Beach Birds and monsters

Sometimes, the greatest of ideas become the worst of ideas. Having found myself turned into a lobster, I quickly discovered the beach umbrella at the local grocery store. “This could work” I thought, snatching it up for myself like a gluttonous pig in a cupcake shop.

Eager to put that little treasure up, I went straight to the beach, snapped it together and screwed it into the sand. Viola.. Instant perfection.

But then again, nothing is ever perfect. Neither is weather. Obviously, ignoring the gusting wind blowing ferociously off the ocean I proceeded to plop out my things in a neat arrangement under the shade of my giant red umbrella.

I opened my book and began to read, while feeling extremely proud of this new found comfort I had successfully created for myself. Without warning, as these things usually happen, the giant umbrella snapped itself loose from the pole still screwed into the sand and began to flip and roll across the beach like a paper sack. It managed to flip itself right into the lap /stomach of a woman sunbathing with her elderly Mother and Aunt who happened to be visiting from Connecticut.

I’m of course chasing behind the giant red bohemeth of an umbrella, now lumbering in somersaults worthy of an Olympic medal. I, of course can’t catch the red tumbling megalodon anymore than they can stop it’s unwanted invasion upon their relaxation. Spirited and kind, these women managed to grab a hold of the beastly creature disguised as an umbrella, although I think it might have been something they sell to make fun of tourists with.

The elderly mother quickly says, “I’m fully Vaccinated” and I reply “Yes, so am I” and think, this is what our world has weirdly become. Nevertheless the oddity of the conversation didn’t stop her from helping me wrangle that bucking bronco back to my, now disheveled things. Pissed at this monster I had created but couldn’t hide, I beat it into a ball and shoved its unruly red canvas into its easy to carry case and pitched it to the side.

I certainly couldn’t allow such a hideous contraption to ruin my perfect afternoon, so I proceeded to play it off by straightening my things and picking up my crumpled book.

Peacefulness isn’t always something I have experienced and it wasn’t then either, because the man who runs the umbrella /chair rental business for the hotel made no qualms in walking past me to say, “Those umbrellas aren’t meant for this wind, someone’s gonna get hurt” as if his umbrellas were somehow better or his intelligence keener than mine as the tragedy had already happened and he hadn’t bothered saying anything until it had already occurred. So, I’m thinking, “OK buddy, suck some sand” when low and behold the wind Goddess reached out and plucked one of his golden umbs from the sand and launched it in a tailspin.

“karma is I bitch I hear” I mutter under my breath, but I could have screamed it, he couldn’t hear me chasing his massive blue umbrella, now spinning like a vaulted spear, towards the pool.

Returning to my book, ignoring the spectacle behind me, I settle into a few good pages before I hear racket to my left. A large builded, old man of retired age has begun setting up his lawn chairs, practically next to me. His buddy, (Gerald) and two unnamed grandma ladies, show up talking as loud as lawn mowers running diesel. They begin to argue about what the concrete structure to the side of us is, although only a hotel with bad 1970s architecture, they yell about what it must be, never even considering that it might be a hotel.

Try as I might, I attempted to continue reading, but the noisy elders decided yell talking wasn’t sufficient enough in decibels and turn on music from a phone or small device one of them has carried with them. That only creates one more thing to cause them to yell at each other whilst sitting in their matching fold up chairs, all in a a row like roosting birds on a lone wire.

Gerald, loudly announced over his wife’s now humming, that the other man and his wife will be responsible for buying dinner and they did care what they ate, after which the other old man yells “What!? I can’t hear you”

His wife yells the repeated words of Gerald before he says “Okay, I ain’t got nothing to do so it’s no problem”

At this point, I have decided between old yelling grandparents, attacking umbrellas and a vicious sun that is hell bent on cooking me alive, my best bet is to seek refuge on my balcony.

I didn’t mention that I purchased some cute sodas in glass bottles did I, with no bottle opener, well I did. And, determined to open one left me with two split open, bleeding fingers and no bandages. So, I’d say that today was extremely adventurous and full of whimsical Follies designed to make me laugh, except, I’m not laughing.

I’m not crying either, but I did give the chair/business guy the stink eye and smiled nicely to the old birds who seemed perplexed at my departure.

