At the Zoo

We hurried west on South Carolina's  Interstate 26 from the coast noting the brilliant billboards announcing, "The Dragons are Here!". We were finally, after two years deliberation, going to visit Riverbanks Zoo in Colunbia.  The day was beautiful, the second day of summer, and though it would be warm, not the days of August's inferno.  We were surprised to see quite a few visitors.  It was shortly after opening at nine,  and we almost had to wait in line for tickets.

The information booth on the left provided us with a map, and we were on our way.  Without consulting the map we passed under the dragon advertising banner into the reptile house.  In the darkness the plexiglas enclosures are illuminated, so the snakes and other reptiles are visible.  Displays are organized geographically.  There is quite a collection of rattlesnakes which are native to South Carolina.  I am not overly fond of snakes and never would have touched one if it had not been for an incident with the Boy Scouts of America. I was an adult leader on a camping trip when I found out that if the Scouts found out you were afraid of snakes you would probably find one in you sleeping bag.  So with great fear and trepidation I handled a king snake in full view of the entire troop.  And no, I never found a snake in my sleeping bag.  The Komodo dragons were quite active.  I was expecting them to be at  least eight-feet-long like those we had seen in Phoenix, but these were only two months old and about two-feet-long.  There were other interesting lizards, also, like those funky Australian ones the have the big flap of skin that they can raise up.  There were Geckos and iguanas too.  The reptile house exits to some freshwater fish aquaria and some crocodiles.

We consulted the map and found it rather useless.  However, it may have been designed  for the XBox generation, and we just didn't get it.  There were some interesting birds in some large cages.  The macaws and toucans were easily recognized.  There was a tunnel-like structure which had small apes in cages illuminated by the sun. The  aquariums had a great selection of saltwater fishes stared at by small children. The high pitch of laughter and other sounds apparently do not upset the fish. But then where could an upset fish go?  Behind a screen of bamboo there is probably a fish therapist in a white lab coat waiting?

We wandered along the paths avoiding large groups of children and young mothers with tots in huge strollers. I've ridden in taxi cabs in Europe smaller than these kiddie haulers. There is a pond and some huge boulders in the elephant area. We saw four elephants as they appeared at feeding time. I think I felt the earth tremble a bit as these Africans hurried to get lunch. Ah, trembling earth, a burning sun, red dust, and the smell of elephant dung...life is good.  The next large animals we encountered were the giraffes; they were near a small herd of zebras.  This was a kid friendly area where kids could buy leafy green vegetation to feed the long-necked creatures.  Little Johnny paid his money and bought giraffe food and dutifully climbed up on the platform to feed the animals. But little Johnny, being little Johnny, quickly jerked the food out of the reach of the giraffe. He did this several times before the giraffe apparently got a bug up his nose and sneezed.  Little Johnny was upset and ran screaming for his mommy with giraffe mucus dripping off him. I laughed, but not too loud.  We saw koala bears in what felt like a refrigerated room, and they were playing dead with their eyes open. Actually, koalas normally move very slow to conserve energy.  Next we entered a bird cage with the Lorikeets.  They are beautiful colorful birds with parrot-like beaks.  One jumped on my extended finger and pinched my finger with his beak.  He was expecting food, which I had not purchased.  I don't believe in hand-outs.  Maybe if he had performed a trick or something he would have earned some food.

One animal we simply had to see was the mountain gorilla.  They have two silverbacks at the Riverbanks Zoo.  It was the closest I had ever been to a four hundred pound primate.  Thick plexiglas separates the viewer from the big apes.  He was laying on his back with his legs crossed chewing on a straw. On my side of the barrier was a little girl of four.  I was struck by the contrasts.  Pretty vs. ugly.  Small vs. large. Colorful vs. monochrome. Free vs. captive.

We saw the lion in  a lion-size cave, a hyena, and the statue of Happy the Tiger.  According to novelist Pat Conroy Happy the Tiger was the reason for the zoo.  Happy lived in a cage at a local Esso station as a promotional gimmick and children would feed him when their parents bought gasoline.  Some folks thought Happy should have been in a zoo, and an idea was born.  Happy was the first animal at the zoo but could not adapt to a huge living area and regular tiger food.

