May the Force Be With Me

“Yoga teacher training is not for sissies! Just when I think I can’t possibly do another asana, I somehow do.”— Me

Asanas: Any Yoga Posture

Pranayama: Breathing Techniques

Nettie Pot: An Ayurvedic device used to cleanse nasal passages. Combine one liter water with 2 teaspoons of Himalaya sea salt, or any organic sea salt. Keep at room temperature; amount will last a few days. Be sure and stir each time before filling pot. 

Fill pot with salt water. Be sure and have a towel handy. Sit in a forward squat position, no need to go all the way down just have your head in front of your body. Insert spout of nettie pot into your right nostril, tilt your head slightly to the left and open your mouth. Allow the water to run into your nose and out your left nostril (right side is sun side; left side is moon side). When pot is empty blow out your left nostril at least ten times to remove any residual water. Repeat on other side. 

Our Classroom for a Month

Introductions were made with 44 other yogis on the first morning. Only 5 people are from the US and the others are from all over the world: Russian, Belgian, South Africa, Canada, Austria, Mexico, Luxenbourg, Brazil, Sweden, New Zealand, Australia, France, Germany, Romania, the UK, etc. I find myself apologizing to everyone about the President of the United States, especially the people from Mexico for his proposal to build a  ridiculous wall meant to divide us. I am embarrassed about what is happening in my own country, but the people are gracious, knowing the popular voters do not support the wall, or any other insane idea. My goal is to remove myself from the media while I am here, but it is difficult with social media. I am managing to keep it to a minimum. A yogi from Atlanta finally arrived today. She was late because of the protests at the various US airports over the immigration issue—I was unaware of this until she arrived. I am very proud that the Resistance is in full-force and people are standing up to this clown. I continue to wear my RESIST badge of honor from the Women’s March in D.C.

A few yogis

Back to the introductions. . . It was amazing to hear how many people here have quit their jobs because of unhappiness and stress (maybe 30%), and have come to yoga training in search of a new way of living. Stress is obviously a factor all over the world. Most of these yogis are currently travelers, having no idea what they will do next, or caring. We are all so happy to be in this loving, peaceful community. Currently the energy in the Universe is causing major changes and upheavals no matter where you are. Many of these changes can be explained by astrologers and the alignment of the planets. Change is always a good thing, bringing growth to all of us. “The Biology of Life,” a book  by Dr. Bruce Lipton explains how we are in charge of our perception and our choices. Choosing love is positive and allows growth to a human being;  conversely, choosing fear is a negative emotion where growth can’t occur, only stress and unhappiness. We are surrounded by things that make us fearful—reading the newspaper, magazines, or listening to the news, for example. We are in charge of our own perception, and in turn our perception is directly related to our health and well being. It has been scientifically proven that genes are not a factor. Just a little thought to ponder. . . Dr. Lipton’s lectures are online—a gifted scientist and speaker.

A Cow Waiting for Us

At break time, we made a quick trip to the village to get oriented and visit with the cows, dogs and people. A power converter was $4—someone paid $30 at Target for one that doesn’t even work. Things are so inexpensive in India. Almost anything you could possible want is in the village. So much yoga and Ayurvedic training, along with massage, reiki and various treatments, most of them under $10. 

A warm sunny day in the Himalayas, and a major crash day for me. The temperature drops at night and heat in the room is not an option. I got another blanket from the front desk. My body has been severely violated and is screaming to please STOP. The first day was a killer—every muscle aches and my head is spinning. So much information including philosophy, teaching methodology, anatomy, meditation, pranayama, plus two-hour asana practices twice a day.  Astanga Yoga is preparing us for handstands, headstands, and other body contortions that are unimaginable. I was barely able to persevere the pace, but managed to finish and fall into my bed without dinner. I am humbled by just how little I know. 

A 23-year old yogi from Austria said to me: “How many years?” I said: “That I have been practicing yoga?” thinking that’s what she meant. “No,” she said, “I don’t know how to ask how old you are.” She was impressed that someone older was taking the training. “Well, I’m probably older than your parents,” was my response. Another yogi from Luxonberg is just out of high school. I am definitely the matriarch here but it doesn’t really matter. I remember a time not so terribly long ago when I was always the youngest. I am just grateful for this opportunity and am not worried about the number of years I have existed in this Universe. After all, it is only a number.

