very dangerous to actually stop and pull over. Plus, I did not want to take my eyes off of the object to even try it. But I still have the image of it against the black sky in my mind. My son said he saw several separate strobing lights on the bottom of the craft, where I just had the general impression of strobing lights.

My daughter-in-law kept looking out the back window after we passed by it, and said the light continued to strobe in the sky above the trees for about a minute, then suddenly stopped. I know, this sounds weird ... I mean even weirder than the sighting itself, that is ... but it seemed to me as though it had appeared just for us. A "yoo-hoo" from, well, who the hell knows.

The kids were both very unsettled by the sighting, and they both had the reaction of not wanting to tell anyone what they saw because they didn't want anyone to think they were crazy. It is a well-established fact that I am crazy, so I have no such constraints. I was amazed and delighted. Positively tickled, actually. I have always hoped I would see one someday. I’m just glad I had other witnesses with me when it happened so I don't have to look in the mirror every day, and wonder how I'll look in a white jacket with straps.

Nope, we have no pictures or audio-video clips. And I wouldn't know what to draw as I have more of an impression of an image than an actual shape that I could draw. Since he was not as distracted by and fixated on the windows as I was, my son saw the whole object more clearly than I did. I would guess we saw it for several seconds. He says he can draw it, and will send me a copy of the drawing.

We have no idea what we saw, but we all thought it was a UFO, since there just didn't seem to be any other explanation out there in the middle of nowhere. Is there another explanation? I rather doubt it, since I’ve never heard of any sort of aircraft that flies around with blindingly bright lights on inside of it.

Those distracting bright windows really made me wonder about the whole concept of “going into the light.”

Astoria Photografpix

Astoria, UFO

Astoria Victoria

2005-12-11T23:49:00.000-08:00

Last Saturday night we went to the newly renovated Liberty Theatre to see John Doan perform his Victorian Christmas show. Ah, it was a fine evening, with lots of historical notes and slides about the Victorian era, and even better, he played several instruments from that space in time.

Best of all, there was none of the politically correct crap I loathed in L.A., i.e. Christmas was unabashedly called Christmas, and it was a Christmas celebration. Now don't get me wrong, I don't have a religious bone in my body, but I do love all of the traditions and hoopla that go with Christmas. And, it was very nice to see it just "out there" for all of us in the audience to enjoy again.

It was particularly lovely, and touching, when he had the audience sing along to the old carols while he played those funky old musical instruments. People just don't DO that any more, at least in L.A. -- LaLaLanders are in mortal fear of offending someone, anyone, whoever, however. Christmas in L.A. is bad enough with the drive-by shootings, palm trees, and relentless sun, without having to even think about who the hell you just MIGHT POSSIBLY be offending by enjoying a little Christmas spirit.

Anyway, you can see who John Doan is, and hear snippets of his music on his website, johndoan.com

In Astoria, Christmas is alive and well, and not just in the Liberty Theatre. The other night I was taking the doggies out back, and was hearing all kinds of whoops and strange beeping noises in the night. Rather like a fire department siren, but there was no pattern to it. As I was scratching my head, wondering what the hell was going on, I heard a loud voice over a P.A. system announcing, "Merry Christmas from the Astoria Fire Department!" The voice echoed over the river, and sounded like it was right in my back yard. It was grand. Yup, we can sing Noel in Astoria, all right.

Astoria Photografpix

Astoria, Victorian Christmas, John Doan, Liberty Theatre

Rogue Rat

2005-12-08T23:39:00.000-08:00

A while ago I mentioned I had read somewhere that pure peppermint oil repels rats. It can't be peppermint extract, as that makes them drunk. I really do not need a passel of drunken rats cavorting and carrying on in the basement, playing hide and fart in the canned goods.

As it is, dead sober, our clan of cellar-rats recently ravaged a 50 lb. bag of dog food that was 7' high on top of a cabinet. When it was too empty to hold them for group snack-time, they threw the bag on the floor to let me know they were ready for a refill.

Finally, fed up with their demands, I went in search of peppermint oil. I could not find any peppermint oil in town, and got some damn peculiar looks when I asked for it from local merchants. So I had to go online for my quest. Apparently it is some kind of LaLaLand fad vitamin supplement for humans, so it cost an extravagent $15 for three teeny bottles.

My partner, B, trudged to the basement with a wad of cotton balls, and the peppermint oil, and set oil-soaked cotton balls in all of the locations where the rats were partying their heartiest. Now every time I open the basement door it smells like a gum factory down there.

After 2 days, the new crop of rat-droppings dropped down to a minimum, i.e. there was evidence of only one rebellious rat instead of the usual mob of 20+. Okay, fine.

My 120 lb. shepherd mix, Leo, greeted the disappearance of his sporting rodent chums with consternation. Where were his tailed toys? What happened to all the scurrying, squeaking,and scampering critters? He searched frantically in every nook and cranny, and shook his head in dismay.

But then, Leo had a ray of hope. He discovered the rogue rat lurking in the canned goods, right next to a cotton ball soaked with enough peppermint oil to give him the rodent equivalent of a migraine. Leo smiled and lunged, and the rogue rat stood up on his hind legs, ready to leap out and remove Leo's eyebrows. I grabbed Leo by his collar and hauled him back before the battle could commence, and I think they were both highly disappointed.

So peppermint oil really does work to get rid of rats, for the most part. The remaining rat, who has now been christened Ratilla, gets to stay. I can live with one rat ... I just think of him as having a very large cage.

Astoria Photografpix

Astoria, rats, rats in basement, peppermint oil

Sam Bucks vs. Goliath

2005-12-06T21:44:00.000-08:00

The big tempest in a coffee pot lately here in Astoria is Starbucks going after a local coffee-shop owner who named her shop Sam Bucks. Okay, so her maiden name is Samantha Buck, but the judge was not amused.

I've never been to Sam Bucks (or whatever the shop will now be called), but I do know there's a Starbucks at the Safeway store. And I really don't think any local, or even any tourist with half a brain, is going to confuse the two shops, but she lost the suit anyway.

However, there is a silver lining in the cloud. In today's Daily Astorian, it appears that Starbucks is not going to go after Sam Bucks for legal fees, which could potentially be in the hundreds of thousands.

And I can't help but think that's a smart move on Starbucks' part. Last night I did a blog search using just the word "astoria." What popped up were at least 50 blogs about Sam Buck's battle with Starbucks, and the feeling towards Starbucks was, shall we say, less than positive.

I've been here in Astoria for a year, and since I don't drink coffee (I'm allergic to caffeine, more's the pity), I didn't even know there was a Sam Bucks. But I DID know there was a Starbucks in town. Now I'm going to make a point of finding Sam Buck's shop and seeing if they have any decaf. I bet a cup of underdog decaf tastes a hell of a lot better than the best mega-inflated-priced decaf Starbucks has to offer.

Astoria Photografpix

Astoria, Sam Bucks, Starbucks

Talking Turkey in Astoria

2005-12-05T12:33:00.000-08:00

I have been a neglectful blogger. But then, everything has fallen into a deep pit while I’ve been getting my photos ready for the opening of a new photo gallery in Astoria, the Shanahan Gallery, 1296 Commercial St.