Tomorrow is a new day and a new adventure, but one that will not begin with a monstrous umbrella named Goliath asshole.

Thank you for reading ❤️

Lucky is the Lobster

The disease has begun. The transformation is upon me. I have yet to relinquish wearing my bra, thank God for small miracles. And, I still have put on my make up, but mostly because it’s required for me to receive the specialized SPF formula in my lovely Estee Lauder foundation. All of which could potentially be threatened if the disease takes over fully.

I can’t exactly say when I contracted this, but my guess is sometime in the wee hours of the morning it must have slipped in under the door and found its way into my slumbering head. It has rendered my rational thoughts into one’s with no logic given the full understanding of what ocean sun does to pink white skin.

I am fully aware of these things and you would think in my sane mind the first trip to the store wouldn’t be for just deodorant or a new tank top. One could assume the intelligent action would be the one that provided me with a bottle of sunscreen. Unless of course, the disease had already perverted my thinking and beckoned me to sit upon the beach, unprotected like a hormonal teen on a first date.

The disease rotted my brain into believing I wasn’t getting burned or turning into something altogether, different. I started out the day as a woman and it is now with great confidence I can say with absolute, I’m no longer a woman, but a lobster.

A very largish, black haired and slightly feminine lobster. That’s right. Lobster. There’s no imagination in this as figurative speech, but in actuality a real lobster. I have been turned from white pink to blustering red in a matter of hours. It’s not that I mind the color, but I must say, it doesn’t quite match the estee lauder foundation color of “Pebble” and even if it did, my eyeshadow is all wrong. I’m not sure if I have acquired a keen sense of swimming yet, or even if lobsters swim at all given the opportunity. But, I shall not chance it today and opt for more lobster discovery tomorrow when the sun is highest in the sky.

I do hope it’s not lobster season as I’m not quite interested in finding myself flayed out on someone’s dinner plate either. I do think that might hamper my discovery adventures. I don’t think I’d be a great catch anyway, I’m rather large for most stock pots so I’ll have to pray this will keep me safe longer than if I were a wee smaller size.

Besides, if I remember correctly lobster is often tough and chewy. Who wants to eat that for a premium…although from the looks of it, lots would.

I should have only hoped for ever becoming one of those Floridan hobos, but instead, I’ve become a creature worthy of an aquarium. Perhaps this is the greatest folly of them all.

Thanks for reading ❤️

Floridan Follies, Hobos and Retirees

When I use the word Hobo here, it’s by far a completely different definition than the Obispo Hobo. Florida Hobos aren’t actually homeless although they might appear as such. These particular hobos have traded in their luxurious shopping carts and hiking backpacks for a bike or even a walking stick. The Florida hobo almost never wears clothes, if any, trading outerwear for darkened brown, leathery skin just as worthy as a cowhide is to a pair of fine shoes.

The strong scent of coconut oil and suntan lotion replaces the usual noxious stench of body odor coming from the typical Hobo. These hobos play in the day as if there is no tomorrow to only retire to a fancy hotel, condominium or retirement retreat in the evenings for a little needed R&R.

Women of all body types, but mostly ones that would make any self conscious girl feel better, slather on sunscreen smack dab in the middle of the beach as if no one is watching, carefully applying the creamy concoction to every single part of their bodies by merely shifting their suit to one side or the other. In my opinion, it might have been easier done and perhaps with more privacy in the confines of their hotel rooms. However, this is not the way in which it is done here, and for reasons I haven’t figured out being that I’m the only person fully clothed.

The aging Florida Hobo seems to have lost all sense of awareness when it comes to modisty. The men ride their senior bicycles in nothing but wind shorts just shy of being daisy dukes. The sheer ability to keep their jewelry tucked up is a complete mystery, but one I’m unwilling to investigate further. The granny’s have slightly more self awareness than the retiree male by wearing a few more articles of clothing, but only because it’s prohibited for women to go around topless. They have traded lofty cardigans and floral dresses for short mumus and skirted swimsuits. They sport those suits like Sundays best while walking small, manicured dogs down the lush sidewalks covered in flowering hibiscus bushes.

