Anyone who knows Alma knows that only a fool comes between her and Christmas. So when she said to me that this year she would be making a "beach tree," I just saluted and said "Yes ma'am." And now for the backstory: Alma and I do not have many Christmas traditions of our own except for one very special one. Because Alma is highly allergic to conifers, she cannot have a real tree. If there is going to be a tree, it must be artificial. Or man-made. And thus has developed our one tradition that each year Alma makes a different tree.
One year, for example, Alma made a tree completely from origami. Another year, she took coat hangers and unbent them, then refastened them in the shape of a tree with lights strung on it. It's always something I look forward to, seeing what type of tree she will come up with and what I will be expected to do to help make it happen.
I'm not too sure exactly what this year's tree will look like. In fact, I'm still a little sketchy on the details. But I know it will include sea shells for ornaments and a starfish for the top piece. And something about plastic cut into the shape of seaweed leaves. I just go "Uh-hunh" and trust that, as in years past, this year's tree will turn out awesome.
This is all by way of saying that yesterday we walked on the beach looking for beach material that could be turned into a tree and accompanying decor. So in addition to looking for seashells for ornaments, Alma also was finding beautiful pieces of sea glass, in various colors. On the walk southward from the Washington Blvd. Pier, the ocean had thrown up many pieces of sea glass almost as if it had anticipated that Alma would need them for her tree and holiday decorations.
While we were walking south, I noticed in the distance several small birds skimming the surface of the ocean and flying in circles just beyond the point where the waves break. From past experience, I suspected that they were flying out there because there were dolphins in the vicinity. Sure enough, when I trained my eyes on the water's surface, I saw the tell-tale dorsal fins of arcing dolphins or porpoises. What was amazing yesterday, though, is that the dolphins were very close to the shore, probably no more than 40 yards out. At times, they seemed so close that, if I closed my eyes and reached out my hand, I could almost touch them.
And, goodness, there must have been 10 of them in the pod. At one point, I saw three of them emerge simultaneously from the water in unison. "It's like being at Sea World," I said to Alma, "but without the $60 admission fee and the cloying messaging." Alma at one point giggled like a school-girl. "Look at them go," she exclaimed as the dolphins skipped out of and over the water. The bigger (presumably older) dolphins in the pod would move more slowly, more gracefully, as they arched their backs and their dorsal fins. Every once in awhile, I would see a monstrous waterspout pop up from the waves as one of the pod exhaled to get a new breath. There were 2-3 young, small dolphins and they were a real treat, as they would completely emerge from the water, almost like stones were being skipped along the surface of the ocean.
Indeed, there is something incredibly magestic about seeing dolphins in the wild. While I may be projecting my own feelings onto them, they seem to exude an exuberance as they frolic in the waves. As we walked southward on an all but deserted beach, it seemed like the pod of dolphins travelled southward accompanying us. Was it mere egoism on my part to think that the dolphins were syncing up their route southward through the bay in step with Alma and my southward march? They were not doing it for anyone else because, for all intents and purposes, the beach was entirely deserted and the dolphins were performing only for Alma and me.
After a certain point, Alma made me walk 5 paces behind her so that, in my gawking at the dolphins, I did not inadvertently obliterate any valuable sea stuff with appeal to her. (This after I crunched a couple shells under foot while not watching where I was stepping.) We continued our walk southward. And then, suddenly, like an apparition from out of a fog, emerged a figure riding a one-speed bicycle on the hardpack. When he got closer, I was able to see the top hat on his head. Sure enough, it was our friend and unsung hero Josey Peters using his biccycle to pick up garbage along the beach again.
This time when our paths crossed it was like old friends meeting once again, even though we had only become acquainted these past couple months. I told Josey about the blog and that I had written a post about him a couple weeks earlier (see my November 24 post "Josey Cleans Up Our Mess" at http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=4773127468770894625&postID=9021646412030563125)
Josey promised he would read it the next time he had internet access. Because he has lost his job and is living out of his RV, he has only sporadic internet access. A friend lets him shower and store belongings at an apartment close by but Josey is one of the economy's recent rejects. He is making lemonade out of his lemon though and it is lemonade that all of southern California can drink.
