The steep part was over. I let go of the cable, planting my feet on a relatively level section of trail, and looked down at the beach two hundred feet below us. Deep but quiet breaths so Andy wouldn't realize how old and out of shape I was. He soon caught up with me, and I took a moment to look left and right, admiring the miles of blue breaking waves, punctuated by wild prehistoric looking rocks.
And not a living thing in sight. Well, not exactly, I could still see the cove where we came across the vultures busily devouring the carcass of an infant elephant seal.
"But why do they die? It just doesn't make sense."
"Sure it does, Andy. The young are more susceptible to
disease, accidents, random predators. You know,
survival of the fittest and all that Darwinian stuff."
"What? No, I was talking about Christian."
"Oh, Christian."
We had spent an unusually mild north coast afternoon at a new found beach access, lounging, reading and fooling around with our digital cameras. And I had done my best not to think about the death of Christian, a student in Andy's film class and the last psychology I had taught before retiring.
"No idea, Andy."
"But it's stupid, so pointlessly destructive and incredibly
cruel to others--the people like us who cared so much
about him."
I was grateful for the several hours of easy companionship with my friend but not ready to pursue this subject.
"I agree. It baffles the mind. Perhaps only someone else
severely depressed could begin to understand the
why's of it all."
Even while saying this, I knew my simplistic, dismissive answer was a crock of shit. After my father died, I had spent weeks wallowing in bed going out only to acquire more booze. But on the Sunday of my second week of hiding out from the world, I glanced beyond the shelter of my covers. My wife stood very tall before me and spoke words that were both loud and direct, leaving no room for misunderstanding.
"All right, that's it. No, I can't imagine what it's like to lose
a parent, never been there. But two weeks of feeling
sorry for yourself is enough, John. Get showered,
dressed and be ready to eat dinner with the kids in half
an hour. And plan on going to work tomorrow."
Though my wife is loving and usually quite tolerant, the forceful intervention she leveled at me that day was her greatest gift. I'll admit that I was certifiably depressed during those weeks, but at no time did I actively entertain the option of suicide. Unless maybe I was trying to do it gradually in a "Leaving Las Vegas" style--which is actually more common. Still, it bothered me that I had taught psychology for thirty some years, but when it came understanding the mindset necessary to take one's own life, I was as clueless as the young teacher behind me.
I once saw a bumper sticker claiming that "Old Guys Rule," but I have long since realized that they don't--and never will--have all the answers. Not that I was going to admit this to someone not yet out of his 20's.
"Tomorrow is Christian's memorial. Andy, are you sure
you can drive back and get everything arranged in
time?"
"Nothing I can't handle," he said, stopping to put
away his video camera.
Ah, the confidence and energy of youth, I thought. The trail was taking us up through pungent sage, sweet smelling mint and the occasional, but easily avoided, incursion of poison oak.
"Well, let me know if you need any help."
"Sure."
Then the path leveled out, and we ducked out from under the last of the shady oaks. The afternoon was warm but comfortable like the friendship that had gradually developed between Andy and me. Beyond the next stretch of chaparral, sun sparkled off my car's windshield. Death and sorrow seemed far away.
(Names changed obviously and unfinished. Still not ready to share the rest of it)
Sunday, September 2, 2012
Monday, July 2, 2012
Friday, August 5, 2011
Of Interest Only to Rock Collectors and Moonstone Fanatics
Passing through one of our fine Cambria shops recently, I was impressed by the words of the proprietor as he described the virtues of our local moonstones. Though I've been collecting these rocks for years, some parts of his pitch were new to me, and I knew there were geological "misconceptions". But I kept my mouth shut. Who am I to interfere with a hard earned sale in this economy? Most everything he said fit roughly with my knowledge of the subject, and his now enthusiastic customer was ready to buy. To tell the truth, I felt like buying a few of his moonstones myself--even though I have dozens. Talk about salesmanship!
My interest in moonstones began a few years after my wife and I bought a modest home in San Simeon. Walking the beach one afternoon, I saw a small round object nestled against a cliff. Holding it up against the rising sun revealed a perfectly rounded stone, sea-polished and near gem quality.
I took my find to a rock shop and asked them to drill a hole and insert an eyelet so I could attach it to a chain and give it to my wife. "No problem," they said. After three weeks, l finally got it back, delayed they said by “technical difficulties,” something to do with a diamond bit of proper size, the correct vise, etc. Though slightly scratched in the process, this stone has since become my wife’s favorite piece of jewelry and she will happily tell you about how I almost found it in time for her birthday.
Visiting that same rock shop recently I heard the owner talking on the phone, telling a potential customer that they could no longer drill rocks or install "screw eyelets" because they didn't have a drill. Having visited the back of the shop, I knew this wasn't exactly true. For some reason, drilling a hole in my little rock had now become too tall of an order.