Okay, that’s a blatant plug, and shameless self-promotion, but what the hell. If I don’t promote my work, I don’t know who will. And as some wise old showbiz mogul said, “There’s no such thing as bad publicity.”

It’s been 30 years since I’ve exhibited anywhere, and the last time I did, one of my best photos was stolen right off the wall. I was truly flabbergasted, and so was the gallery, and at the time, I honestly didn’t know whether to be pissed or flattered. I still wonder.

I digress. Preparing simple matted prints for the Astoria Sunday Market is one thing. Preparing matted prints for a gallery is a galloping horse of another color. It is time-consuming. It is expensive. It is an exercise in masochism and frustration. It consumes every waking and sleeping thought. I created several new permutations of exceedingly graphic and vile obscenities in the process. I should have written them down, now that I think of it, for future use.

Last Friday I finally delivered the 50 “children” to the gallery. At first I thought I would be loath to part with them after all the angst. But no, I almost flung them at the poor gallery owner, and flew out the door. Once outside, I felt free, and damn near giddy, and practically danced down the sidewalk with relief.

In the meantime, while I was thrashing around and swearing at my gallery prints, it was our first Thanksgiving in Astoria. My first Thanksgiving away from my son, and I was worried that I might get mopey or depressed. Not that my son would be suffering … nope, he was off in Amsterdam judging the “Cannabis Cup.” No, I'm not kidding: The Cannabis Cup

This brain-draining event involves something along the line of going to coffee shops in Amsterdam, sipping coffee mixed with varying degrees and types of hash and pot, to see who serves the best “coffee.” I’m not sure what the winning coffee shop gets, or even if it matters, since the judges are probably too stoned after a week to remember why they are there in the first place. So anyway, my son’s Thanksgiving was, I’m sure, very thankful, if a tad hazy.

Since he was so thankful to be in Amsterdam, and my partner B and I were so thankful to be in Astoria, we decided to have a real Astoria Thanksgiving. Which in our case meant I didn’t have to wrestle with an imploding turkey, and going to the trusty Triangle Tavern for pot-luck. I was in charge of providing the candied yams, which I personally find disgusting. Fortunately, that does not impede my ability to prepare the dish, which I actually do quite well.

The Triangle Tavern Thanksgiving is an event. It is a family gathering. The pool table was covered with a huge piece of plywood, and covered with a tablecloth. The owner served up 38 lbs. of beautifully cooked turkey, and there mounds of mashed potatoes, at least a gallon of gravy, trays of stuffing, home-made cranberry sauce from local berries, and countless other goodies. Plus, for dessert, huge pecan, apple, and home-made pumpkin pies. I get misty-eyed and hungry just thinking about it.

The best part, of course, was the gathering of great people. I was so worried I’d feel lost on Thanksgiving in a new town. Not a chance. All of our friends were there, the food was fine and plentiful, and it was one of the warmest, nicest Thanksgivings I’ve ever had.

Astoria Photografpix

Astoria, Thanksgiving, turkey, Triangle Tavern, Shanahan Gallery

Astoria ... Priceless

2005-11-15T22:02:00.000-08:00

It's now been almost a year since I quit working at a regular old 9-5 bullshit job. The last one being 7:15 AM to 5:45 PM, 4 days a week, commuting 25 miles each way, in L.A. On the freeway. Which means your life is run by road rage and sitting in the air-sewage blithely called smog. As an underpaid drone for an international corporation. The 1 year anniversary of my liberation is coming up on December 3.

So here I am in Astoria, having chosen to move here to be a "starving artist." Not that I could get gainfully employed in this town, anyway. I'm way too overqualified, which is the local polite way of saying, "I don't know you, my mother doesn't know you, my neighbors don't know you, we only hire friends and relatives, and you're too damn old, anyway."

Now I don't mean to sound bitter, because I'm not. I knew I probably wouldn't be able to get a job before I got here, and actually experienced the Astoria Employment Debacle personally. I figured that would force me to get creative and start my own business. Which I did.

However, now it's almost winter. The tourists are gone. There is no more Sunday Market. There are no more cruise ships. And there's nobody to peddle my photos to. It's going to be a long, hard, winter.

As much as I dread it financially, it's also liberating. This old Yankee is finally free to enjoy my first fall in 22 years. I am almost giddy from seeing leaves changing, and feeling the nip in the air again after 22 years of arid L.A. no-season desert.

Every time I get worried about money, I just walk out the front door and smell the air. It doesn't smell! I can actually see the sky! It's crisp and invigorating. I look south up the hill and see the colorful leaves, clouds sidling by, and all those incredible Victorian houses outlined so precisely against Astoria's own special light.

I go back inside to the kitchen, and look out the window north, and the rolling vista of Washington across the river. To the west, the Astoria bridge, and perhaps a passing ship. Another hillside, the changing trees there, and more enchanting fairy-tale houses. A view so amazing it still makes me wide-eyed with delight.

Like they (whoever "they" are) say, "Money ain't everything." And living in a place like this is beyond priceless.

Astoria Photografpix

Astoria, autumn, fall, seasons

Lewis & Clark Buffs Get Monsooned

2005-11-10T21:00:00.000-08:00

The town is in a tizzy for the Lewis & Clark Bicentennial Events, which are happening all over town, and the whole area, even over to Washington, from today till Sunday. Veteran's Day got lost in the shuffle, but a creative vet had an idea of how to celebrate.

Down at the bottom of 14th Street, there is a little docking area that I wasn't aware of, tucked between some buildings on piers. In this little area I was directed to a rather large fishing-boat tender, which was bustling with activity yesterday morning. The local vets were decorating the boat with red, white, and blue bunting, and signs, and flags. The plan was to take the boat down the river, close to shore, and the vets would be on board waving like mad at anyone on shore.

Thanks to my pal, Bobby Wilson, who spoke to the captain, I got a tour of the boat. What a wonderful rig! It was a challenge to get on board, since it was a good jump down and across, even with a ladder. Being an older vessel, to move from one level to another required vertical ladder-climbing. I have discovered that I am not as limber as I used to be.

I have to comment on the bathroom, which was at the stern of the boat. It looked like it should have been in a little Victorian Bed and Breakfast. One of the men came out and said, "I can't figure out how to flush it!" Since I was next, of course I had to check it out. It's an old wooden gravity tank, above head-level. I am short, and I could just reach the flush lever. It never occurred to him to look up.

One of the vets wanted to bring his dog aboard for the jaunt, and when the dog saw the distance between the dock and the boat, his eyes got luminous and bulged like one of those toys you squeeze to make the eyes pop. The dog was grabbed at the boat end by his master, and the dock end by his mistress, and made a clean, but terrified, landing.

Of course, as soon as the boat was about to get under way, the skies over Astoria provided the required fall drizzle, and the fog dropped like a curtain. Nevertheless, the cruise was off and running, and they had a grand time. It's just too bad they didn't have any publicity, so there weren't many people around to wave at them. Oh, the local newspaper showed up, all right, but only on the morning the boat was going out, so the article and photos were after the fact.