Totally spent and wiped out, but smilin’. Tomorrow will be better.

Namasté and Goodnight 

Checking-in at the Ashram

Checking out of the La Sapphire at 5:45 AM and waiting for my ride, I asked if coffee was available. I was brought a steaming cup  with both milk and sugar. It was so delicious that I requested another. The coffee arrived just as the driver did. He assured me it was no problem to wait in the taxi while I finished it. The people are so accommodating. I kissed my final cup of java goodbye for a month, savoring the last drop. There is obviously no caffeine offered at the Ashram, along with no wine, no meat, no soda, etc. 

View from the Front Seat

The taxi ride was more of the same terrifying ride as from the airport. But this time, it was for seven long, hair-raising hours. I had assumed wrongly that we would be driving through the countryside. There was town after town on the journey. People, cows, dogs, trucks and carts crowded the roads as the driver weaved in and out, barely missing them all. People in India would not be able to drive without a horn. It’s not an aggressive beep, more like a ‘get out of my way’ beep, in a friendly manner. No one appears pissed off or stressed. There was another yogi from Mexico in the backseat, but the driver had opened the front door for me so I was up front and center—not sure which seat was better. If you didn’t look at the road, vertigo was a definite. Driving in India is like the UK, on the left side of the road. Language was a problem with the driver so after the basic introductions with the other yogi, we fell into a quiet solitude willing ourselves to get to Rishikesh alive and in one piece. We stopped for a yummy breakfast of buttered naan, dal and yogurt at a local cafe about two hours into the journey. The price was less than a dollar.

Breakfast

The last few miles of our trip took us into beautiful Rajaji National Park, a tiger reserve—where Rishikesh is located. The road was narrow and extremely windy but the driver didn’t slow down one iota. Fortunately we met few cars on this road, and as we approached the continuous curves, the horn was always blaring to let the tigers, monkeys, elephants and ongoing cars know that we were approaching. I am convinced these drivers are skilled professionals. We never witnessed one accident along the way, not even a fender-bender. 

Lane to the Ashram

We made our way into the village and to the bright green Ashram, where we were welcomed. I was truly delighted to find we all have single rooms. They are sparsely  furnished, with a king-sized futon mattress, along with the basic necessities, minus—you guessed it again—TP. So happy I have wads left from SeaTac. Hot water is available from 6-9 AM, and 7-9 PM only. It is sustainable living here. The people are conscious of their resources and know how to preserve them. We are requested to turn off the electricity when we leave our room.

Street View

The sun was shining in the Himalayas when we arrived and the temperature felt perfect. Monkey, dogs and cows populate the streets in the village and the people live in beautiful harmony with the animals. Lunch was served and then there was time to unpack and settle into my room before opening ceremonies. We were given a yoga mat and a nettie pot to get started tomorrow morning. The  bell goes off at 6 AM signaling wake-up time. We meet in the dining hall at 6:30 for herbal tea, proceed to the courtyard to use the nettie, and on to our first asana and pranayama practice, followed by breakfast. Classes of philosophy and anatomy are next before breaking for lunch and library time. Returning to the Ashram for teaching methodology class and then yoga practice #2. A 30-minute meditation ends the day at 6:30 PM, in time to wash up and have dinner at 7. That’s our schedule for this week. 

I was totally spent—hit the wall kind of tired—passing out by 8 o’clock. I  have arrived safe and sound, ready to start a month of immersing my body, mind and spirit in my passion of yoga and eastern thought. This is where the practice of yoga began, and I am fortunate enough to be practicing here. I have once again followed my bliss and this is where the yoga journey has taken me. I still can’t believe I am actually in this magical place.

Namasté

What Day Is It?

