What the Hell Happened To Our Park?

As I walk down the muddy, donut driven to death, dirt road into the Cachagua Community Park the pungent smell of something dead nearly knocks me over. The offending, to say the least, smell is coming from the month old over flowing trash can at the entrance to the playground area. Charming.

As I wipe the dog crap from my shoe near the sandbox I watch a pitbull dangling from the rope some one tethered to the swings for just such a purpose. Nice. I'll skip the swings today. As I put some distance between me and the 100 lb "dog" I head towards the playground structure I encounter more dog shit. Lots of it all over the wood chips. The assholes around here can refrain their damn dogs from crapping in the playground area? Oh I forgot this is Cachagua...dogs are royalty out here.

Rumor has it that the church group servicing the area out here even abandoned the park for Sunday service because no one likes going into the park. Especially at night. They used to lock the gate at night, but after they fired the caretaker months ago they have yet to get a new one.

So now all kinds of creepy people come into the park. Especially one guy in a little blue car. He claims that he runs a t.v. studio in Cannery Row. He claims that he is the new park caretaker. By the way...would you like to talk to Jesus? This guy has Jesus's personal number on his cell phone. By the way he would like to video tape your kid and put him or her on tv. He'll be back in a few minutes with his video camera.

After reporting this guy to the Sheriff I decided to go home. I've had enough fresh air to last me awhile.

Santa Claus vs. God

Is there a Santa?
It's a question that children have been asking adults for years. It's a question that I have found marks the end of childhood. How you ask?
Think about it, you must remember as a child when your belief in Santa Claus began to come into question, no doubt so did your belief in the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny and so on. Big deal you say it's apart of childhood....
It is much like asking yourself well do I believe in God?
Wait you say Santa Claus and God are two totally different matters entirely. Are they? As a child..are they?
Santa lives in at the North Pole but you can't find him if you went there.
God is everywhere but you can't ever see him.
If you don't believe in Santa you'll end up on the naughty list.
If you don't believe in God you'll end up in hell.
If you don't behave Santa won't give you a gift.
If you sin God will turn you into a pillar of salt or worse.

Well when your child asks: Is there a Santa Claus?

It's simple really... yes there is a Santa Claus. There will always be a Santa Claus.

With Santa Claus in a child's life Christmas is real. Magic is real.
I don't mean magic that makes that reindeer fly or able to let Santa live at the North Pole. I mean the magic that comes from a child who truly believes.
It's the magic that glows from that child on Christmas Eve night when, for just one night, any dream , any wish, is possible. It's the magic that carries over from that child to his/her parents as they lay themselves down to sleep, knowing that for one more night their child still believes, still has hope.
The bills maybe late, the rent maybe late, last night's dinner my have been hot dogs and beanie weenies....but their child still believes.
It's the magic that fills that child's eyes on Christmas morning when that tree first comes into view. It's the magic in knowing that even if the economy sucks, dad lost his job, or the car got reposed, that there are still people out there, there are still Santa's elves out there, at the Salvation Army, the Angel Project, or Project Santa, who won't let that childhood Christmas magic die.
Why? It's is that little bit of Christmas magic.

The magic in knowing that there are still people believe that despite all in this world that has gone wrong or gone bad...that there is still good in this world.
And it is that Christmas magic that help reminds us that yes there really is a Santa Claus. There is a bit of Santa Claus in all of us. God Bless you all and have a very Merry Christmas.

California's Prop 8

I voted yes on Prop 8.

Do I hate gays and lesbians?

No. I could really care less if you are either. I don't agree with that life style but it is your right to live as such and my right to disagree with you. I stop though when it comes to transvestites, those guys are kinda creepy.

Do I think gays and lesbains have the right to "marry"?

No.
Here's why. Marriage is defined as a union between a man and a woman. That is my right to think this way and your right to disagree with me.

Do I think you should be able to have a union with your partner?
Sure with all the rights that come with that union. Just don't call it a marriage because it is not. It is my right to think this way and your right to disagree with me.

However you do not have the right to treat those who did vote yes on Prop 8 with all the hateful remarks actions and propanda that has been posted all over the news, internet etc. It does not help your cause or make you out to be kind loving people. It is a big turn off. I am not particualrly fond of mormans either but I do not try to destroy thier churchs or destory thier lives by posting information over the internet with the sole purpose of hurting someone. The same goes for the supposed 70% of the black population that voted for Prop 8. Quit saying that they are ignorant and were mislead. They can read and think as well as the next person.

The people of California voted.

You lost.

Let the court systems deal with the matter now.