When we bumped into Josey, the sun was beginning to set. "That's one of the best things about this job," he said. "The sunsets." And indeed we had a doozy. There were very few clouds in the sky, but there were a few low-slung cigar-shaped clouds right above the western horizon. After the sun had dipped beneath the horizon, those clouds seemed to catch fire, to be shining a bright orange-red color. And the effect lasted a good 20 minutes.
So I have to say I think my Christmas came early this year. Even though I am unemployed, at least as traditional economists define the term, it's not all negative -- my unemployment compensation check arrived in the mail on Tuesday (a couple days late because of the Thanksgiving holiday) and with these checks I am able to maintain our basic expenses. And, because I am not cooped up in an office or factory all day, I get to see these magnificent displays put on by Mother Nature.
To those of my regular readers, I am sorry I missed a day in posting. Alma's laptop finally crashed once and for all, so she and I have been sharing my laptop. We had a couple scheduling hiccups with it yesterday, so I am only now able to post this latest report. Alma and have reached a modus vivendi of sorts and take turns with the sole remaining laptop an hour at a time. So I should be able to resume regular posting forthwith.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
The Universe's Indifference
Early in Dickens' Great Expectations, the young narrator Pip is thinking about the escaped convict Magwich whom he has encountered earlier that day and who is now on the run somewhere out on the marshes on a cold winter's night:
I have had a similar epiphany when looking out at the ocean. The vast expanse of water tends to naturally propel my thoughts away from the trivial and mundane and toward the more philosophical and profound. To the question "What was I put on this planet to do?" the Pacific responds with a resounding, "Don't care." The waves will continue to pound the sand regardless of any action I take and long after I am gone.
Now the universe's response of overwhelming indifference can push one towards either despair -- what's the point? -- or towards a greater self-reliance -- it's on me to determine my destiny. In my case, I find myself frequently vacillating between the two poles. When I start by saying that, because the universe cares not one whit what I say or do and so it is on me to determine my own destiny, the slapping waves remind me that, when all is said and done, nothing I say or do will make much of a difference one way or the other.
These are age-old questions -- they have been around since Marcus Aurelius and probably long before he wrote -- but there is something about being down at the ocean that brings out the armchair philosopher in me and stimulates deep thoughts. For just as I realize that the universe indifferent to the fate of man or even of mankind, looking at the ocean makes me realize also how insignificant I am in the cosmos. As a grain of sand to me, so I am a grain of sand to the cosmos.
The quote from Great Expectations acquires an even more ironic flavor as the novel continues, because the story is really a bildungsroman, a coming-of-age narrative of a Victorian 'gentleman' who becomes that only by virtue of having a secret benefactor (the convict Magwich who, after having been transported to Australia, becomes incredibly wealthy and uses the attorney Jaggers to become Pip's 'benefactor'). As Pip grows into adulthood and decadent gentrification -- he's the first Yuppie in Anglo literature -- his essential aloneness and isolation become all the more evident. The stars gaze down on Pip with no help or pity. And only Joe, simple Joe, continues to love Pip even after his essential human vacuity has revealed itself.
When we look to the cosmos to validate our existence, we look in vain.
And then I looked at the stars, and considered how awful if would be for a man to turn his face up to them as he froze to death, and see no help or pity in all the glittering multitudePip's epiphany -- that the universe ("the stars") is indifferent to man's fate -- has this brutally stark quality to it. The stars care little about any one individual's fate. What makes this little vignette so remarkable to me is that, at this point in the novel, Pip is still a little boy.
I have had a similar epiphany when looking out at the ocean. The vast expanse of water tends to naturally propel my thoughts away from the trivial and mundane and toward the more philosophical and profound. To the question "What was I put on this planet to do?" the Pacific responds with a resounding, "Don't care." The waves will continue to pound the sand regardless of any action I take and long after I am gone.