Veterans Cruising Photos

Meanwhile, my partner, B, was over in Hammond with our pal Teresa, helping to set up sound equipment for a big Lewis & Clark event today involving the governors of OR and WA and local Indian tribes. The rain poured by the barrel for the set-up. The organizers of the event apparently thought the people attending today should experience Lewis & Clark weather. No tent. Chairs out in the open. In monsoon season. Interesting concept.

I went out to Hammond and retrieved them in their sogginess, delivered Teresa to her place, and B to ours, and went out to deliver flyers. In the rain. The event I was vending at last weekend clearly didn't have enough publicity, and I didn't trust them to deliver on publicity this Saturday, either, so I took matters into my own hands, made up flyers for tomorrow's bazaar, and schlepped to all the hotels on the west end of town.

While schlepping, on my very last stop, as I headed back to the car, I heard fife and drum music. I really thought my brain had gotten too damp. Fife and drum corps music is a very Yankee thing, and it cuts to the heart. I got into my car, and opened the windows. Yup, I was still hearing it. I whipped around the corner, and followed the sound. Surer than hell, there was a little fife & drum corps smack in the middle of 12th Street in front of the Hotel Elliott.

I parked the car, and ran like hell back to 12th street to see them. It was a group of about 8 kids, decked out in what looked like British 19th Century military uniforms, and they were fifing and drumming their hearts out ... with all the correct moves and miltary bearing. What a sight!

When they did their beautifully executed about-face and marched off around the corner, I followed them, lurking till they disbanded. I approached the oldest of the group, and asked them where they were from. St. Charles, Missouri! They've been playing so much in the last few weeks as part of the Lewis & Clark event, he had to think about where they were at the moment. It was a pleasure to hear them. i just wish Astoria had its very own fife & drum corps, but seeing and hearing them made me damn near giddy with nostalgia.

I trundled home to pick up a now de-sogged B, and we retired to the Golden Star for much-needed beer and sympathy from the outrageous Jennifer, bartender to the monsoon'ed. Life is good.

Astoria Photografpix

Astoria, Astoria weather, Lewis & Clark, bicentennial, veterans

Of Mud and Mops

2005-11-07T21:55:00.000-08:00

What to do? What to do? It was suddenly and inexplicably sunny outside today, and this is Astoria, and hell, it's supposed to be raining cats, dogs, teaspoons and muffins 24/7 sideways, upways, and anyway it can, with the occasional accompanying bellowing winds that shake your house and rattle your teeth.

I kept looking out the window and thinking I was imagining things ... it's not really sunny, is it? ... and searching out over the grand Astoria Bridge for clouds coming in off the Pacific. Which is a ridiculous theory on my part, since storms here can come from anywhere, sometimes seeming to materialize from merely a thought or a whisper, in the flick of a whisker.

I was so paranoid about the nice weather, in fact, I couldn't make myself take the doggies for a walk. Took them for a nice cavort yesterday, and everything was just delightful, then on the way home it started raining out of nowhere. Magical rain someone summoned up, it seemed.

So today, I kept going outside, eyeing the sky in every direction thinkable for clouds or imminent monsoons, and could see nothing but blue skies, so I literally didn't believe my eyes. The restless doggies didn't get their sniff-and-piss stroll, and were confined to mincing on the now-slippery dog-run perched on the mudslide, slogging through the area within the posts and piers under the house, and rat-patrol in the basement.

It's not like I am afraid of the rain or anything silly like that, it's just that bringing home wet, muddy, soggy dogs is not one of the finer experiences in life. I don't have a mud room, where we could drop off all the soggies and towel down. Oh hell no. I open the front door, and they gallop in, shaking off water and splattering mud, until the entire first floor of the house is wet and mud-soaked, and smelling like a doggie salt marsh at low tide.

My pal Margot, when she was visiting, commented that I may well have the cleanest floors in this galaxy or any other, since she rarely saw me without a mop in my hands. Personally, I have come to believe that carrying a mop is an Astoria fashion statement.

Astoria Photografpix

Astoria, Astoria weather, mud, mop

Pier 11

2005-11-05T20:57:00.000-08:00

Now begins the Christmas bazaar vending season. On the good side ... no enormous tent to lug around and set up, as all of the events are now indoors. On the bad side ... nobody wants to come out and buy because the weather is verging on atrocious.

One of the local restaurants, Pier 11, that also has a little mini-mall attached, decided to try a holiday bazaar vending event. Bravery kudos to them for trying it, and it was a bold move, as there is a total dearth of that sort of event for vendors in Astoria during the off-season.

The Pier 11 mall is a small, but lovely place. It was an old feed-store at one time, and it really is out on a pier. There is a restaurant/bar on the river side, and both have lots of big windows overlooking the river. On the shore side, there is the little mall, all wonderful wood, with some shops along one side. Down the center of the mall is a nice walkway, with the original wide wooden planking, and that's where we vendors set up shop.

It was so gray outside it was like dusk at 10 AM. And it was raining sideways, as usual for this time of year. The weather service had issued warnings for floods and high winds, and told people to not drive if they didn't have to. Just what we needed to coax people out of their houses, right? So there we vendors were, in a very nice and cozy little venue, with customers who were hiding in their houses.

Eventually, the call of nicotine drove me outside. I walked up and down the covered (fortunately) deck that runs along the west side of the building while I smoked. Gannetts were flying out of the water, their long necks straining against the wind. Some of my ashes flew into some poor hapless spider's web, and I hope for the spider's sake that's not the only snack in there. The sea lions were barking and grunting under the pilings of a fish processing plant two piers over, and the wind-driven echoes produced the acoustical effect of a sea lion opera house.

The mist and the fog were so thick that the WA mountains across the river were totally invisible, and the huge Astoria bridge disappeared in a wisp somewhere in the middle of the river. The river itself had swells running on it, like the sea, and the gulls were dancing on the gusts.

Wound up not making much money, especially after I bought a wild elk-antler thing from another vendor, but hell, it was fun anyway.

Astoria Photografpix

Astoria, Pier 11, Craft Show, Christmas

Stuart Not-So-Little

2005-11-04T20:56:00.000-08:00

Back to the weather. The weather is amazing in Astoria. In New England, where I was brought up, weather is a very big deal. In L.A., there is no weather. Weathermen/ladies are just news-fillers when there aren't enough brutal murders to keep the general population quivering in their boots ... vacuous talking heads declaring doom in shrill voices because there's a 10% chance of rain. It's good to be back in real weather again.

In my email this morning there were about five weather alerts for high winds and flood watches. I looked out the kitchen window, and it must have been between monsoons, because nothing was happening.

This afternoon, while matting a truck-load of prints in front of the kitchen window, it was a weather side-show. It got black, and it poured sideways. Then the wind kicked up, and the huge tree in the neighbor's yard was doing the mambo. Everything stopped. The sun came out, and I could see all the way across the river. Clouds started rolling down the river, and you could actually see the rain-line obscure the hills across the way as the storm moved east. Then, inexplicably, it started to hail pea-sized pellets for about five minutes. The sun came out again, another monsoon with wind blew in and shook the back of the house, then more hail. All in a period of about 2 1/2 hours.

