Someone rearranged the beach monkeys. Or maybe they were real monkeys! An eagle was on the scene, but had no comment.
Now all the monkeys are gone, as mysteriously as they appeared. Then, while I was back east, the beach was overrun with strange, non-native jellyfish-like creatures known as Salps. Their proper name is “Thatey’s Vagina Salp”, (I am not making this up), the “little ocean vaccuums.”
The salp is a weird creature. One generation asexually reproduces, or clones itself, (the “solitary” phase) giving birth to hundreds of hermaphrodites (or “aggregates”), who then do it themselves, producing more solitaries. Glad they split town. We don’t need their kind around here.
A similar thing is going on with my roof leak. You can set up a bucket anywhere you like, but you’re better off wrapping yourself in a tarp.My problems are luxuries. The winter has been mild. Dare I say it? I’m afraid of hexing us. This is a disappointment to those awaiting dispatches of doom, but good for those of us hoping for another summer, another year.
But it is worth recalling that in 2010 the ocean waited until March 31, Juanita’s birthday, to rip down the house where my friends Ray and Juanita lived.
Now, there are houses that legitimately fall into the ocean, and then there are people who stage their garbage on the edge so it will just so happen to fall into the ocean. Yes, there’s probably some legit tsunami debris, but the fact remains that jackasses are actively dumping garbage on the beach.
Well, isn’t that just the first thing that comes to mind when you’re in the presence of the Pacific Ocean’s pristine coastline? “Hey, what a great way to get rid of my TV/ tires/ fridge/ washer/ dryer/ diapers /computer/ couch/ stuffed monkeys.”
The Dalai Lama says that one need only spend the night with a mosquito to realize that tiny beings have power. Yet it is the stupidity of my fellow human beings that makes my heart sink.
Now, let’s say somebody’s place is about to fall in, and these earnest bootstrapping folk want to recycle it and keep it out of the ocean! It sounds great.
But! Not everything has a resale value, which leads to the conspicuous dumping and burning of the leavin’s. The guy has a special fondness for burning big piles of insulation on beautiful days by the sea. It’s like a free speech thing. Try as you might, there’s no having tea with terrorists.
Will we make it another year? In Shakespeare’s “Julius Caesar,” a Seer warns Caesar to “beware the Ides of March.” (Now, this is the gig I need, Professional Seer. Like being a meteorologist in the Pacific Northwest, you just make stuff up and everyone loves it when you are wrong.) So Caesar runs into the Seer on March 15 and says, smugly, “The Ides of March have come.” Like he’s totally dodged a bullet.
Seers like to get the last word. “Aye, Caesar, but not gone.”