Dubai International Airport

Arriving in Dubai 1.5 hours ahead of schedule due to a strong tailwind, I enjoyed only 13 hours in the air instead of 14.5, eating 3  traditional Indian meals, playing Solitaire (high scorer, Thank You), Who Wants To Be A Millionaire (I suck),  and sleeping. Dubai has an ultra-modern international airport, matching the surrounding landscape of skyscrapers seen flying into the city. Apparently an up-and-coming desired tourist destination with white sand beaches, numerous golf courses, 5-star hotels and various cuisine choices. The city breathes money and has an arrogance that can be felt in the energy at the airport. Dubai was described to me as a city of massive steel and glass buildings with little culture and lacking soul compared to Delhi, an ancient city with amazing history, a lovely culture and exceptional soul. 

Traveler's Waiting for the Delhi Flight

The layover was about 4 hours, allowing my biorhythms to adjust. Boarding the plane for Delhi I was delighted to hear it would be only 2.5 hours, rather than the 8 hours I had anticipated. Rather than doing any research, I approach travel more from an intuitive place allowing my body to simply move with the flow in a general direction, without knowing or caring about the details—a practice that would drive many people crazy, but for me it simply works. I never know if I’m headed north, south, east or west, what time it is (unless I have a plane to catch), where the next meal will be, or how long it will take to get there. I allow things to unfold naturally by getting out of my own way. One thing true in west culture is we feel like we must control everything, this is how we usually approach life. Stepping away from that concept is liberating and allows for a more interesting journey into another culture. The key word is to Breathe, taking it all in as it comes. I exchanged $100 for 5000 rupees in Dubai. My cab ride was 500 plus 150 airport fee, and my room was 2000. I think all of that is less than $50. Traveling abroad with alternative money (not facts) that looks and feels like play money, makes spending it easy.  

French Wine

Another meal of chicken curry with wine (last glass for a month) before once again falling straight asleep, sitting upright,  even before coffee was served. How embarrassing, really, maybe my mouth was gapping open or worse yet, maybe I was snoring.  Somewhere in the last 24 hours I have developed a stuffy nose and sinus issues. The human condition, we’ve all been there. And why should any of these worries really matter. They don’t.

Arriving in Delhi my instructions were to meet the La Sapphire Hotel car at Pillar #17 outside baggage claim, confirmed by email from Yog Peeth, the school in Rishikesh. I noticed on the confirmation that the driver would be there promptly when the plane landed. How, I wondered, would that work? Finding baggage claim in the enormous foreign airport and clearing customs with my E-Visa proved to take another hour.  Arriving outside, I was lost in a sea of people waiting for transportation,  and it was apparent that finding my ride was going to be a challenge. I saw a couple of Indian guys in a car waiting, so I approached them thinking maybe they were it. Nada, these locals were here to pick up a few blind cricket players for an international event in Delhi. They did offer to call my hotel and were told the driver was on his way, arriving in 5 minutes. They also invited me to the event.

The cricket organizers were happy to share conversation with me. One guy had retired from the State after 25-years because he wanted to devote his time to helping the handicap—finding this work more rewarding and fulfilling than working for the State. After twenty-minutes, I was beginning to wonder if the cab would ever come. My new friend reminded me not to stress about my ride, to remember yoga and relaxation (the reason I am here), and that this was India time and the hotel driver would arrive soon—meaning. . .  whenever. I was merely exhausted and a bit rummy from the time difference. And in case you are wondering. Yes, he did want to talk about the Orange one, and the bad decisions being made in America—apparently a lot had happened in the last 24 hours while I was flying. I was not up to the challenge, all I wanted was a bed of my own. 

He made another call to the driver on speaker phone and all I heard was: “I’m coming, I’m coming, in 5 minutes.” I still wasn’t sure how he would find me. A few more minutes pass, and at last I see a man carrying a sign that said: “La Sapphire Hotel, Koren Roush,” close enough. He grabbed my bag and we began running across 6 lanes of traffic to find his driver, jutting in and out to avoid getting smashed. As tired as my body felt, this provided the rush of adrenaline needed to get moving. It’s a good thing because I was about to experience my first cab ride in India, and oh what a ride it was! The drivers here make New York cabbies look like novices in comparison. Driving on the left, there is no consideration of the lines in the highway, these guys are all over the road, weaving in and out, blowing horns and just when you think they are going to crash into the bus in front, jerking the wheel to the outside and squeezing through three other cars where no lane exists. Thank goodness for small cars. And don’t forget the people on the road walking, the carts being pulled by the sacred cows, bicycles, trucks, tractors, dogs and just about any other thing with wheels on the freeway, including mopeds. It was 10:35 PM in Delhi, I cannot imagine what driving must be like at rush hour. 