After some lunch we caught the tram and crossed the river to the Botanical Gardens.  The gardens are beautiful and well worth the trip even if you don't go to the zoo.

We had a great day at Riverbanks Zoo and Botanical Gardens, and I'm sure all the kids we saw had  a lot of fun too, but I'm not so sure about their parents.

Man's Favorite Dog

Today I ate my all time favorite fast food.  I may call it that but never junk food.  I'm talking about the legendary tube steak, the hot dog.  I have always loved hot dogs.  Even though I once worked in a meat processing plant in the sausage room where I processed the wieners by the thousand. I still like to eat them although I don't eat the brand that I once processed.  Indeed part of my education was learning that a wiener is a sausage and that the hot dog was invented by accident when someone sliced open a roll and put a sausage in it. Ah...such a colorful history about such a delicacy.  I am discerning in my tastes of hot dogs. While in Chicago I saw a hot dog with lettuce tomatoes and cucumbers on it. I'll take my salad in a bowl, thank-you.  They say a New Yorker never puts catsup on his dog.  There's no accounting for poor taste.  Some cover them with cole slaw, sour kraut or something else.  Most of these coverings should be considered sacrilege. And never, never confuse a wiener with a bratwurst.

I like my hot dog with a Ball Park or Hebrew National wiener. I don't eat "all-meat" wieners, they don't say where the meat comes from.  That wiener must be on a white steamed bun. It must be steamed. I like the wiener smothered in chile, with French's mustard and Hunts catsup and diced onions, but not Vidalia onions. French's mustard is bright yellow the way mustard should be and because of my political beliefs I refuse to use Heinz catsup.  The chile I make is from the recipe below that I got it from a friend who was a television videographer who got it from the station's weatherman.

Bill's Chili

• 1-11/2 lbs. ground beef (browned and drained) 
•  2T chile powder 
• 1/2 t Celery salt 
• 1/2 garlic salt
• 1/2 ground black pepper
• 1/2 cup catsup

Mix together and cook for 15 min. on low heat 

I add a touch of hot sauce  for a little bite and cook the beef in water, it falls apart better

I was selling bottles I had collected when I was a kid to the owner of what is now referred to as a convenience store.  It also sold fish bait and hot dogs and other stuff guys would need for a day of fishing on the near by lake.  I had only been there a few minutes when a big fellow with a hot dog in his hand came blasting through the door.
"This bun doesn't  have a wiener in it!" he said in a loud voice and without the customary southern accent.
Old man Parks, the store owner, stopped counting my bottles and looking him straight in the eye said, "You got what you asked for. If you had asked for a hot dog with chile instead of a chile dog you would have gotten a wiener1"

Gator be Gone.

Tony,
I don't know if you can help me or not.  I got this problem and it's kinda sensitive.  I mean it ain't really against the law...well, maybe a little bit. Anyway...

You know that little ole dawg that Darlene has, Flossie?  Maybe you remember, it's a Yorkie.  Just a lil ole brown fur ball.  And Darlene loves that dog.  I ain't complaining.  She let's me have a real dawg, that ole blue tick hound.  But she's really crazy 'bout her dog.  One time she even saved it's life.  Flossie was out by the highway an got hit by a truck. Knocked her plume out.  I thought she was graveyard dead for sure.  Darlene saw it all happen through the front window of the double wide and lit out.  She was a squalling' an running' bout fast as she could go.  I was glad nobody was around cause she had just took a shower and didn't have nothin' on be a pair of ragged shorts and her make-up. Hey, Darlene puts her make-up on before she puts her drawers on.  I lit out after her and by the time I caught up she was givin' that lil dog mouth-to-mouth.  Well, I'll be de-double dog damned it Flossie didn't start back a-breathing.  It was quite a sight.  A half-nekkid woman sitting' by the side of the road with a lil ole Yorkie lickin' the tears off her face.  Darlene might  be the high side of forty but she can still turn heads at the beer joint on Saturday night. Oh, yeah, and Flossie wore that lipstick for a month after the incident. Had to tell that story over and over.  I'm telling you all this just so you know how crazy my wife is about her dog.