Grandma, Tennis, and Fruit Cake

Even tho my grandmother passed away over a year ago, I still find her in my mind frequently. Today was no different.
My grandmother was a Valley Girl. She was one of the founding members of the Trail and Saddle Club in Carmel Valley. Some of you might have even heard her voice on the other end of the telephone when the Blood Bank needed donors.
She loved tennis. Even at the ripe old age of 90+ she would play tennis every morning followed by the prompt smoking of a pack of cigs a day. (Because tennis can be very stressful). Grandma would often watch tennis on t.v. Always inches from the set swinging her arms as if she was the one the ball was being hit too. Her tennis racket was right up there next to godliness. And was probably the most expensive thing she owned in the house. She even knew the local tennis racket repair guy's name and number by heart. Even the tennis balls she bought was top of the line. No lame cheap tennis ball was going to ruin her groove when she got her game on.

She wouldn't drive her car a night, she was afraid of mice. What does mice have to do with driving at night you ask.? Simple bats are mice with wings, and they loved dive bombing granny at night as she back her huge ass boat of a car out of the garage.
Her car was so huge she had to sit on four telephone books to see out the front window and over the hood of the car. The gas gage never worked in the car so granny would always "make an educated guess" as to when she needed gas. Which wasn't very often she wouldn't drive her car out of the village, that was her children's job. (Grandma would get lost in town).

Mostly she would drive down to the bottom of Robles Del Rio to pick up grandpa from Rosie's Cracker Barrel after he had a few to many. There she would always buy us ice cream or a huge pickle out of the wooden barrels while she piled gramps into the boat. He'd complain the whole time back up the hill about how fast she was driving and who was going to get his car home.
Towards the later years of her wonderful life, and long after grandpa passed on from this world, grandma rented a house out here in Cachagua.
She had two cats but one of them mysteriously disappeared, she was heart broken but was happy when a new kitty began visiting her in her yard. She would put food and water out for it and would often see it while doing dishes. As was no exception when I and the great grand kids were over for a visit. Grandma called us over to watch as her "kitty" came lumbering down out of woods to dine upon the food she had left out for it.
"Uh Grandma that's not a kitty...that's a mountain lion."
"No wonder he eats so much."
Oh God.
Grandma lived a wonderful life, she never forgot a birthday or holiday, and she never let a Christmas or Thanksgiving go by without cooking the family turkey dinner. She always had black olives and Frito lays with brown onion dip as snacks in her finest silver dishes in the family room. She always had enough tinsel on the Christmas tree to eliminate all visible green from the tree. After watching our drunk uncles trying to carve the turkey up with the electric knife, and recite a family oriented "grace" at dinner, we would wait up till all hours of the night for Santa Claus to arrive on the Carmel Valley fire truck with presents, never noticing or caring that Santa resemble Uncle Carl an awful lot. We would open presents from Great Aunt Bea, who without fail would send everyone a can of fruit cake via UPS. Fruit cake which was always gladly passed on to the pour souls at the church monthly pot lucks. Until one year grandma got sick of seeing that all to familiar round metal tin under the tree from Aunt Bea once again. She gracefully waited till next Christmas to roll around where she rolled the fruit cake up into small little balls drowned in gobs of powdered sugar and mailed it back to Aunt Bea in the same metal tin in which she received the nasty stuff in to begin with.
Aunt Bea never sent us another fruit cake again after that. Instead she would send us gifts that would make one wonder what long dead relative did she get "this" from.

I miss those holiday memories that always seemed to be almost like magic at grandma's house. Which is probably why I wanted to have a big family when I grew up. To have those warm holiday/family memories that she embedded in me as a child passed on to my children and grandchildren. I love you and miss you grandma.

Only In Cachagua

My neighbor had "an issue" to put it mildly, last night with the former owner of the park. Law enforcement was needed and 911 called.
45 minutes to an hour passed before the local sheriff finally showed up. (As you know we are high priority out here.) The first guy that showed up was not a foreigner to our area and at least knew how to get here.
The second guy who showed up 10 to 15 minutes later admitted fully he had no clue about this area, his beat was usually in the King City area. (That explains the tom tom map showing up on his dashboard computer).
Okay what happened to Officer White? The guy who usually comes out here on Saturday's beat?
"They gave him a different beat tonight." was the answer.
So how come it took so long to get out here after the neighbor called you?
"Well when you dial 911 it doesn't go to the Sheriff's dispatch it goes to the C.H.P's dispatch. Then they have to call the sheriff's dispatch who finally call us out in the field. Which can take up to 10 to 15 minutes. And you guys are so far out it takes us time to get here." was the answer.

Only in Cachagua.

What about the sheriff's sub station in the village? You know the one next to the cafe/donut shop?
A slight chuckle was the response.
Well at least the sheriff will actually show up. The only time I have seen the C.H.P out here is when they are "just pass'n through".
Maybe the store should start selling donuts.