Now the universe's response of overwhelming indifference can push one towards either despair -- what's the point? -- or towards a greater self-reliance -- it's on me to determine my destiny. In my case, I find myself frequently vacillating between the two poles. When I start by saying that, because the universe cares not one whit what I say or do and so it is on me to determine my own destiny, the slapping waves remind me that, when all is said and done, nothing I say or do will make much of a difference one way or the other.
These are age-old questions -- they have been around since Marcus Aurelius and probably long before he wrote -- but there is something about being down at the ocean that brings out the armchair philosopher in me and stimulates deep thoughts. For just as I realize that the universe indifferent to the fate of man or even of mankind, looking at the ocean makes me realize also how insignificant I am in the cosmos. As a grain of sand to me, so I am a grain of sand to the cosmos.
The quote from Great Expectations acquires an even more ironic flavor as the novel continues, because the story is really a bildungsroman, a coming-of-age narrative of a Victorian 'gentleman' who becomes that only by virtue of having a secret benefactor (the convict Magwich who, after having been transported to Australia, becomes incredibly wealthy and uses the attorney Jaggers to become Pip's 'benefactor'). As Pip grows into adulthood and decadent gentrification -- he's the first Yuppie in Anglo literature -- his essential aloneness and isolation become all the more evident. The stars gaze down on Pip with no help or pity. And only Joe, simple Joe, continues to love Pip even after his essential human vacuity has revealed itself.
When we look to the cosmos to validate our existence, we look in vain.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Barefoot in the Sand in November
As it happened, the weather cleared up enough on Saturday and yesterday so that Alma and I could walk on the beach rather than return to the Westside Pavillion. I vastly prefer walking on the beach to walking inside a mall, so I am afraid my follow-up weekend report on the Pavillion may have to wait until the next weekend we have inclement weather.
The weather both days was cool and windy. These are steady winds blowing in from the northwest (off the Pacific) or from the northeast (the so-called Santa Ana winds). And, when the sun goes behind the clouds, it can get quite chilly. A portion of the western sky fills up with long cigar-shaped cumulous clouds. However, the clouds do not solidly fill in the sky so there are occasional breakages in the sky when the sun shines.
Watching the play of light and shadow on the waves and on the sand as these clouds move across the sun's face is but one subtle sign of beauty for those with eyes to see. When the clouds obscure the sun, the air grows noticeably cooler and the sea wind seems to bite a little more deeply. Ah, but when the sun emerges from the clouds, the renewed warmth hitting the skin feels doubly good for having replaced the chill.
Alma typically wears a long-sleeve shirt, light sweater and hooded sweatshirt and sweatpants. In one of our trips to the mall, we bought her a new pair of boots at Old Navy and she has taken to walking the sand in those. I started with a short-sleeve t-shirt and sweatshirt and sweatpants. But it has become so chilly that I have now upgraded to a long-sleeve t-shirt, sweatshirt and light jacket (and sweatpants). I usually wear sneakers or walking shoes.
Well, yesterday, the sun had been out for an extended enough period that Alma decided to try walking without her shoes. She tested the waters (or the sands) first by putting her hand down onto the sand and discovering that it felt warm to her touch. So she took off her boots and, placing the socks inside them, gave them to me to carry in the recycling bag.
For the most part, walking barefoot in the sand worked perfectly for her and she did not complain about her ankles bothering her. However, on the return walk from the Villa Marina jetty, the sun slid behind a cloud for a fairly lengthy time and Alma was at the point of putting her boots back on. But, as has been the case so often these past few days, the sun slid out from behind the cloud and we finished the walk in glorious warm sunshine.
The weather both days was cool and windy. These are steady winds blowing in from the northwest (off the Pacific) or from the northeast (the so-called Santa Ana winds). And, when the sun goes behind the clouds, it can get quite chilly. A portion of the western sky fills up with long cigar-shaped cumulous clouds. However, the clouds do not solidly fill in the sky so there are occasional breakages in the sky when the sun shines.