Fabulous show, but unfortunately, the area rats decided that my basement was a good place to wait it all out. One side of the house is still old cardboardy stuff that the Victorians put up when the house was built, which I haven't had the chance to replace yet. Of course, it is full of holes, so the rats come scampering in. They won't come upstairs because I have cats, and I don't hear them in the walls, but they are paryting hearty in the basement.

They are truly brazen little buggers. When I went down to get some canned goods this afternoon, three of them were having a tea party on the bottom cellar stair. They scooted off when I started down, and the coast seemed clear when I got to the shelves that hold the canned goods. I reached in for a can, and could see a slight movement just to the left of my hand. It was a rat, hanging his head over from the shelf above, looking at me upside down, twitching his whiskers at me. Actually, he was rather cute for a rat, a rather larger version of Stuart Little. I know, I know Stuart Little was a mouse. So a rat could be Stuart-Not-So-Little, perhaps.

So I read up on how to get rid of rats without leaving a wake of furry mangled bodies, and the old cure is apparently cotton balls soaked in peppermint oil placed strategically everywhere they come in, and everywhere they like to hang out. Now the trick is to find some peppermint oil out here at the edge of the earth. And it has to be the oil, not the extract, because apparently the extract makes them drunk. Just what I need, a basement full of drunken rats, cavorting in the canned goods.

My large dog is having a grand time with the rats, and he would be very disappointed if I actually manage to send them on their way. He loves to go lunging down into the basement and be a fearless rat-hunter, leaving a trail of squeaks behind him. He would not know what to do with a rat if he actually caught one, but to him, the fun is all in the chase. This is the same dog who is terrified of wind, hail, or any weather (he was brought up in L.A.). So when he gets anxious, I just send him to the cellar to go on rat-patrol.

The weather is quiet at the moment, and so is the dog, who is snoozing between anxiety attacks and rat-chases. So I will take this opportunity to sneak off to bed early before the weather changes again.

Astoria Photografpix

Astoria, Astoria weather, rats, rats in basement, peppermint oil

Slippery Slopes

2005-11-02T20:43:00.000-08:00

This is the story of Slopes (as in Slippery), a shining beacon to the artisty of con. Slopes is also appropriate because it rhymes with Snopes, the family of Faulkner novel/short story name, who were infamous for their greed and lack of scruples.

I was visiting the house before moving up this last January, and hired him on a referral to fix my back yard, which is a mass of mud that is sloped at a 45 degree angle. He had all sorts of grand plans to shore it up, make it terraced, add little waterfalls to divert the underground streams that flow through it, and build a dog run for the doggies. It all sounded just lovely, and there were little diagrams, and official-looking estimates, etc. I gave him a deposit and went back to L.A. trying to be hopeful.

Then the bills started rolling in. Crashing in, actually. Exorbitant bills for labor, and sweat-inducing bills from local hardware and supply stores. I asked for photos of the progress, and got lovely emails back showing photos of parts and pipes. I asked him to be a little more forthcoming with the photos, and oh, no, he couldn't do that, it's a surprise. It was a surprise, all right, one of many. And by the time I arrived after the moving-drive up from L.A., I was in no mood for surprises.

The day we were leaving L.A., at noon, the guys who were helping us move told me that the trucks were full. By 1 PM I said, "I don't care what's left, we are LEAVING." There were expletives in that sentence, and I will leave them to your imagination. Be creative, there were a lot of them.

My pal, whom I'll call Mimi, drove the 15' truck. B, my partner, drove the 25' truck, with 1 cat in the cab. I drove my SUV with 5 cats and anything else that could fit into it. I had a cell phone and a walkie talkie. B had a walkie talkie, and Mimi had a cell phone. So I was at the end of the caravan, and the designated communications director.

The first day was fairly uneventful. The cats stopped squawling after a couple of hours, B went off onto a wrong freeway and we had to wait for him to discover he was lost and come back, and I handled the squabbling between Mimi and B fairly well. One would call me to complain about the other, and expect me to relay the message. By the end of the trip, I had both the cell phone and the walkie talkie turned off except when I had something to say, but that's another story.

We made it north of Sacramento on the first day, but on the morning of the second day, got turned back at the Siskiyou Pass. We had to backtrack 2 1/2 hours, cut over to the 101, and go the rest of the way north on the 101. In the winter. Rain, sleet, snow, ice, fog, mist, slush, 6 pissed off cats, and B and Mimi screaming at me to scream at each other.

By the time we reached Astoria at 9 PM on the third day of the drive, we were all homicidal. And there was Slippery Slopes, out in front to greet us. The front yard looked great, even at night. It was the only thing that looked great.

He was supposed to paint the floors an umber sort of color. I opened the door, and the floors were flourescent salmon. Salmon??? I am so glad it was dark so I couldn't see the back yard that night.

In the morning, I really almost had an old-fashioned dropsy attack. Break out the smelling salts, Bertha, she's going to hit the deck. The back yard was full of garbage! I mean real garbage ... rotting hay, bags of festering fast food, rotting trees, twisted wire, loose pipes, bottles, cans, discarded scraps of wood, and many completely unidentifiable objects in varying states of decomposition. The so-called dog run was a maze of rotten plywood of assorted sizes, and simply boggled the imagination. THIS was where all that money for labor and materials went? A 45 degree angle VERY EXPENSIVE garbage dump?

Meanwhile, Slippery Slopes was backing and filling, and spewing forth enough absolute bullshit to overcome even the mighty pipes of the Manhattan sewer system. He would fix it! He would complete the work! He would make it right!

Well, the man with a mission got caught on a mission, and off to jail he went before he could get anything done. Not that he was really going to do anything other than talk a lot more, anyway. Then he got out. More promises. Then he went into rehab. Then he got arrested again. There were even more serious charges, involving minors. Oh well, the upshot of it all is that he is in prison. Society, and my back yard, are safe in the interim, I trust.

Ah, the first letters from prison were replete with pleas for forgiveness, and exclamations on how he found God, and he is saved. I often wonder if prisons have boiler-plate letters available to the inmates so they can fill in the blanks and send, since they all sound so alike. The second letter, after all the nicey-nicey stuff contained a plea for some papers related to the job he did in my back yard. He wants to impress the prison officials that he was truly a gainfully employed member of society with the invoices he wrote out for me.

Well, I didn't answer the first two missives, after all, he swindles me and I should help him con the prison board by sending him the very invoices he swindled me with? Oh please, grow a brain. Then along came the third letter. No more pleas for forgiveness, no calling on God to save his scrawny ass, nope none of that. This one was a demand for the paperwork, threatening me with a subpoena if I don't comply. Interesting.

No, I'm not complying. And I've written my comments all over the originals of the invoices so if they do subpoena them, they will do him more harm than good. It's hard to imagine the wreckage he has caused in the lives of those around him throughout his life, as he has no conscience whatsoever.

And that's the end of the story of Slippery Slopes, the Snopsian sociopath. For now, anyway.