The Local Cachagua Rednecks

Apparently the local rednecks out here think that because the lived out here before the rest of us folks, or at least that's what they believe (my family has lived in this area for four generations), that gives them the right to act like they are the local law enforcement.
I did not move back out here for them, I did not move out here for them to like me.

For example when it was brought up at a Cachagua Community Park meeting that quite a few dogs were and still are roaming freely around the local park, unleashed and unsupervised while their dumb ass owners play horse shoes, that parents and children who play in the park were concerned about safety. And they have good reason too. I have witnessed many times dogs running up and chasing cars and even the school bus as it comes in to drop children off at the after school program.
One would have thought hell froze over by the pleasant reaction the board members expressed. "It's always been a dog friendly park."
Contrary to the "selected few's" belief out here DOGS ARE NOT ROYALTY! The park was not placed there for the use of every one's lame ass dog(s) to run a muck as they please so they could go drink beer and smoke pot while playing horse shoes. The park was placed there for the families of the community out here to use. Garland Park is where you take your dog to run a muck for there is no playground there, no family picnic/b.b.q area, and there is no school located within the park.
It was also brought up at one of the meetings that a stronger effort to include more of the Spanish population that live out here to attend events, meeting etc. should be made. Such publishing event signs in Spanish and so on. This happened for one maybe two meetings then the effort slouched off. (After all such things would take money away from the Horseshoe Tournament for the dumb ass rednecks.)

Well apparently after all this was laid out in the open bitter enemies were made between my spouse, who at the time was the vice president of the park, and the redneck president of the park, (who's dog is one of the guilty ones). For later he asked my husband "why in the hell did you move out here? Nobody wants you out here. Nobody likes you out here."

News flash Mr. Fancyass Parkman not many people like your drunk ass either.

After a few more cold shoulder meetings my spouse resigned from the board, it was really pointless position anyway, for they were never interested in having some one voice ideas and opinions they just wanted the position filled.

Several weeks after all this took place graffiti such as "fuck Mexicans" began to appear around the community. More than likely written by the same assholes who hang out with Mr. Fancyass Parkman and do donuts in the store parking lot at 2:00 a.m. along with driving through the local creek bed in front of my house to do burnouts on the embankments. And low and behold guess what's in their front yards?! A horseshoe pit.
I am not saying that all people who play horse shoes are rednecks or assholes. Just the ones who live out here. For they have yet to show me otherwise. Today was no exception.

After driving through the creek bed in broad daylight, my spouse had enough. My children as well as other children play in the creek bed. The creek bed is for the creek not some dumb ass's 4x4. There are plenty of places away from the neighborhood out here to 4x4. It is Cachagua after all.
Now the group was up hanging out at the Cachagua Store when my spouse found them. He told them to quit driving through the creek bed in front of our house. A few words were exchanged but everything was cool in the end.
Until one of the drunk assholes decided to stick up for his buddies by grabbing a rock and swinging it at my spouse several times yelling "that's my bro you're talk'n too!". It was obvious the man was drunk and my spouse warned him several times not to do that. By then his buddies had grabbed him and then the man's mother, who was working at the store, came running out demanding that my husband "go home". "Your new here and should go home."

Whoa wait a minute here. It's her dumb ass boy out there swinging the rock.

It's called assault with a deadly weapon!

He's the one who should leave the area, he's out there trying to assault people, but I could see how hard that could be with all his buddies grabbing him and holding him down.

New here?
Hell lady my family was here before Carmel Valley had a damn zip code!

It's dumb ass rednecks like them that the rest of the peninsula base their opinion of Cachagua on. Now I understand why the sheriff said he "hates coming out here". It's dumb childish redneck shit like that gives our community a bad wrap.

C.H.P Can't Handle People!

A friend of my got picked up by the Sheriff over the weekend on a warrant that no one knew existed, except for the asshole CHP officer who issued it way back in April. Mind you it is now September. Now without going into great detail, basically the Rookie ASS CHP officer did not follow correct procedures when he dealt with my friend back in February when the "incident" occurred, and there fore was no doubt chewed out by his superior officer for being such a rookie ass cop. Trying to save face the cop made up some ridiculous bullshit charges and filed them, IN APRIL. Two months later!
If my friend was truly guilty of "assaulting" this officer, as the rookie ass cop claimed, most would have assumed he would have been arrested on the spot and hauled off to jail right then and there. (Hey I watch COPS. They do it every time.)
Anyway back to the story, my friend called and asked if I could help him out, but first I had to find out the booking number they gave him. I called the county jail "hot line" and was informed that the computer was down and to call back later....much later.
I later found out, by my friend, that an inmate who was tiered of waiting for his bunk after being in a holding cell for nearly 5 days, charged down the hallway and ran head first into the "booking computer" putting it permanently out of commission.
Appartly this computer had to be a state of the art fancy piece of government shit here because it even screwed up the automated telephone answering service. Which when finally fixed put you on hold for 15 minutes, listening to the same voice repeating over and over, stating "we are sorry but all operators are busy at this time, please continue to hold, your call will be answered shortly." After a quick cat nap the same voice finally answered the phone, I asked for the booking number and where my friend was bunked at...I got the number but my friend was still stuck in the holding cell (2 days after he got arrested).
Now I know jail is not meant to be comfortable or fun, it's jail for God's sake, but even the most sane of people would go nuts being locked up in a room the size of my bathroom with 15 of guys and a toilet in the middle of them for more than a few hours. Some poor smucks were in there for 5 days thanks to the dumb ass who busted the fancy computer!