Watching the play of light and shadow on the waves and on the sand as these clouds move across the sun's face is but one subtle sign of beauty for those with eyes to see. When the clouds obscure the sun, the air grows noticeably cooler and the sea wind seems to bite a little more deeply. Ah, but when the sun emerges from the clouds, the renewed warmth hitting the skin feels doubly good for having replaced the chill.
Alma typically wears a long-sleeve shirt, light sweater and hooded sweatshirt and sweatpants. In one of our trips to the mall, we bought her a new pair of boots at Old Navy and she has taken to walking the sand in those. I started with a short-sleeve t-shirt and sweatshirt and sweatpants. But it has become so chilly that I have now upgraded to a long-sleeve t-shirt, sweatshirt and light jacket (and sweatpants). I usually wear sneakers or walking shoes.
Well, yesterday, the sun had been out for an extended enough period that Alma decided to try walking without her shoes. She tested the waters (or the sands) first by putting her hand down onto the sand and discovering that it felt warm to her touch. So she took off her boots and, placing the socks inside them, gave them to me to carry in the recycling bag.
For the most part, walking barefoot in the sand worked perfectly for her and she did not complain about her ankles bothering her. However, on the return walk from the Villa Marina jetty, the sun slid behind a cloud for a fairly lengthy time and Alma was at the point of putting her boots back on. But, as has been the case so often these past few days, the sun slid out from behind the cloud and we finished the walk in glorious warm sunshine.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Writer's Block
Today I cannot come up with any subject which engages or inspires me.Typical case of writer's block. Alma has made two great suggestions (messages left in the sand and the Southern California phenomenon of flakes), but each of these leaves me uninspired for the moment. I am the type of writer who must allow time for subjects to germinate before I can harvest their fruits. So you shall see writing at some point about sand messages and about flakes. But not quite yet.
I have also tried circling back to Thoreau's Walden. But I must confess that this time around I have begun to find Thoreau's flowery style a bit tiresome. For some reason, the charm I so fondly associated with the book from my undergraduate days seems sorely lacking this time around. So, needless to say, I have not found any topics in Thoreau recently that compel me to write or serve as a springboard to my search for a suitable topic.
The weather has again turned cold and cloudy, so I think there is a fairly good chance Alma and I will eschew the beach today and return to the Westside Pavillion for our daily walk. I want to compare the WP mall today with what I saw earlier this week during the week. This is also the first Saturday following Thanksgiving, so I will be curious to see how frenzied the activity is there.
But writer's block is a serious matter for me. I know there are many things I could be writing about, but no subject agitates me to the point where I feel I must write about it.
I have also tried circling back to Thoreau's Walden. But I must confess that this time around I have begun to find Thoreau's flowery style a bit tiresome. For some reason, the charm I so fondly associated with the book from my undergraduate days seems sorely lacking this time around. So, needless to say, I have not found any topics in Thoreau recently that compel me to write or serve as a springboard to my search for a suitable topic.
The weather has again turned cold and cloudy, so I think there is a fairly good chance Alma and I will eschew the beach today and return to the Westside Pavillion for our daily walk. I want to compare the WP mall today with what I saw earlier this week during the week. This is also the first Saturday following Thanksgiving, so I will be curious to see how frenzied the activity is there.
But writer's block is a serious matter for me. I know there are many things I could be writing about, but no subject agitates me to the point where I feel I must write about it.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Thanksgiving at the Beach
Today is the Thanksgiving holiday. Alma and I made the customary feast (rotisserie chicken, au gratin potatoes, stuffing, green bean casserole, sweet potatoes cranberry sayce and chocolate pecan pie). More accurately, I made the potates and stuffing, Alma made the green bean casserole and sweet potatoes and we bought a pre-rotiseried chicken from Ralph's Grocery Store. Yum. But we had to do penance for our over-indulgence, so it was off to the beach for us.
The windy weather I wrote about last week has for the most part abated and, while the chilly temperatures remain, we were blessed today with an absolutely cloudless sky and exceptionally clear skies. The Santa Monica bay is framed by the Santa Monica mountains to the north and north west. Directly east and at a greater distance lie the Sierra Nevada mountains. Today the skies and air were so clear that one could face to the northwest and then rotate all the way around to the southeast and see nothing but mountains.