Arriving at the hotel my girlfriend’s words echoed in my head. Do NOT drink the water, only bottled water—that means in the shower keep your mouth shut, and brush your teeth with the water in the bottle. She also asked me if I had toilet paper. Apparently there is little provided so it is a good idea to take wads of it in case you need it, and you will—especially if you are traveling across country. She also gave me two Imodiums in case of a sudden attack of the dreaded diarrhea so common to westerners. This is also true in Mexico and Thailand, other places where water is a concern. Fortunately I have not had the experience, and don’t intend to start in India. 

La Sapphire Hotel looked to be in the red light area of the city, a most interesting place if only I had energy to hit the streets and photograph. This budget room was in typical Indian fashion, minimalistic with the bare essentials provided with the exception of—you guessed it—toilet paper. Fortunately I had wadded some up in the Seattle airport and placed in my carry-on. Otherwise I would have been up shit creek without paper. In India there is a hose attached to the toilet for spraying yourself off instead of wiping, but the water coming out of that hose is frigid! I know, way TMI but that’s how it’s done here. BTW, on a side note, I have read that the Buddhist monks start their day with an ice-cold shower. That’s one way to wake up. Can you imagine?

With only a 30-day visa visiting the city will have to wait until next time. I leave at 6:00 AM in the morning for yet another adventure in a cab. This time it will be a 7-hour ride to Rishikesh to the Ashram that will be home for the next month. I'm assuming the pace with be more leisurely when we get out of Delhi. The energy and people are so delightfully appealing in this lovely country. I was able to stretch out in my hotel bed after many hours of travel. Quickly falling asleep only to be awaken by people laughing and enjoying life, after all it is Saturday night. I remember my first few nights in Mexico when people would dance and laugh late into the night on weekends. It doesn’t bother me, it makes me smile. I am able to roll over and return to my dreams that often incorporate the festive sounds surrounding me.  

On to Rishikesh tomorrow morning at 6 AM, which could mean 6:30 or 7:00, but who really cares? I'm on India time.

I Am Grateful

Arriving in Seattle at 6 AM after a restful sleep, albeit sitting up, I manage to get to the international terminal and easily finding S-16 gate, Emirates flight 0228 to Dubai. Checking in with my carry-on bag that now must be checked through because the weight allowance has dropped to 20 pounds for safety reasons. Freed of the bag that I was reluctant to check all the way to Delhi, I have no choice but to send it through. I can now move with ease toting only a leather satchel, a camera bag and my computer—two of which must be combined to board the international flight that allows only two carry-ons. 

I produce my Indian visa, my passport and get my boarding pass. Looking down at the seat assignment it was not surprising to see seat #44. The number 4 and multiples of 4 have always been my lucky number. I see them everywhere and have actually incorporated variations into my art. Another positive affirmation from the Universe, that yes, I am on the path—a path especially selected for me in this life. A warm fuzzy feeling embraces me as I realize just how blessed I am to have this opportunity. 

I board the plane, find my seat, plug-in the Mac and iPhone and settle back for the 14-hour flight to another world. The overhead music ‘leaving on a jet plane’ takes me briefly back to the 70’s, another lifetime ago. Emirates is a comfortable airline, some would say luxurious—the ones that can afford the first class pods where a shower and bed are available. Economy class for this girl, but still a good meal of spicy dal with mushrooms and cashews, raspberry cheesecake, complimentary wine, a blanket and pillow, and two seats to stretch out for the big sleep across the pond. Perfect! Having short legs sometimes has some advantages. 

Feeling mucho gratitude for this amazing journey!

 

Practicing Patience, On A Few Dollars Less

And so it was. . . a blonde with a chronic wanderlust spirit was leaving normal for an incredible month-long yoga adventure in India. A flight was booked out of Homer to connect with an Alaska flight to Seattle, and an early morning Emirates connection to Dubai and then another to Delhi. Total flight time approximately 22 hours. Arriving at 8:30 PM, 14.5 hours ahead of Alaska time, an overnight stay at the Sapphire Hotel in Delhi with an airport pick-up was arranged. The following morning a taxi would arrive at 6 AM for a lengthy 7-hour car ride to the Ashram in Rishikesh—a village at the base of the Himalayas near the mighty Ganges. 