Astoria Photografpix

Astoria, con artist, fraud

Halloween Ain't Happening Here

2005-11-01T21:35:00.000-08:00

Halloween is a total bust in Astoria. I had enough candy to feed a squadron of rug-rats, and I will become diabetic once I finish it all off.

I was napping around 5:30 when the doorbell rang for the first time. I had been up all night the night before with my large oaf of a dog, who has decided he is afraid of high winds. 120 lbs. of quivering cowardice. After I went upstairs to bed the night before Halloween, he jumped the gate at the bottom of the stairs, and charged upstairs several times to pant and scratch at the bedroom door. I finally had to go downstairs and sleep on the couch to keep him company. But despite all my efforts, he paced frantically around the couch, which sounded like a buffalo stampede on the wood floors, and slurped me every third turn around the couch to make sure I was really there. I dosed him with doggie tranquilizers around 2 AM, which reduced him from pacing, to walking, in circles, and a slobbering every 5th tour around the couch. I had to get up at 6 AM to give my partner a ride, so by afternoon, I was semi-conscious.

Anyway, when the doorbell rang at 5:30, I suddenly realized that I didn't have the candy ready. I yelled, "Hold on!" and frantically ran to the kitchen to pour some candy into a bowl, tripping over the waddling cocker spaniel, who couldn't decide if he should be barking at the front door or seeing if I was heading for food, and was all over the place under my feet. Couldn't find the damn scissors, so I ripped open the candy bag with my teeth, and galloped to the front door ... only to find my partner there, who had forgotten his keys, and needed an umbrella more than candy.

Once he got inside, I went back to my "collapse chair" and left him to handle the trick-or-treaters. All three of them.

In L.A., Halloween is a very big deal. I decorated my windows with all sorts of nauseating and grisly little tableaus weeks beforehand, packed in the goodies, and waited for the onslaught. A slow Halloween would produce about 100 trick-or-treaters, but last year I had close to 200.

Last year was strange, anyway. My grandbaby was born at 5AM last Halloween morning, so by the time dusk arrived, I was somewhere between giddy and demented. A few of my pals came over, and we sat out on the porch with our drinks and mammoth piles of candy to greet the little buggers. The festivities actually went fairly well except when my girlfriend's boyfriend mixed her drink with lamp oil instead of water. We won't get into how that happened, because even I don't really understand it, but it made for an interesting evening.

Anyway, Halloween in Astoria is not very exciting. To my total dismay.

Astoria Photografpix

Astoria, Halloween, trick or treat

Talking Tombstones

2005-10-30T21:31:00.000-08:00

The Clatsop Historical Society did its second annual Talking Tombstones event today at the Ocean View Cemetery, and it's a real hoot. Despite massive confusion on the when/where aspect, by the time we got there near 4 PM (it started at 3), there was a long line of people waiting to enter.

There were ten "ghosts" stationed around the cemetery by their respective tombstones. Each "ghost," dressed in 1800's garb, would tell their life story as the group stood around the tombstone. When one story was done, the group would move on to the next "ghost." The stories were informative, funny, and often wistful. Some characters used notes, but the best were improvised lively narratives culled from known historical facts about the person.

I had to feel sorry for the actors playing the characters. I don't know how long they had to stay out there and constantly tell their stories, but the weather was positively gothic. Grey, gloomy, and chilly, with smatterings of misty rain. I felt as though I had been plopped into a British horror movie from the '60's.

The Grim Reaper roamed around in his flowing black robes, having a grand old time. As the "ghosts" told their stories, the delighted/scared shrieks of small children could be heard in the background as the Reaper would scare their pants off and send them running to grab their parents' legs.

Several people brought their dogs. I swear, in Astoria, people bring their dogs to the damndest events. Not a problem, I suppose, except for the grounds-keepers, who will be busy cleaning off the crapped-on markers I saw probably until next Halloween. But it did add to the whole bizarreness of the event to have dogs and children romping around through the tombstones.

Congratulations to the Clatsop County Historical Society (http://www.clatsophistoricalsociety.org/). All in all, a very interesting, creative affair, and I'm really looking forward to going again next year!

Astoria Photografpix

Astoria, Astoria history, Halloween, Talking Tombstones, tombstones, Clatsop County Historical Society

If You Don't Like the Weather, Wait 10 Minutes

2005-10-28T20:44:00.000-07:00

Since it is Margot's last day here, we decided to head on out to Cannon Beach and Ecola Park. It was sunny in Astoria when we left the house. The second we hit the Warrenton Bridge just outside town (on the end of the peninsula), the sky turned black, a squall blew in, and it poured teapots and tablespoons.

Two miles south on the 101, the sun came out, and the rain switched to a misty drizzle. Not bad at all, so I took the Sunset Beach turnoff for one last drive on the beach for Margot. The first clue this was a bad idea was there was nobody there, and not a car in sight. But ever the adventurers, we plunged forward onto the sand, heading for Gearhart.

By the time we had gone about a mile, it was clear we couldn't turn around, which would have been the best option. The wind picked up to about 60 MPH gusts, the sand was blowing by, the surf kicked up giant waves, and the sky started going black again. Then it started to rain.

The car was rocking and sliding along, the tide was coming in. Margot said, "We DO have the cell phone, don't we?" Great minds think alike, as I was really hoping the cell phone was working in case I had to get us towed out of there. And already pondering how embarassing that phone call would be to make. I mean, what kind of idiot would be driving on the beach in a 2-wheel drive car in that kind of weather? Just this idiot, apparently.

As I white-knuckled my way down the beach, we came across people on horseback. So we weren't the only lunatics out there, after all.

Fortunately, I found a turn-off before Gearhart, pulled off the beach, wiped the sweat from my brow, and lit a cigarette. Margot was delighted with our sandy jaunt, and said she was "just as happy as if we had good sense." We headed back to the 101. Where it was sunny. Go figure.

Passed through Seaside uneventfully, with a few small rain storms hitting us on the way to Ecola Park. I'd never been into Ecola, but I had been warned about the park road, which is very narrow and winding, and up and down, and seems to go on forever through the forest primeval. Margot's one comment on that was, "Really, I'm so glad YOU'RE driving."

But the view at the end of the road makes that drive worth every turn. It is a staggering vista of ocean crashing on rocks. As soon as we pulled into the parking lot, big surprise, the wind kicked up like crazy, making the sea spray turn to mist around Haystack Rock and the other out-croppings. Very impressive, like a Japanese painting.

After lots of ooh-ing and aahh-ing, we moved on to Indian Beach. Another vista of heavenly ocean/crashing surf/craggy rocks. And lo and behold, more lunatics! Out surfing. In gale force winds, 50 degree air temp, and I don't even want to think what the water temp was.

From there, off to Cannon Beach. Where it monsooned like a waterfall. Back to the 101, and yup, it was sunny again. Hit two more rain storms on the way home, started crossing the Warrenton Bridge, and there was the beautiful and welcoming south hillside of Astoria, glistening in the sun.

We rested and regrouped at the Ship Inn, and ate huge orders of fish and clams. No visit to Astoria would be complete without a viewing of the Goonies, so off we went to the movie rental store. Margot got a good giggle out of seeing all the sights she'd seen around town in the movie, and a good time was had by all.

