A Salt-n-Pepa song is running through my head but with a slight word variant: let’s talk about rocks, bay-bee, let’s talk about rocks…etc. Somehow rocks keep popping up.
We flew to Portland, Oregon a couple weeks ago to visit our grand-kitties. Oh, and our daughter and son-in-law, and our son came from NYC as well. And here are the kitties:
First, Portland is beautiful, and they went from a darkish apartment to one with almost floor to ceiling windows that graced us with a rainbow. We had a wonderful visit.
On the way back, in the lovely Portland airport, TSA pulled me over for a pat down. I had not worn a belt on purpose, so after patting myself on the back while holding my pants up, I expected a quick run through the machine. The TSA agent asked me what was in my pocket. I had to think a minute, then realized my transgression. “Chapstick and a little rock,” I replied.
“I have to see the Chapstick,’ she said sternly. She took it and opened it, observing the stuff inside. Now to be honest, it wasn’t Chapstick per say but lip balm I get for free at the dermatologist. I am a lip balm junky and grab them wherever I can. I carry them everywhere and am an expert on removing it from clothing when I accidentally run them through the washing machine.
Apparently satisfied that Chapstick wasn’t another word for universe destroying goo, she asked what else was in my pocket. I had already told her a rock, but did not feel that it would be in my best interest to point that out, so I repeated myself. She stated she needed to see that also. I showed her my rock and clarified that it was a healing rock in case the plane crashes. She looked at it and with a slight head move, waved me over.
That was the smallest rock. The next biggest one was at the Japanese Gardens in Portland. There were lots of rocks, and I liked this one.
There were also lots of big goldfish. I have goldfish…they look like this.
These were quite a bit bigger.
I guess by the way they swim up to any visitor that people must throw food in there, and I’m sure it drives the staff crazy. When I was a kid they had large fish (not sure if they were carp or goldfish, they were some mutation of giant fish and underwater behemoths) at Cedar Point in Sandusky.
We little ones and teenagers used to throw food (25 cents at a gumball machine) or if we had no money, bread to them. It was mesmerizing to watch these large bodied fish bumping into each other. Honestly it was my favorite part of Cedar Point except for the river cruise that had the fake people and pirates threatening us. The same people (or at least the same designers and joke writers) were responsible for the train ride mannequins threatening us and drinking moonshine. I’m getting nostalgic.
The third rock was the mother of all rocks. It was on the west coast in a town called Cannon Beach. I remember seeing the ocean while we were driving to it, and an unbelievable thrill went through me. I squealed, “The Ocean!!!” and couldn’t wait to get out of the car. The minute we parked (after using the bathroom of course) I ran to the ocean, took off my shoes and ran in. It was a little cold but the ultimate cool was Haystack Rock.
It’s hard to describe the wild waves and rocks. In our idle discussions about where we want to be buried, I have wavered between the Atlantic Ocean and Lake Erie. No longer wishy-washy, I want to be dumped into the Pacific by the big rock. I’m not a morbid person, it just comes up in conversation occasionally. So yeah, Haystack Rock, the biggest of the rocks we visited, is the bomb.
Chester got to visit Camp Bow Wow. He does like it there but I committed the worst offense and didn’t send enough food. They fed him from their emergency stash. I have no excuse and will be taking a bag of food over there to replenish. Here is a picture of him with the Easter Bunny.
He did not chase the bunny around the room and he did get a pup cup for it. He is doing just fine.
Have a wonderful week!
Walking Chester 