Finally last night I went to pick up this friend who just got released out of the county jail. Now when you go to pick up an inmate who is getting out it's not like showing up and tada there they are waiting for you. No you have to park in the parking lot at the far end of the jail, which has no parking lights, and wait from 7:00 - 10:00 p.m. for your person to appear in what ever clothes they happened to arrive in the jail in. And there was some pretty odd looking dressed inmates coming out in anywhere from p.j's to business suits.
I kinda felt bad for some of these guys for who wouldn't call the cops on some strange guy wandering around the neighborhood in his p.j.'s or a fancy business suit in Salinas late at night?
For entertainment I had the joy of watching a local county sheriff guy pull up with four cups of Starbucks coffee's and head for the "secret" back door. He said something to the camera above the door and held up the coffee's as proof. Nothing happened. The officer then began fumbling around in his pockets for his keys, which he could not find. Finally and obviously pissed he smartly used the radio latched to his belt and demanded that the door be opened. Hearing there was coffee his follow officers rushed to greet him.
Shortly after this drama the first group of 3 newly released guys emerged from the same door. They hollered with joy and lit a cigarette in celebration of they're new found freedom. Then the realization of "what they hell do I do now?" looked passed over their faces as they wandered around the parking lot debating where to go and how to get there.
They did this for about thirty minutes until the next group of 3 guys came out. They too beamed with joy and lit a few cigs. until a plain clothed cop appeared at the door and told one of them to "Come here for a minute."
"Why?" the man asked not moving.
His buddies however must have known something was up because they magically moved across the parking lot in a matter of seconds, hopping in their rides awaiting them, and awaited the drama about to unfold.
"Just come here for a minute." the cop repeated, motioning back in the door for assistance.
Seeing this the dude did not hesitate, he turned and hauled ass across the parking lot with the cop giving chase yelling into his radio for back up.
One would have thought war had been declared as sheriffs magically appeared out of no where and everywhere.
It was like a swarm of killer bees descending from the hive, as literally 20 sheriff's, gripping there guns and yelling in their radios, came rushing out of the jail, searching madly for the poor sap, who was already tackled and cuffed, and didn't even make it more than 50 feet down the parking lot.
As they cuffed him and dragged him back to the jail I over heard him exclaiming "How can I have a warrant? I've been in jail!?"
Apparently that state of the art fancy piece of government shit computer forgot to inform the local sheriff of this guy's warrant. Even tho he'd been in jail for months. Kinda fucked up. Give a guy his freedom after months in a jail cell then rearrest his ass 30 seconds after he thinks he's finally served his time and is free.
Which explained the behavior of the next three guys they let out an hour later. Slowly the first guy pops open the door and scans the parking lot for any signs of more busy killer bee cops. Seeing the coast is clear they bolt from the door running, scanning the parking lot like deer caught in the headlights. Apparently these guys were so fearful of sharing the last guy's fate they didn't even take the time to finish belting their pants or tying their shoes as they ran awkwardly out towards the parking lot in a full out sweat. When they made it past the 25 foot border fence the first guy hollered with joy as he spotted his wife in the car awaiting him.
"Hey my car! Come on man before they change their minds!"
It took those three guys, who obviously did not starve in jail, two minutes to load up in the car and beat it out of there. Practically burning their back tires off as they left the parking lot. Careful boys..all you need is to get pulled over for speeding in the jail parking lot.
It was then that a morbid looking guy in a black doctor's outfit appeared out of the door pulling a suit case. The first thing he did was to lite a cigar from his pocket as he flip his stethoscope out of his way. This guy looked like Hannibal after he just broke out of his cell in Silence of the Lambs. Maybe that's why they sent him out by himself. I watched him, as I locked all my doors, wander around the parking lot as if awaiting someone to pick him up. Chatting shortly with the sheriff scoping out the cars in the parking lot for anything fishy.

Finally my friend appeared about 9:00 and walked right past the car. When I yelled at him he said didn't recognize it because "it looks clean".
Yeah thanks a fucking lot, it's a Cachagua car, but even people in Cachagua wash their cars once in a while. Just lite your damn cig and let's go. I've seen enough drama for one night.