As for the other side of the river in WA, the land deal is off. No septic test had been done by the previous interested buyers, and now it would entail a winter perk test to check and see if the land could handle sewer drainage. For $250, holes would be dug, and the water levels would be checked into the spring. Nope, no thanks. So I'm still looking for that piece of land over there.

Astoria Photografpix

Astoria, rain, weather, driving in bad weather

Long Beach Peninsula Redux

2005-10-25T19:52:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we drove back to the lot I want to buy. This time I was prepared, and had on hiking boots, so I trudged into the great unknown. I got about halfway in, after almost breaking my neck several times, then decided to head back to the front of the lot at the road. Finally got almost to the edge, only to discover that I couldn't jump the trench to get out of there, so it was back through the brush. The blackberry bushes were in clumps, but had trailers all over the ground that kept tripping me and/or untying my shoes. It would take a serious-sized tractor to clear a path through that mess.

And yes, there is forest! Even a somewhat dilapidated fence separating the properties, which leaves about 40' of the lot in deep woods. Went into the woods, too, which were considerably less treacherous than the so-called "cleared" part. Forest primeval, and all that good stuff. Love it.

Then we drove all the way up Sandridge Rd. as far as it would go, then up the little access road ("lions and tigers and bears, oh my!" ran through my head) to Leadbetter Point. Where there is, amazingly, no view of anything but trees. So much for visions of sweeping ocean vistas. Great bathroom, though, which in my opinion, is a very important thing.

Then we hit the northern-most houses on the peninsula, which are on the ocean side, and drove around on the sand a bit. I just can't seem to get enough of that driving-on-sand thing. The ocean was doing its usual roaring, and the gulls and snowy plovers were scampering about following the waves. The beach was full of stranded jellyfish, and some strange rubbery plastic-looking things I've never seen before. Will take one to a local fisherman to see if he can identify them.

Then we drove south, about a block in from the beach. Last time we were in the area, about a year ago, there were a few houses. Now the place is swarming with houses. Lots that were inexpensive last year are outrageous now, and worse yet, you're supposed to pay association dues even on an empty lot. And I hate to think what will happen when the tax assessor finally catches up with those folks. Forget it!

The elusive Daisy (the seller's realtor) sent me an email saying she'd send more info about the lot yesterday, then dropped out of sight again without a peep. Got a call from my realtor this morning, and he's still checking out the info. Even HE had trouble finding it. Everything hangs on whether or not a septic system can be put in. If one can't, it's not even worth buying as an investment, he says.

He said something else interesting ... that I shouldn't count on a city sewer system for at least 20 years, if then. There's no infrastructure out there on the peninsula, and no industry aside from oystering, so therefore not much of a tax base for expensive things like sewers. In other words, it's about 50 years behind the times. Which I'm thinking is a good thing in a lot of ways, after 22 years of struggling in choked up, filthy L.A. Oh well, time will tell.

It's raining saucepans and ladles. It's raining so hard it can't even go sideways like it usually does. This does not bode well for vending at the cruise ship landing tomorrow.

Astoria Photografpix

Astoria, Long Beach Peninsula, buy land, Washington

Land Baroness

2005-10-23T09:41:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I got this grand land urge, i.e. the urge to own a chunk of land of my very own, to squat on, ignore, have picnics on, whatever. Okay, I already have a house, but the back yard is a swamp sloped deeply enough for skiing if there were any snow around here. The front yard doesn't exist. Plus, I thought it would just be a nice little investment to have a piece land somewhere.

The "somewhere" turned out to be on the Long Beach Peninsula. Which is probably folly, since one major tidal wave would likely wipe the place out. But, silly me, that just adds to the adventure/risk factor. Of course, I don't have a lot of money to play around with, here. Actually, I shouldn't do it at all, but that never stopped me before. My Grandpa was a bit of a speculator, and I must have more of his genes than I realized.

So I found this funky piece of land out there on the WA MLS, called the seller's realtor at around 1:30, and said I'd be out there at 3:30 or so to look at the lot. She was busy with clients till then, so she thought that was fine. No names here, so I'll just call her Daisy (no, it's not even remotely close to her real name).

Pal Margot (still visiting from KS) and I trundled over the bridge and tried to find the lot. We drove and drove, up and down, and back and forth, and couldn't find the damn thing. Called the realty office, and explained the problem, and the receptionist looked it up and said, "Oh, no wonder, the street it's on is listed wrong." Uh, okay. So she gave me the RIGHT street, and we finally found it.

Daisy told me there were septic issues, as it would be very expensive to put one in because the lot is too low. Hell, I didn't care, I'm not going to build on it anyway. And if I ever could afford it, by then the city sewer might already be there. But when I got to the lot, it was actually higher than the ones around it. Huh?

We drove down the road it was on just to see where it went, which is essentially a few miles into nowhere. That probably explains why there was a rocking car with a bobbing bare butt in the back window at the end of the road. As we whisked out of there to avoid disturbing the tryst, we saw a truck being driven very fast to the lovers' location. Disgruntled husband? We were kind of disappointed we wouldn't be around to see the impending drama.

So Margot and I went for lunch & a toddy at a local joint to wait out the realtor, who was STILL busy with clients, even though it was now 4 PM. At 4:30 I called Daisy from the joint, and said hey, if you want to show the land to us yourself as you requested, it's getting kind of late! Nope, still busy, writing an offer, come see her at 5. It was starting to get dark, and had started drizzling. I think she must have been hand writing that offer in Sanskrit it was taking so long.

At 5 PM, Margot and I went to the office to try to roust her out. Still busy with the clients, but two guys were in the office, and they tried to help with more info about the lot. Not easy, since confusion reigned ... the file was lost, the street address was wrong, and the plat map number on the listing was wrong, too! Huh? What's going on here?

We finally found the right plat map, as having been there, I knew exactly where the lot was, and the next issue was size. How big is the damn thing, really? They guessed on it from the guide on the map, and told me if I really want to know, go back out there and pace it. Pace it? Okay, fine. Nothing like self-serve property hunting. Daisy looked up long enough from her clients to say the lot was totally cleared, which I found rather disappointing, since I would love some trees, and I was assured there were no boundary markers to go by.

So Margot and I went back to the lot, and in the drizzle, I paced it out. Very interesting. Not only do there seem to be actual border markers, but the property also appears to go several rows into a forest. I have to wonder ... has Daisy actually ever even BEEN to the lot?

Since Daisy has not been very forthcoming (her poor seller!), and getting information about the lot is like the proverbial pulling-of-teeth, I've hired my own realtor to represent me and find out what the hell is really going on. Gave him all of the correct info, since the only thing right in the listing is apparently the MLS number. The mystery will unfold in due time ...

Astoria Photografpix

Astoria, Buying Land, Long Beach Peninsula, Washington

Drivin' Legal

2005-10-21T22:18:00.000-07:00

Been here in Astoria for almost a year, but the significant other, who hereafter will be designated as B, had not changed his license from CA to OR. Heavy sigh. He was working in the canneries, and they didn't care where he came from, or who he was ... they just wanted a warm and willing body. But the season is over, it's time to look for other work, and suddenly the driver's license ordeal loomed on the forefront. B studied the driver's manual assiduously, and took the two online tests, and he was READY to head out.