The cold temperatures mean that snows have already begun to fall in the Sierra Nevada mountains and at lower elevations than customary. I could actually see the snows on the tops of some of the mountains in the Sierra and pointed it out to Alma while we were walking.
It being Thanksgiving, I gave some thought to what I had to be thankful about. I came up with three specifics: I'm thankful that I'm married to Alma. If you have taken the time to visit her website (http://www.almasartasylum.com/), you have seen the beauty she has created where none existed before. I actually get to live with that beauty every day. It's like waking up each day in the Louvre Museum. I am so blessed.
I am also thankful that we had saved enough money that this most recent bout of unemployment has not really meant any serious dislocation for us. At least not yet. When I think about how bad some of my fellow Californians have it, I am again truly blessed that Alma and I continue to enjoy a high degree of financial security.
But the thing I was most thankful for, as I walked along the beach, was that I had all five of my senses. Today, I valued most highly smell and taste at home and sight at the beach. But really, I shudder to think how much poorer I would be if I lacked any of the five senses.
I am thankful that I have the beach to walk on every day the weather allows.
The windy weather I wrote about last week has for the most part abated and, while the chilly temperatures remain, we were blessed today with an absolutely cloudless sky and exceptionally clear skies. The Santa Monica bay is framed by the Santa Monica mountains to the north and north west. Directly east and at a greater distance lie the Sierra Nevada mountains. Today the skies and air were so clear that one could face to the northwest and then rotate all the way around to the southeast and see nothing but mountains.
The cold temperatures mean that snows have already begun to fall in the Sierra Nevada mountains and at lower elevations than customary. I could actually see the snows on the tops of some of the mountains in the Sierra and pointed it out to Alma while we were walking.
It being Thanksgiving, I gave some thought to what I had to be thankful about. I came up with three specifics: I'm thankful that I'm married to Alma. If you have taken the time to visit her website (http://www.almasartasylum.com/), you have seen the beauty she has created where none existed before. I actually get to live with that beauty every day. It's like waking up each day in the Louvre Museum. I am so blessed.
I am also thankful that we had saved enough money that this most recent bout of unemployment has not really meant any serious dislocation for us. At least not yet. When I think about how bad some of my fellow Californians have it, I am again truly blessed that Alma and I continue to enjoy a high degree of financial security.
But the thing I was most thankful for, as I walked along the beach, was that I had all five of my senses. Today, I valued most highly smell and taste at home and sight at the beach. But really, I shudder to think how much poorer I would be if I lacked any of the five senses.
I am thankful that I have the beach to walk on every day the weather allows.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
The Decline and Fall of American Consumerism: The View from the Trenches (Part III)
The weather remaining cold and windy yesterday, Alma and I decided to venture a little further afield to the Westside Pavillion at the intersection of Pico and Westwood Boulevards. The WP is quite a bit more upscale than the Westfield Culver City mall I described initially. For one thing, there is no Target, no Old Navy and no Best Buy at the WP. Instead, the WP is anchored by a Nordstrom's and, in lieu of Old Navy, has a Banana Republic (the upscale relative to Old Navy and the Gap).
Likewise, the WP is connected by a so-called Sky Bridge to a Barnes & Noble and multiplex cinema. So the WP has a few more cultural connections than the purely consumer-driven Westfield CC mall. And, given is proximity to the main UCLA campus at the other end of Westwood Boulevard, the WP would seem to attract a mix of middle class academics, students and Westwood residents.
Again, the dominant feeling I had was that activity was quite muted. Now granted, this was the Tuesday before Thanksgiving and the so-called 'Black Friday' stampede. But once again, in walking by Foot Locker and Lady Foot Locker (no Kids Foot Locker at WP), I was struck by a complete and total absence of customers. Same applies to most of the specialty apparel shops. Interestingly, the one shop that seemed to be having more than a few gawkers and idlers was a local shop, 'OC Design'. The WP had only one jewelry retailer, Zales, that I could see, and like the Westfield mall, this Zales had zero customers in the 90 minutes we were walking the mall and the 30 minutes that Alma went to OC Design.