Why? The “”moonstones” found on our beaches are a subcategory of common quartz known as chalcedony (same chemical composition as quartz, SiO2, but with crystals so small they are invisible to the unaided eye). This broad designation includes almost any rock capable of capturing a rock collector's attention while walking the ocean's edge: agate, chert, flint, and jasper. That's why when anyone asks me to identify a local rock, my rule is to just say "chalcedony". The only exception would be anything rough like sandstone or anything green and therefore probably serpentine, our state rock.
And don’t even get me started on how to tell serpentine from jade or jadeite. More often than not, identifying a rock is contingent on the identifier and the context. Find a green rock in a San Simeon tourist trap and it's jade, find an identical rock on the beach, take it to the proprietor of that same shop, and it's serpentine.
But getting back to moonstones, I’ve learned that “true” moonstones don’t come from around here. The “true” moonstones, the gem quality stones prevalent in the jewelry shops of Cambria, just can't be found on our beaches. Tourists, believing they are buying a a gem unique to our area, instead pay for a variety of feldspar. Though this mineral (much softer and more easily worked than the stone we locally refer to as a moonstone) can be found around the globe, there are only two locations where the real feldspar moonstone can be found in California, Inyo county (specifically, Death Valley) and the Rialto area (east of Los Angeles).
This is not to say that these non-local stones lack beauty or are unworthy of the prices tourists pay for them. Most specimens are superbly mounted, professional cut, and possess a clarity and inner brilliance (chatoiance) that is only occasionally found in our local “moonstones”. Cambria's moonstones are actually agate, a banded variety of the all inclusive chalcedony family.
But the merchant whose sales technique I admired that afternoon was absolutely correct about one aspect of local moonstones: they are unique to our beaches. Certainly, agates can be found on many Pacific beaches. An internet search for "beach agates" will reveal organizations solely devoted to finding them in areas as far north as the Oregon coast. I have studied the pictures of these agates closely. Yes, they usually display the inner banding that is characteristic of agates. None of them, however, shows evidence of the white calciferous swirling that, I believe, is unique to Cambria "moonstones". But these swirlings sadly disappear if the rock is polished for any length of time, resulting in a product about as exciting as an ice cube.
So why I am interested in a rock whose uniqueness is only skin deep? And why work with a stone that is so hard? It's a 7 on the 10 point Mohs hardness scale while feldspar is only a 5. And this explains why I'm always buying saws, grinding wheels, and drill bits—all of which are diamond coated and a tad expensive. At the businesses where I replace these tools at such a frequent and for them, profitable rates, proprietors often ask me what kind of material I'm working with. I smile and say, “beach agates”. Then they shake their heads in amusement--and happily take my money for new equipment.
In fact, some well-meaning members of a local gem club have heard about my plight and handed me free samples of stones like opal, which are so soft that I can hand shape, polish, and drill them to completion in under thirty minutes. One would have to double or triple this time when working with agates (only sapphires and diamonds are harder).
"We choose to go to the moon and other things not because they are easy, but because they are hard,” said JFK if I remember correctly. And, working with moonstones is certainly all that.
But it has been my pleasure (or curse) to work with these remarkable stones and learn how to shape them, slice them, and especially how to polish them until (with my wife's help) they became beautiful necklaces and earrings. Though everything we make and put on consignment at Cambria’s Among Friends involves local treasures, not everything involves one of these local "moonstones". But I would gladly challenge anyone to find something similar to these special pieces of agate/moonstone/chalcedony jewelry that we occasionally display there.
So not only do I persue a difficult and expensive task but I have the nerve to brag about my results. Fair assessment, I suppose.
Racking my brains for an explanation these behaviors, I have but one explanation:
Growing up, I recall many occasions when my father asked me this question, usually with a hefty amount of frustration in his voice:
"Johnny, why do you always have to do things the hard way?"
"No idea, Dad."
Stubborn in San Simeon, 8/5/11
I took my find to a rock shop and asked them to drill a hole and insert an eyelet so I could attach it to a chain and give it to my wife. "No problem," they said. After three weeks, l finally got it back, delayed they said by “technical difficulties,” something to do with a diamond bit of proper size, the correct vise, etc. Though slightly scratched in the process, this stone has since become my wife’s favorite piece of jewelry and she will happily tell you about how I almost found it in time for her birthday.
Visiting that same rock shop recently I heard the owner talking on the phone, telling a potential customer that they could no longer drill rocks or install "screw eyelets" because they didn't have a drill. Having visited the back of the shop, I knew this wasn't exactly true. For some reason, drilling a hole in my little rock had now become too tall of an order.