We live in a double wide down here on the lake and you done fished from our dock. So it probably won't come as no surprise to you that we got gators in the lake.  And that's all right if they don't come around and scare the hell out of your wife's lil dog.  But if they do, and one did, you gotta do something. And I did.  I believe the the best solution to the gator problem was a 30-06. I shot him dead.  Didn't take but one shot.  Course I had to hide the evidence 'cause I ain't got no alligator license. I throwed a rope around his tail, jumped in that ole plywood boat of mine and cranked that 1953 Johnson.  I towed him about two miles up the lake and left em there figuring that some of his buddies would make supper out of em.  I knowed I had solved the problem and matrimonial bliss would then again enter our double wide.

But, it was not to be. Just about daylight the next morning I heard Flossie out at the dock barkin' and raisin' sand. I figured there was another gator.  But, n-o-o-o-o, it was the same one.  It had floated back to the dock over night.  So, I did the same thing agin, 'cept I went about three miles up the lake.  I was late gettin' to work at the junkyard.

Well, sir, it happened again and I don't know what to do.  Got any good ideas?  I know the people from the Department of Natural Resources can help me.  But if I call them the Game Wardens will probably put me under the jail for killin' a gator. What's I'm gonna do?

Your ole buddy,
Bubba

Once Upon a Time on the Left Coast

Today I was at the doctor's getting checked out for injuries I suffered while in Santa Barbara two weeks ago. We had a lot of fun most of the time we were there. We had arrived on Tuesday afternoon, checked into the motel, and Claudette did some laundry before we went exploring. We stayed in the same motel as we did in '07.  After the laundry was done we went down to the beach and drove along until we took a right on State Street.  We were going to the same restaurant we visited five years ago. Susie, that's the name Claudette gave the GPS voice on her phone, guided us there.  It was amazing; we were once again on State Street for market day.  Each Tuesday the city closes two blocks of State to traffic, and farmers and other venders put up their stalls for selling. It was almost a carnival atmosphere with colorful stalls, merchandise, and musicians, as well as scores of slim, tan people with sunglasses, some with bicycles. Such a cocophany of sound and color!  There were, of course, what appeared to be students handing out flyers advocating "throwing off the enslavement by large corporations".

We enjoyed our sandwiches of roast turkey with vegetables served by a slim girl in short shorts and abbreviated t-shirt.  She was slightly pierced and had Mauri inspired tattoos. I had a new beverage, a blackberry juice concentrate with sparkling water in an icy long-necked bottle. The Natural Cafe lived up to my memories, although I don't remember the small birds flying in to pick up the dropped crumbs. After eating and shopping we retired to our motel.

The next day for breakfast Claudette was ecstatic about finding a Sambo's Restaurant. They were a chain when she lived in California many years ago. On the walls hung reproductions of pages from the Little Black Sambo storybook we had as children. The Sambo's in Santa Barbara is the only survivor of the chain. Claudette said the breakfast was not as good as she remembered.  After  breakfast we kicked back in the motel, awaiting the arrival of family members from San Diego.

They joined us in our visit to the Santa Barbara Museum of Art.  It's a a very good museum for a city of ninety thousand. There was an exhibit of Van Gogh to Munch which was quite good.  I was surprised to see so many Monets in the permanent collection. There  was also a photography exhibit depicting California's love affair with the automobile. The Asian exhibit was very interesting also and was predominantly Japanese and Indian. I'm not real sure about the significance of the voluptuousness of the Indian female form. A favorite of mine was a full set of Samurai armor and a collection of  katonas. Many of the swords were short, and there was a collection of guards. Shades of The Last Samurai. 