Overall, though, I would have to say that I foresee a very shabby holiday season for these retailers. Alma noted that yesterday was a weekday and that tmost people tend to shop in malls on the weekends. Alma predicts the WP will be quite busy on the weekend, but I am not so sure. We may go there this coming weekend and, if so, I will supply a 'Part IV' to this running commentary.
Likewise, the WP is connected by a so-called Sky Bridge to a Barnes & Noble and multiplex cinema. So the WP has a few more cultural connections than the purely consumer-driven Westfield CC mall. And, given is proximity to the main UCLA campus at the other end of Westwood Boulevard, the WP would seem to attract a mix of middle class academics, students and Westwood residents.
Again, the dominant feeling I had was that activity was quite muted. Now granted, this was the Tuesday before Thanksgiving and the so-called 'Black Friday' stampede. But once again, in walking by Foot Locker and Lady Foot Locker (no Kids Foot Locker at WP), I was struck by a complete and total absence of customers. Same applies to most of the specialty apparel shops. Interestingly, the one shop that seemed to be having more than a few gawkers and idlers was a local shop, 'OC Design'. The WP had only one jewelry retailer, Zales, that I could see, and like the Westfield mall, this Zales had zero customers in the 90 minutes we were walking the mall and the 30 minutes that Alma went to OC Design.
Overall, though, I would have to say that I foresee a very shabby holiday season for these retailers. Alma noted that yesterday was a weekday and that tmost people tend to shop in malls on the weekends. Alma predicts the WP will be quite busy on the weekend, but I am not so sure. We may go there this coming weekend and, if so, I will supply a 'Part IV' to this running commentary.
Josey Cleans Up Our Mess
Venice Beach has always attracted more than its share of eccentrics, and I shall write in far greater detail about some of them over the coming months. But Alma and I ran into a gentleman named Josey while walking the beach on Monday who exexmplifies the best of that eccentricity.
We first encountered Josey well over a month ago while walking our stretch of the beach but, at the time, we did not know his name or anything about him. At the time, Alma and I were in full 'trash collection' mode, picking up every discarded piece of plastic we could for her found art. One day, while walking, we crossed paths with a man who carried a black plastic garbage sack. The man wore a circus top hat on his head and had long shoulder-length straight brown hair that flowed from underneath it.
I asked the man what he was doing and he replied that he was picking up trash along the beach. I told him what Alma and I did -- that we were collecting discards to use in Alma's art. I expressed my personal gratitude to him for his efforts cleaning the beach. And there the exchange ended.
However, since then, Alma and I have encountered him at least 3 other times on our same stretches of Venic Beach, most recently on Monday. Each time we encountered him previously (prior to Monday), we had exchanged courteous pleasantries and gone our separate ways, but without knowing much about one another.
On Monday, we had begun our walk northwards from the Washington Blvd. Pier to the small breakwater a half-mile north. When we reached that breakwater, a foreign tourist standing there asked Alma to take his picture. While Alma was helping the tourist, I again spotted this same man whom we had seen before.
He was picking at various kelp piles there, removing the odd piece of paper and plastic that had gotten tangled up in the kelp and again placing them in a black plastic garbage sack. I waved at him and said a hearty "hello." This time he walked over bearing something in his hands. When he reached me, I saw he carried one of those rubbery toy snakes.
"Here," he said. "I know you two collect weird stuff for your art." He proffered the rubber snake to me.
"Thanks," I replied. I put the rubber snake in my recyclying bag. "Actually, though, my wife Alma is the artist and I merely help her with the collecting of materials."
I introduced myself and asked his name and he told me it was Josey. I next explained that I was doing a blog about our walks down on the beach while I was currently unemployed.
"Are you and your wife only staying here for a year?" he asked, referring to my blog's title.
"No," I replied. "But I sure hope my unemployment doesn't last longer than that." I explained our situation and he replied that he too had lost his job . . . working in a medical marijuana dispensary that the Los Angeles District Attorney had raided and shut down.