Why? The “”moonstones” found on our beaches are a subcategory of common quartz known as chalcedony (same chemical composition as quartz, SiO2, but with crystals so small they are invisible to the unaided eye). This broad designation includes almost any rock capable of capturing a rock collector's attention while walking the ocean's edge: agate, chert, flint, and jasper. That's why when anyone asks me to identify a local rock, my rule is to just say "chalcedony". The only exception would be anything rough like sandstone or anything green and therefore probably serpentine, our state rock.
And don’t even get me started on how to tell serpentine from jade or jadeite. More often than not, identifying a rock is contingent on the identifier and the context. Find a green rock in a San Simeon tourist trap and it's jade, find an identical rock on the beach, take it to the proprietor of that same shop, and it's serpentine.
But getting back to moonstones, I’ve learned that “true” moonstones don’t come from around here. The “true” moonstones, the gem quality stones prevalent in the jewelry shops of Cambria, just can't be found on our beaches. Tourists, believing they are buying a a gem unique to our area, instead pay for a variety of feldspar. Though this mineral (much softer and more easily worked than the stone we locally refer to as a moonstone) can be found around the globe, there are only two locations where the real feldspar moonstone can be found in California, Inyo county (specifically, Death Valley) and the Rialto area (east of Los Angeles).
This is not to say that these non-local stones lack beauty or are unworthy of the prices tourists pay for them. Most specimens are superbly mounted, professional cut, and possess a clarity and inner brilliance (chatoiance) that is only occasionally found in our local “moonstones”. Cambria's moonstones are actually agate, a banded variety of the all inclusive chalcedony family.
But the merchant whose sales technique I admired that afternoon was absolutely correct about one aspect of local moonstones: they are unique to our beaches. Certainly, agates can be found on many Pacific beaches. An internet search for "beach agates" will reveal organizations solely devoted to finding them in areas as far north as the Oregon coast. I have studied the pictures of these agates closely. Yes, they usually display the inner banding that is characteristic of agates. None of them, however, shows evidence of the white calciferous swirling that, I believe, is unique to Cambria "moonstones". But these swirlings sadly disappear if the rock is polished for any length of time, resulting in a product about as exciting as an ice cube.
So why I am interested in a rock whose uniqueness is only skin deep? And why work with a stone that is so hard? It's a 7 on the 10 point Mohs hardness scale while feldspar is only a 5. And this explains why I'm always buying saws, grinding wheels, and drill bits—all of which are diamond coated and a tad expensive. At the businesses where I replace these tools at such a frequent and for them, profitable rates, proprietors often ask me what kind of material I'm working with. I smile and say, “beach agates”. Then they shake their heads in amusement--and happily take my money for new equipment.
In fact, some well-meaning members of a local gem club have heard about my plight and handed me free samples of stones like opal, which are so soft that I can hand shape, polish, and drill them to completion in under thirty minutes. One would have to double or triple this time when working with agates (only sapphires and diamonds are harder).
"We choose to go to the moon and other things not because they are easy, but because they are hard,” said JFK if I remember correctly. And, working with moonstones is certainly all that.
But it has been my pleasure (or curse) to work with these remarkable stones and learn how to shape them, slice them, and especially how to polish them until (with my wife's help) they became beautiful necklaces and earrings. Though everything we make and put on consignment at Cambria’s Among Friends involves local treasures, not everything involves one of these local "moonstones". But I would gladly challenge anyone to find something similar to these special pieces of agate/moonstone/chalcedony jewelry that we occasionally display there.
So not only do I persue a difficult and expensive task but I have the nerve to brag about my results. Fair assessment, I suppose.
Racking my brains for an explanation these behaviors, I have but one explanation:
Growing up, I recall many occasions when my father asked me this question, usually with a hefty amount of frustration in his voice:
"Johnny, why do you always have to do things the hard way?"
"No idea, Dad."
Stubborn in San Simeon, 8/5/11
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Shaping People
Someone once asked me if I shaped my rocks before I polished them.
"Of course."
"How do you choose their shape?"
"I whisper to them and they tell me."
I was kidding.
The fact is, I start by removing rough edges, grinding away at cracks and valleys. Then it's quite obvious how to shape the rock.
Perhaps this is something like being in a relationship with a loving creator. Only He knows our shape from the start. But he gradually smooths us, patiently removing uneven surfaces until it becomes quite obvious, even to ourselves, what our perfect shape will be.
Not that I know a whole lot about the subject. Just thinking.
"Of course."
"How do you choose their shape?"
"I whisper to them and they tell me."
I was kidding.
The fact is, I start by removing rough edges, grinding away at cracks and valleys. Then it's quite obvious how to shape the rock.