Brody, Guinness, RockDog, DoDog, Bunny & AnnBanan

Weather in Alaska can be a little iffy this time of year with fog, winds and freezing rain. Multiple calls were made to the outgoing Homer airline to check on flight status—an assurance that all systems were set to GO! Saying goodbye to my roommates is always the hardest. Five cocker spaniels and a basset hound look up mournfully as the suitcase closes and they know I’m leaving, alone. 

Arriving at the Homer Airport a woman is standing out front, shaking her head as she catches my eye through the car window. The taxi pulls up and I unload my small bag, camera and leather satchel only to be confronted with the news—all flights are canceled. I hear the words coming from her lips in disbelief. “But, but, but I called and they said,”. . . Knowing this is the last flight out of my town for the night, I obviously will miss my connecting flights around the world. Sure enough the agent confirms because of runway ice, all flights are canceled. The mind says: everything is as it should be at this moment in time, while the body takes in a long inhale followed by an even longer exhale. Back to my nest, back to normal, back to my sweet, cuddly dogs and the security of my bed—to begin the rebooking process with a glass of cabernet in hand.

A challenge, at best—first call was to Alaska Airlines, the originating leg of the international journey. Apparently Emirates had control of the ticket since it had been booked online with a travel agency. Alaska advised me to call the agency. In doing so it was quickly noted that since the flight from Homer was booked as a separate ticket, they would not recognize the weather delay. I would have to pay to rebook the flight for the next evening. Oh and by the way, there are no seats available on the flight tomorrow or the next day, said the less-than-helpful ticket agent. I have one extra day built into the itinerary to get to Rishikesh before the yoga training begins. I cannot be late, so if I am unable to get the next flight tomorrow evening all bets are off. The entire adventure will have to be cancelled. Distraught and getting little assistance from the ticket agent, I called Emirates direct. 

Again because this flight was booked online, Emirates could only tell me there was indeed available seats on the flight for the next night, but I had to book it through the original agency. They were not authorized to do so. Time was a factor because the current flight had to be canceled and rebooked before the plane departed, otherwise. . . well, I would lose the ticket and the dollars already invested. Back to the travel agency. . .

This time a helpful young man at the travel agency booked the exact same flight for the following evening. . . for $580. Oh well, it’s only money and what’s a girl to do? Suck it up and get out the credit card. Determined to arrive in Anchorage to make this flight, whether it be by plane, boat, car or horse, one way or another I would be there. Weather remained iffy the following morning and the first flight was canceled out of Homer; followed closely by the second one being delayed. Rather than wait around for the evening flight—a risk I could not afford to take—my  flight was rebooked for late afternoon. . . meaning? A 9-hour wait in Anchorage prior to the 22-hour international journey. 

There were times during the wait in Anchorage that all I wanted to do was go home, crawl back under the covers of my comfy bed with all six doggies around me. It became a fantasy during the late night wait. But, in reality that was not an option. I needed to push myself outside that comfort zone, jump off that cliff where I intuitively know a safety net is waiting to catch me. I want to be here, there and everywhere, at once; experiencing it all. To embrace other cultures, other ways of thinking, seeing, feeling, tasting, hearing, smelling, always fills my soul with wonder—opening up new horizons; forcing me to grow beyond who I am today. Travel reminds me that we are all so different, yet somehow still the same; we are Energy moving together as one in the Universe. Spiritual growth excites yet intimidates me, taking me out of the routine I know best into uncharted territory. Feeling fear and exhilaration venturing out into the unknown, alone. This experience is something I have to do for my body, mind and spirit. This much I know to be true.

Flight 82 to Seattle left at 1:50 AM and as soon as lights went out and we were moving down the runway, this girl passed out on a packed flight with an aisle seat. The journey has finally begun . . . with only a few dollars less.  Namasté

“Life is an open book. Those who don’t travel read only one page.” 

—unknown

And so it goes. . .