"I've got an RV and I'm collecting food stamps," he said. "So I've decided that cleaning the beach is the most important thing I can be doing right now. Besides," he continued, "there aren't any jobs anyway."
During this conversation, I watched his face to check for any signs of delusional thinking. I could see none whatsoever. Josey's eyes looked normal and his physical comportment had an energetic but non-manic grace. Although he was dressed like a hippy in denim jeans and a denim vest, Josey was not dressed in rags like one of the homeless waifs you'll see so often on the beach, tormented by his or her own internal demons. I finally concluded that Josey, while eccentric, is not that different from Alma and me.
But Josey is a "heroic eccentric," forged in the same mould as Henry David Thoreau. You may look at him and think "He's crazy." But I look at him and say to myself, "He's cleaning up the messes that others make and preserving and protecting our common patrimony."
And, for all I know, Josey looks upon Alma and me as harmless eccentrics too, if he thinks of us now. If so, I cannot say Josey's perception is entirely incorrect.
We first encountered Josey well over a month ago while walking our stretch of the beach but, at the time, we did not know his name or anything about him. At the time, Alma and I were in full 'trash collection' mode, picking up every discarded piece of plastic we could for her found art. One day, while walking, we crossed paths with a man who carried a black plastic garbage sack. The man wore a circus top hat on his head and had long shoulder-length straight brown hair that flowed from underneath it.
I asked the man what he was doing and he replied that he was picking up trash along the beach. I told him what Alma and I did -- that we were collecting discards to use in Alma's art. I expressed my personal gratitude to him for his efforts cleaning the beach. And there the exchange ended.
However, since then, Alma and I have encountered him at least 3 other times on our same stretches of Venic Beach, most recently on Monday. Each time we encountered him previously (prior to Monday), we had exchanged courteous pleasantries and gone our separate ways, but without knowing much about one another.
On Monday, we had begun our walk northwards from the Washington Blvd. Pier to the small breakwater a half-mile north. When we reached that breakwater, a foreign tourist standing there asked Alma to take his picture. While Alma was helping the tourist, I again spotted this same man whom we had seen before.
He was picking at various kelp piles there, removing the odd piece of paper and plastic that had gotten tangled up in the kelp and again placing them in a black plastic garbage sack. I waved at him and said a hearty "hello." This time he walked over bearing something in his hands. When he reached me, I saw he carried one of those rubbery toy snakes.
"Here," he said. "I know you two collect weird stuff for your art." He proffered the rubber snake to me.
"Thanks," I replied. I put the rubber snake in my recyclying bag. "Actually, though, my wife Alma is the artist and I merely help her with the collecting of materials."
I introduced myself and asked his name and he told me it was Josey. I next explained that I was doing a blog about our walks down on the beach while I was currently unemployed.
"Are you and your wife only staying here for a year?" he asked, referring to my blog's title.
"No," I replied. "But I sure hope my unemployment doesn't last longer than that." I explained our situation and he replied that he too had lost his job . . . working in a medical marijuana dispensary that the Los Angeles District Attorney had raided and shut down.
"I've got an RV and I'm collecting food stamps," he said. "So I've decided that cleaning the beach is the most important thing I can be doing right now. Besides," he continued, "there aren't any jobs anyway."
During this conversation, I watched his face to check for any signs of delusional thinking. I could see none whatsoever. Josey's eyes looked normal and his physical comportment had an energetic but non-manic grace. Although he was dressed like a hippy in denim jeans and a denim vest, Josey was not dressed in rags like one of the homeless waifs you'll see so often on the beach, tormented by his or her own internal demons. I finally concluded that Josey, while eccentric, is not that different from Alma and me.
But Josey is a "heroic eccentric," forged in the same mould as Henry David Thoreau. You may look at him and think "He's crazy." But I look at him and say to myself, "He's cleaning up the messes that others make and preserving and protecting our common patrimony."
And, for all I know, Josey looks upon Alma and me as harmless eccentrics too, if he thinks of us now. If so, I cannot say Josey's perception is entirely incorrect.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)