Perhaps this is something like being in a relationship with a loving creator. Only He knows our shape from the start. But he gradually smooths us, patiently removing uneven surfaces until it becomes quite obvious, even to ourselves, what our perfect shape will be.
Not that I know a whole lot about the subject. Just thinking.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Celebrating Bin Laden's Death
I have only this to say:
We should celebrate the lives of good men while they live rather than the deaths of evil men after they have passed.
We should celebrate the lives of good men while they live rather than the deaths of evil men after they have passed.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Back in the Saddle--Split Assignment, Middle and Grammar School PE
Dear Dad,
So, you decided to work part time in at the coast? That’s cool.
You sound like you don’t really want to do it though? I'm sure it wont take up too much of your time so that you can still gather rocks in your spare time. I didn't think you would ever want to teach P.E., but I think that’s really cool. It was in middle school that I actually started giving a crap about being in shape. I got the presidential physical fitness award both years, and ran the fastest mile I may possibly ever run, 6:30 or something like that.
I hope everything else is well and will talk with you again soon...
Dear Matt,
The day was splendid (a word I may never have used before).
Love those cute little kids and their needy questions: could you tie my shoe? Do you think I need a band aid? (and) May I please go to the bathroom? First through third graders, something tells me you don't have to worry whether they are meeting someone to sell drugs, bust heads, or deface school property).
And just standing on the playground/grass area of a coastal grammar school was like a piece of heaven: a view of the ocean over the ridge of houses to my left, woods leading to Hearst Castle straight ahead, green hills with undulating grass to my right. You put forty kids on a field, ten in each corner wearing different colored streamers like in flag football. Then a whistle is blown and they all run madly screaming toward the middle. Imagine Braveheart done with munchkins, but they never, ever stop running. When one child loses a flag, he goes down on one knee until another student brings him a replacement (ripped from someone else). The child receiving the flag says "Thank You" and gets up to create more mayhem. I asked the regular P.E. if there was a point to the game.
"No. And yes. They run around relentlessly, burning up energy, and learn to share. Their teachers get a break to plan and consult with each other and the students return to class calmer and more ready to learn."
Made sense to me.
The day seemed long, probably because it was filled with so many new experiences. If the regular teacher's back injury doesn't get better right away, I could possibly work through Friday at around $100 dollars a day. By then I think I will break even with all the test fees and such I forked out to get back into education. Any assignments after that will be play money. Hmmm....more rock grinding and polishing equipment!
So, you decided to work part time in at the coast? That’s cool.
You sound like you don’t really want to do it though? I'm sure it wont take up too much of your time so that you can still gather rocks in your spare time. I didn't think you would ever want to teach P.E., but I think that’s really cool. It was in middle school that I actually started giving a crap about being in shape. I got the presidential physical fitness award both years, and ran the fastest mile I may possibly ever run, 6:30 or something like that.
I hope everything else is well and will talk with you again soon...
Love, Matt.
Dear Matt,
The day was splendid (a word I may never have used before).
In the morning I watched middle school students mess around with badminton rackets, admittedly a bit tedious, too much like teaching high school, always having to deal with negative behaviors. But after lunch, I was sent to a grammar school (didn't know P.E. was offered at that level) which was a real treat.
Love those cute little kids and their needy questions: could you tie my shoe? Do you think I need a band aid? (and) May I please go to the bathroom? First through third graders, something tells me you don't have to worry whether they are meeting someone to sell drugs, bust heads, or deface school property).
And just standing on the playground/grass area of a coastal grammar school was like a piece of heaven: a view of the ocean over the ridge of houses to my left, woods leading to Hearst Castle straight ahead, green hills with undulating grass to my right. You put forty kids on a field, ten in each corner wearing different colored streamers like in flag football. Then a whistle is blown and they all run madly screaming toward the middle. Imagine Braveheart done with munchkins, but they never, ever stop running. When one child loses a flag, he goes down on one knee until another student brings him a replacement (ripped from someone else). The child receiving the flag says "Thank You" and gets up to create more mayhem. I asked the regular P.E. if there was a point to the game.
"No. And yes. They run around relentlessly, burning up energy, and learn to share. Their teachers get a break to plan and consult with each other and the students return to class calmer and more ready to learn."
Made sense to me.
The day seemed long, probably because it was filled with so many new experiences. If the regular teacher's back injury doesn't get better right away, I could possibly work through Friday at around $100 dollars a day. By then I think I will break even with all the test fees and such I forked out to get back into education. Any assignments after that will be play money. Hmmm....more rock grinding and polishing equipment!
How could it get any better? I get to wear sweats tomorrow just like a real PE teacher.
Love,
Dad
Love,
Dad
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)