I have been to the Astoria DMV several times for various things, and I was usually the only person there except the clerks. Oh no, not today. As we walked in the door and took our little number ticket, like at the deli's in NY, the ticket said #64. They were currently waiting on #40. Huh? I was feeling like I was back in L.A., which is a very bad thing.

So I left B inside and went outside to chill out, have a smoke, and wait it out. Then I heard it. A leaf fell to the ground. That wonderfully wispy Fall sound. Then I noticed the sound was all around me, and the air was crisp, clear, and clean. Young's Bay was bright and reflecting the sun, and looking glorious. Suddenly the DMV ordeal was irrelevant.

I am Fall-starved. After 22 years in L.A., which has no seasons to speak of except Brown and Green, this Yankee girl is now going ga-ga over experiencing fall again. There are real trees, and they actually have leaves that change color and fall to the ground. The only time palm trees shed is when they drop a large frond, and if you are lucky, you won't get bonked on the head by it.

One fall in L.A. I was just so nutty from lack of seasonal change, I attacked a huge palm tree in my side yard. I got out an old saw, and hacked off a bunch of lower limbs. Just wore myself out, and got scratched to a bloody mess by the damn things. There was a huge pile of debris to show for my efforts, which I then stomped on and crammed into the garbage bin, cussing, swearing, and bleeding the entire time.

Walked into the house and called a pal to see if she wanted to go out for a few beers to celebrate my "fall cleaning" escapade, and she said, "Are you in the house? Have you checked your hair and clothing for recluse spiders and rat droppings?" Uh, no. Threw my shoes and all of my clothes out into the yard. Shower time.

The following years, any time I got a "fall cleaning" attack, I hired this fearless Mexican guy who shimmied up the tree, pruned it up to the top, AND hauled away all the fronds. I really don't ever want to see a friggin' palm tree again.

I digress ... back to the DMV. B got his license, and is now an official Oregonian. We celebrated in true Oregon style, and went for a long drive on the beach near the tide line. There was hardly anyone around, and with two-wheel drive, it felt like we were driving on ice. The gulls were swooping, or tearing away at hapless wriggling crabs, or just stalking around and ignoring us. The wind was crisp and clean, and it was a grand drive. What a great way to live!

Astoria Photografpix

Astoria, DMV, Drivers License

Oysterville and Sand Dollars

2005-10-20T21:24:00.000-07:00

My friend Magot, from Kansas, is visiting, and I thought we ought to do a few of the must-see touristy things. So I took her for her maiden voyage across the Astoria bridge to the Long Beach Peninsula. She's had knee replacements, so trudging up to Cape D or down to North Head was out of the question. So I decided to take her to Oysterville and Nahcotta.

In Nahcotta I saw the sign for the Port of the Peninsula, turned down the road, and brought the car to a screeching halt. I have not seen big piles of oyster shells like that since I was a child on the shoreline of CT. It was an almost visceral nostalgia jolt.

I pulled all the way in and just stood there, staring at the oyster shells. It was the strangest thing ... almost like a homecoming. An oyster boat was out on Willapa Bay gathering oysters, and that was a huge treat, too. It was a lovely gray day, and the water was very calm. I was so interested in how they did it, with a big basket sort of thing. In CT the oyster boats lowered huge rakes over the side to gather the oysters.

Fortunately, I had my camera with me, and got lots of interesting shots, which I will be working on for the next week or two.

Up in Oysterville, there were three raccoons just plopped on the front steps of the oyster sales place. One of them stuck his tongue out at me, and I had my camera in my hands at the time. It's a fun shot.

Oysterville is very beautiful, but so desolate. I can't decide if the desolation makes it more beautiful, or makes it a little creepy. Whichever it is, it's an interesting spot, visually, and I need to go back there more often.

The whole peninsula is like a throwback to the CT or MA shoreline in the 1950's. I hope it flourishes, but not in the same way, or it would be as ruined as those two shorelines are. Although neither MA or CT has tidal wave evacuation route signs all over the place ... a big drawback for investors on the peninsula, I would imagine. I find the tidal wave threat a little menacing, but interesting at the same time, in a weird way.

Today I took Margot down Lewis & Clark Rd. to Seaside, then back up the 101, where we stopped in Gearhart for her "ocean fix." I only have a 2-wheel drive car, so I had never ventured out on the beach.

I parked at the edge of the beach, got out, picked up a sand dollar for her, and wandered around a little. Margot wasn't sure if she could walk on sand, so I felt a little guilty. I kept thinking that she really needs see the water up close, as she hadn't heard or seen the ocean in years. So finally I said to hell with it, and drove out onto the sand. I drove the car about a mile up and down the beach just above the tide line, and she loved it. So did I!

Every time I think I've settled into a little rut here, some sight or sound just astounds me. There's something new and wonderful every day.

Astoria Photografpix

Astoria, Oysterville, beach, Long Beach Peninsula, Washington

Windblown

2005-10-16T23:01:00.000-07:00

The cruise ship was supposed to arrive at 9 AM. Okay, I cut it a little close, but I figured arriving down at Pier 1 by 8:30 would be fine. We just needed about 5 minutes to unload the car to get it back outside the security gates before the ship arrived. It's all about Homeland Security, etc., that no cars be on the dock when the ship arrives. I'm not terribly sure just who this is supposed to protect ... us from the cruisers, or them from us, but that's just the way it is.

Arriving at 8:30 sounded very good in theory, but as we hit the intersection of Bond St. & Marine Drive at just about 8:35 AM, there was the cruise ship, just about to dock. I am not prone to panic attacks, but I was on the verge of one, anyway. After all, I had paid my hard-earned $35 to vend on the pier, and had a car full of tent, photos, tables, chairs, etc., and I really didn't want to think I had been dumb enough to be late for an early arrival.

All was well, however, as the ship had not yet docked by the time we hit the gate to the pier, and we did unload in about three minutes flat, so at least that crisis was resolved. However, things did not brighten from there.

My significant other had to take the car to pick up someone, so there I was on the pier with all the tent-stuff, and a stiff breeze immediately blew up. I would swear it was waiting for me if I didn't know better. I actually got the tent semi-assembled when a gust blew by and blew the whole top of the tent off. Not a good omen.

Fortunately, my fellow sturdy marketeers came to my rescue. We had to start from scratch, and between the four of us, we got the tent up, top intact. Bungee cords and clamps were brought forth in profusion, and as much stability as can be established in a gusty wind was established.

Then the rains came.

When the tourists finally poured off the ship, they were greeted by some rather unpleasant weather, but cheerful marketeers. It is difficult to be cheerful when you are wet and cold and windblown, but I think Oscars should go to all of the vendors. And special mention should go to the SweaterHead Hat lady, who pulled me through the day with a wonderful hat.