Lizards run about as if they own the places and some as large as small cars. If anyone could think a rat could make me scream, they haven’t witnessed my encounters with iguanas. They are horrific events that nevertheless leave other people around me stumped by my inability to stop screaming like a complete and utter psycho. Especially, if that particular, horrifying Iguana, does nothing but be the lizard it is by merely staring at the screaming freak in his solid, unmoving stance.

There are other predators here than just an Iguana. Large pterodactyls that everyone here calls a pelican, swoop and dip over my head as if I might be their next snack while beach hobos appear unaware of their pesky existence. Fortunately for me, I have an umbrella which completely tricks this bizarre Dino bird into thinking I’m furniture, furthermore eliminating me as prey. Thankfully, I’ve been spared.

Unfortunately, I haven’t been spared from viewing the young girl in her late twentieth who decided to pretend she were a bond girl by bending over abruptly in the midst of a crashing wave to dip her brassy yellow hair into the ocean and then flip her head back in a rendition of an old Bo Derek move from 5.0. She took that move as a que to look for anyone watching. Pleased with herself, the young woman decided to turn from the salty heaven and run, bouncing her body around as if she had just become Pamela Anderson in Baywatch, giving all of unlucky spectators a few laps to gather it all in.

The other strange folly comes from the strongest urge to take a nap or pass out right where I’m sitting as if I had been slipped a roofy in my morning coffee although I would have been the only person to do that and, I certainly did not.

For now, I shall return to reading my book and keeping a watchful eye on the Pterodactyls I know want to devour me whole all the while burning my skin as if I were toast.

Thank you for reading ❤️

Obispo Chronicles

Hobos.

By definition, Hobo is a homeless person, tramp or transient. Although, I’ve never heard anyone in a nane calling fight use hobo in place of tramp. However, I might remember that definition about the Hobo word. And, try it out one day if I just so happen to run into a situation where I might need to throw out “You trashy Tramp” and incert “You trashy Hobo”.

In light of a Hobo, I’ve made several observations this week, which brings me to this very thoughtful conclusion. There are several types of Hobo varieties. Don’t be alarmed.

Today, for example was a young Hobo giving himself a sobriety test across the crosswalk. Clearly, a good samaritan. He took it upon himself, to check his ability to drive his shopping cart in a safe manner without having to be pulled over or ticketed. We call him the go getter.

Then you have the out right crazy, that’s the one who is either male or female and chooses to randomly talk gibberish to no one, or anyone, but seemingly no one in particular. They are often dirtier, smell and stay to themselves. Usually they are seen with a deck of cards for some rumy or solitaire.

Next in line, The day jobber. This is the man or woman, but women particularly like this one best, unless of course it’s a dude with a cute dog. They sit at intersections, stop signs, red light and under passes with signs announcing some mean to their end, covid, divorce, lost job, traveling needs gas. They usually appear clean, and have shoes of a decent nature, indicating their day job Hobo is paying off.

In this demographic, there are mostly white or Caucasian hobos. I have seen no Asian, Hispanic or Black hobos. And, although they exist I’m sure the Asian hobo is as rare as a unicorn. But, then again, I don’t actually know.

Back to the variety. The mid class hobo. This is the one who has been lucky enough to score a shopping cart in which he or she can shove their rolling house down sidewalks and dead center in the street to only wave a fist if you politely honk for him to move because he has forgotten the roadway isn’t a good place to stop and trim your toes nails.

The upper Hobo not only has a shopping cart but the luxury of a county issue blue or green tent. He or she keeps it tucked inside the shopping cart for easy travel or has set up under an over pass, near some orange trees in case of a light snack later. This hobo is very territorial and doesn’t particularly want lesser hobos entering their “gated” community.

Sad sap. This is the hobo that puts on the most pathetic face, the one where they appear beaten down by the hand of God and shunned from ever entering heaven. They hope to guilt you for their sad shunning and foil a 5 spot out of you before that light turns green. The typically have a card board sign with an equally pathetic message proclaiming some horrible circumstance in which they have been given the worst possible outcome in the history of the world. They vary from a little dirty to ąlot dirty and even clean. It’s a crap shoot.