After about two hours in the museum we ventured over to the Spanish style county courthouse, completed in 1826 and considered one of the most beautiful in America.  Its great halls are decorated with paintings of colonial California. The courthouse and its grounds are often used as a site for weddings and other events. While we were there a graduation exercise was being held.  But there was not  cannon in sight and Saint Barbara is the patron saint of cannoneers. A sign of the times no doubt?

That evening we had dinner at a tapas restaurant, Alcazar.  Although it was located in a strip mall near Highway 101 the food was outstanding. Dates wrapped in bacon and fried are one of my favorites. No one complained about this food. After an enjoyable breakfast the next morning we said goodbye to our family and headed east.

About my tumble. We were returning to the motel and were walking by the pool when I tripped and kissed the sidewalk. The tall brown Brazilian women cavorting by the pool in extremely brief bikinis had NOTHING to do with my fall. And according to the x-rays, I suffered no broken bones.

You Never Know What You'll Find in a RV Park

While we were staying at Lou and George's in the mobile home park for a few day's visit, when our host asked if we wanted to go see their son, John.  "Sure, why not?" we answered.  George drove us to the RV Park about a quarter of a mile away and across the highway from the lake. The first thing I noticed about the RVs was that many of them, if not most of them, were no longer movable. Some had no wheels or had permanent structures attached to them. George stopped the car beside one that looked as though it had been used in the movie, "Independence Day".

We were met by a man in his mid-fifties with medium length gray hair and beard. He smiled, showing crooked teeth and sparkling hazel eyes. "Hi, I'm John," he says in soft Californian.  "Welcome to my castle. Let me show you around." We step into the kitchen of the now immobile motorhome.  To the right there are curtains over the windshield and a female manikin with red hair in the driver's seat.  "That's just Margie," he says.  "I got her when I bought the motorhome after my wife of twenty-six years left me after saying that I was no longer necessary for her pursuit of happiness."

The kitchen is crammed with almost everything except cooking equipment, although there may have been a stove or refrigerator under the tools and computers and model cars. John was quick to point out a Hot Wheels car, The Red Baron, which he said was valued at $1500.  "A friend of mine restores Hot Wheels," he says, "but that destroys the value." Could toy restoration be a new fad on the west coast?

I notice a flat screen TV and ask, "You got cable?"

"No," he says, "let me show you my dish set-up." He leads us out of the motorhome and to the rear where there is more  junk, or perhaps materials to be repurposed.  There was a ten foot tower with a dish antenna atop it. "Built the tower myself," he said, "but I may have to move it.  It depends on how tall the plants grow.  My neighbor has a permit to grow medical marijuana.  The state will let you grow up to 100 plants, and that will take up this whole cleared area." He moved his arm to indicate the area between the RV park and the base of a hill.

"Really?" I ask.

 "Me and some of the guys in the park are gonna help him out with the cultivating and harvesting.  He aint't got no money to pay us, you know, but we'll get paid," he adds with a wink.  "That's the tour, but I know you came to see my boat."

We walked back to the front of the RV where George was talking with a big man whom he quickly introduced as Joe and continues talking. I overheard some electrical terms: amps, watts, discharge, and such as John led us to the ten-foot-long pedal boat sitting on a less the substantial wooden support.  But the rickety support elevated the boat to waist level to make it easier to work on. The faded red and white boat no longer had a paddle wheel or pedals.

"George had sold his boat and had the motor left and it was easy to install. I just put it in where the tiller was. It fit right in. Then we used an old broken paddle for a keel to kinda make it go straight.  When  I got SSI there was a guy in Santa Rosa who had some solar panels for sale and I bought six," John said excitedly as he walked around his creation pointing out various features. "Joe is going to help us hook up the solar panel to charge the battery, he's a retired science teacher and knows electronics."

"When will you get it into the lake?" I asked.

"Sometimes next week, I think.  You gonna be around to see it? I'll take you for a ride."

"No, we'll be back in South Carolina by then," I said.

We said our "goodbyes" in the RV park and were soon on our way through the walnut groves and vineyards in the direction of San Francisco.