Not a successful sales day, by any means, but it makes me wonder ... if the Port of Astoria wants us to vend down on Pier 1 and welcome the cruise ships, perhaps they should do something to welcome the vendors! We need wind-breaks of some kind. Our tents, while festive looking, are only aluminum and canvas, which is no match for a 45 mph gust of wind. We have cement blocks and buckets to tie down to, but the frames of the tents get torqued in the wind. Especially those of us (like me!) who are at the end of the line on the west side!

At the end of the day, fortunately, a huge bowl of won-ton soup and a few beers at the Golden Star defrosted me. I was even able to move my fingers again after about fifteen minutes.

My cocker spaniel is snoring at my feet as I write, and I think he's setting a good example. I think I'll bundle up under some quilts and do some serious snoring myself.

Astoria Photografpix

Astoria, weather, wind Cruise Ship, Sunday Market, vendors, port

Cruising

2005-10-14T19:38:00.000-07:00

Spent most of today, and will probably spend most of tomorrow, getting prints ready for the cruise ship coming in on Sunday. Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined myself sitting on a pier in a 10x10 tent, in the wind and sometimes-rain, vending photos to cruising tourists.

Even so, it is a truly majestic sight to see the ship coming up the Columbia River and docking. It may even make the discomfort of being out there in the cold worth while.

Which makes me wonder why, when it's taken so long to attract these cruise ships to Astoria, anyone would even THINK of allowing LNG terminals on the Warrenton peninsula. Aside from terminals being potential terrorist targets, and destroying wetlands, why would anyone think it's desirable to disrupt river traffic?

I can't help but think that these beautiful cruise ships, whose visits are so hard-won, would have no desire to stop here when the primary view will be of eyesore terminals. Not to mention, they will probably have to disrupt their schedule to get past all the sentries, etc., around the terminals to come in to dock.

The whole idea of cruise ships coming to Astoria, I was told, was to attract new blood. It is hoped that the cruisers will see and experience Astoria, and want to move here, and/or open businesses here. The town is so beautiful, and the people so friendly, I think it's a pretty good plan.

But who's going to want to move here to get a view of some unsightly tanks? I just don't get it. I don't see how you can attract people when you build an eyesore to greet them.

For now, anyway, I will just enjoy the view before it gets ruined.

Astoria Photografpix

Astoria, Calpine, LNG

Ah, Astoria

2005-10-13T21:24:00.000-07:00

Ah, Astoria. Been looking for a place like Astoria for a long time, i.e. a coastal village, preferably centered around fishing. Okay, so the fishing industry isn't at full tilt like it used to be, but it's still here, and that's all that matters to me.

After being brought up on the CT coast in a lobstering/oystering village, then living for 22 landlocked years in L.A. (don't ask me why, I'm not sure myself), finding Astoria was like returning to my roots. A pal once called me a "rootless root-seeker," and he was probably right. But no more!

I remember a good friend asking me, while I was in the process of moving to Astoria, how I could leave L.A.? I won't go into the potentially hundreds of reasons, and they didn't occur to me at the time, anyway, but all I could think of off the top of my head was, "I don't want to die in L.A." Then I realized that was so fundamentally true that it might be the pivotal reason after all.

Another biggie, aside from not wanting to croak in L.A., is that I wanted to get back to photography. There's nothing to photograph in L.A. except people, which is totally unacceptable, and I'll explain more about that in a minute. You can't shoot still lifes, or landscapes, or damn near anything ... the sun is so intense it bleaches everything out or hides it in shadows.

For many years after I first arrived in L.A. I worked for a marvelous lady photographer who specialized in shooting very upscale Bel Air cocktail parties. She was a terrific photographer in that genre, probably the best I've ever seen. She had a wonderful knack for making her subjects comfortable, and composing them very artfully.

I worked in the darkroom at first (I was a master B&W darkroom technician), then gradually began helping on the photo shoots. All of which made me realize I should stay the hell in the darkroom.

My last photo job in L.A. (after the lovely photographer I initially worked for retired) was of a wedding, a second marriage for both partners. I was hired by the bride. Such restraint, being only on husband number two, is positively inspiring by L.A. standards.

I took zillions of photos, presented them with the photo album, and the newly wedded wife declared she loved them to pieces. When she got back from the honeymoon a month or two later, she decided the photos were just awful, BUT ... she wanted to keep them all, but also wanted a total refund. I won't repeat here what I said to her, but it did involve several expletives, some of which were rather graphically creative. Fortunately, I had already cashed her check.

After her phone call, I stood up, grabbed all of my cameras and various equipment, and stuck them in a closet. Where they stayed for over ten years. To this day, I will NOT do photography of people. Family, and my animals, being notable exceptions, since none of them are in any position to whine or complain. My cocker spaniel, for instance, has NEVER asked for retouching, nor has he insisted he only be shot from his "good" side. He's so easy, he has never even demanded a make-up consultant.

Which reminds me of a job I did for the marvelous lady photographer when I was mainly doing the darkroom magic routine. The wife of a famous TV star (no, you don't need to know whose wife it was) had a passport that was about to expire. But they were going to be leaving the country shortly, and she needed a new passport photo. Pronto. And this was back when passport photos were primarily black & white.

She hired a make-up artist, a hair stylist, a manicurist, and God only knows who else showed up to pamper and spoil her through the photo shoot. This photo had to be GOOD, since passports were good for ten years.

I developed the films, and printed several different passport-sized photos. Which, back in the day of enlargers, was no easy task. The prints were hand delivered, and the lady in question went into a complete tizzy. I would not be surprised if smelling salts and a team of herbalists were needed to get her through this horrendous crisis.

OMIGOD, she looked OLD (meaning over 30 in L.A. terms). Well hell, she was 60 at the time. I was rousted out of bed to reprint those passport photos to make her look the age she thought she should look, never mind that passport photos are supposed to be accurate. I ended up fuzzying them a little with a nylon stocking between the enlarger and the paper, and that apparently worked quite well. But the whole escapade was an exercise in stupidity.

Okay, I will now stop ranting about L.A. But I'm sure you get the idea of how a photographer, or any creative person for that matter, would just quit whatever creative field they were in rather than deal with fools. The place literally sucked the life out of me.

About 5 years ago, I started fooling around with digital cameras for my own amusement (the old SLR's are still in a closet, even now). And then I came to Astoria. There is just no end to the amazing things to photograph here. I got inspired again, finally, and the result is Astoria Photografpix.

I started taking normal every-day photos at first. But they looked so blah to me, and didn't really show how I was seeing these wonderful scenes here. Besides, anyone with a throw-away camera can do a halfway decent touristy type shot.

So I started enhancing the photos, as a whim at first. Each image took on a life of its own as I would go through stages to alter them to make visual records of how I see Astoria. And that's what my images are ... they show how much I love Astoria, and how I see it in my mind's eye.

I was surprised and delighted by how well the images were received. My first day at the Sunday Market I was in abject terror of what would happen. I had never sold a "digital art" photo before in my life, much less something as personal as my vision of Astoria. I won't even go into the trials and tribulations of setting up a 10'x10' tent for the first time.

I've really rattled on, haven't I? Oh well, enough for now ...

Astoria Photografpix

Astoria, photography, Los Angeles