Trash master. This hobo is the one who pretends to be a city worker with a walking stick and garbage bag. He or she, mostly he, picks up trash while giving merry salutations to drivers whilst picking up trash and cleaning for some unknown reason. They usually wear suspenders and have a shopping cart or wagon hidden near by.

All of these hobos are ones I have witnessed personally and in multiple settings so that I could make a pattern in their behavior enough to formulate this post. These are not figments of my imagination but real hobos. I have not posted pictures as not to invade privacy but if in the future I should have the permission of thus said Hobo, I shall post a photo for viewing.

There are many more hobos and some in a genre all their own but I do find them fascinating, especially the good samaritan type. I equally like to be a good samaritan and give them the obligatory guilt money just in case it’s Jesus undercover or they actually need the money for food or some good weed. Either way, I do my part whilst observing.

I hope you enjoyed reading about Hobos and will join me in the future for further things of interest.

Thank you for reading ❤️

Snowwhite & the ocean oh toahs

Elephant Seal, aka oh toah. Along hwy 1, California

The world is filled with surprising moments that even for myself, I am easily dumbfounded. I’ve always had this uncanny ability with animals and when I was young my Father often referred to me as Snowwhite. That ability hasn’t changed now that I’m plenty grown up. In most cases they just appear to me, out of the blue. Sometimes, they show up as if I called them upon doing my thing in their environment. I’m not doing anything in particular, just being. Weirdly, they will almost appear tame and have even attempted to come up to me.

Typically, I refrain from those interactions as much as I want to touch, I know it’s harmful for a wild animal to have human friends, but nevertheless I’m often touched by this encounter. There’s something humbling about being in the presence of something wild and beautiful. But, even more so when it chooses you for whatever reason to find safe. There curiosity about me is mutual as I’m curious about them too. The eyes truly speak volumes.

My husband, unbeknownst to myself has almost the same gift and when we married in 2017 it became this overwhelming experience where no matter where we went or what we did we always had animal visitors showing up. I can’t say I know why or what they are thinking, but both my husband and I are in awe most of the time.

Upon traveling for my husband job which is what lead us to California, we found a lone stretch of the coast line. The elephant seals are known for the area but typically reside in certain area. However, we took to the beach. It wasn’t a perfect day as far as sun goes. It was rainy looking, cool and windy. It made it perfect as far as not seeing any other people exploring the area we had found. In fact this area was one dedicated to a certain bird. So, to say we expected finding one of these little oh toahs would be a farse.

We walked a good distance down to the beach from the road, which was deserted. Immediately, I spotted shells to collect and began gathering some for my pocket. I took a few photos before we decided to venture further down away from the rocks and then when we spotted this little guy. We almost didn’t see him there. Seals blend in pretty good with nature except for those big round eyes looking back, that’s when you know it’s not a rock.

This area wasn’t far from where they live but also not a normal place for them. There weren’t any other seals near by and being that this one was clearly a young one, it did appear strange. Although, neither of us know much about seals. We were so exceptionally close and not because we invaded his space but because we didn’t really see him until we were on top of him.

It looked at us probably in the same way we were looking at it, with curiosity. We watched each other and although I was concerned it might be frightened, it didn’t appear that way. It seemed at ease and comfortable and that gave me the opportunity to take a photo and say sweet words to it. As usual, they always appear to enjoy my speaking to them, and so did the little seal.

We moved away from him to give him space and the lityle guy made an effort to watch us as it made its way to the water and jetted off to some magical place seals frolic. However, just the warmth in its eyes is enough to be incredibly grateful to see him so closely without disturbing his safety or ours.

I’m super grateful to have so many amazing experiences and even more so with the greatest love of my life. It’s a beautiful thing to get to share these moments with another person. It’s a beautiful world and every moment is precious. I’m happy to be able to have had so many where I can just be in the moment and enjoy some little aspect that is as enchanting as it is divine.

I love those seals. They touched my heart like most animals do, but they really captivated me. And, they are such a fun backdrop to an already beautiful place, but somehow they made it even more special. Magical in a sense. I am beyond elation that I’ve had this experience and I look forward to even more strange animal encounters in the future.

Thank you for reading ❤️