On a long winter night in Alaska , a blonde dogsitter extraordinaire, along with six resident canines and two visiting sheep dogs, were sleeping soundly in the loft of a cottage called Footprints, WHEN . . .

they were awaken by the sound of a loud, thunderous roar in the night, followed by a 7-dog-barking serenade. The blonde struggled to get out from under the cozy quilt, just as the floor began moving up and down like a wave. The dogs were prancing and dancing across the floor, and she remembers thinking they were obviously drunk. As she placed her feet over the mile-high bed, an incredible force pushed her back, a sign from the Universe to stay put. Pictures began swaying on the wall, and things went crashing to the floor. She sat rooted in space, in a daze, wondering when, but more importantly, IF, it would ever stop. 

After what seemed like an eternity, the waving motion began to ebb, and the dark night was once again still. Only the snoring sound of an oblivious Billy Idol, could be heard in the house. The blonde and seven other dogs assumed their previous positions, and fell immediately back to sleep.

She awoke the next morning wondering if it had been a dream . . .

Living in Alaska, where earthquakes are a normal occurrence, we are often humbled by the power of nature. Mother Nature has once again jolted us back into an awareness of the infinite force. We are connected to the force; we are connected to each other. We are the Force.

Vacation Epilogue - Where Have All the Beaches Gone?

And so it was. . .

A blond silly woman with her trusted service dog RockDog, got up before dawn to arrive at SeaTac Airport for the flight back to Alaska. But first, a 25-year old RV called Odie, must be stowed in a friend's secured yard to await our return in the fall. We made the 40-minute drive to West Seattle in spitting rain, with the windshield wipers running double-time. Unlocking the combination cable, pulling back the sliding metal fence, and driving diagonally into the area was the first of many challenges in the wee morning hours. I was jumping in and out of Odie, while backing up or pulling forward, to see just how many inches were available in any one direction to avoid smashing into the wall, the fence, the boat or the support post. The rain continued to blow, sideways.

All 21-feet of Odie had to bump and grind a few inches at a time, eventually getting into a position to pull forward, slipping into a narrow stall in the carport. With limited space on either side, we had to suck it up to squeeze out the door. The whole process took over an hour. Two light covers were knocked off, and Odie suffered a nasty gouge when backed into a basketball hoop. Who looks up, when the obvious obstacles are eye level? One of the support beams holding up the carport was also bumped, followed by visions of the entire structure crashing down on us. Obviously this was a two-person job, but no one was available at 6 a.m. A practice run might have been a good idea.

That said, we arrived at the airport with two hours to relax before leaving for Anchorage. What started out as an easy check-in, quickly went south without warning. Imagine my surprise, WHEN . . .

A representative from Alaska Airlines called my cell while I was having coffee at Seattle's Best, next to the departing gate. After asking me where I was, he requested meeting him in the corridor ASAP, where he then proceeded to escort me out of the secured area. He couldn't explain why I was being marched into the TSA office, where six agents AND an Alaska Airlines executive began interrogating me. 

So, my old computer is in my checked bag. The battery has exploded out of the case but it stills runs the computer. I bought an external hard drive and a new computer from a Seattle Apple Store, to transfer all my data before it dies for good. TSA had removed the swollen battery and are holding it in front of me, eying me suspiciously. RockDog is in a down-stay position while the only female agent there oooohs and aaaahs over him. After answering multiple questions, and showing them the NEW computer in my carry-on, they decided that maybe I was okay, and not the terrorist they first suspected. BUT still, the battery had to go. Will the ancient laptop ever startup again? It was tenuous at best, but the deformed battery is now history. Maybe I have just witnessed the actual death, or murder, of my first beloved Mac Book.

TSA is now ready to repack my bag in time to make the flight. I wish them luck in doing so because it was bulging, tight as a pregnant cow, when they decided to open it. Eliminating a computer battery would do little to help with space. But, not my monkeys or my circus.

After releasing me, I had to do the whole security thing again, and for the first time ever, RockDog's collar set off the alarm—3 times!  By dismantling his collar along with the service harness, and carrying him through the scanner, we were finally able to pass through security for the second time. Thank goodness we were still TSA pre-approved so undressing at the scanner was not required. 

We arrived at the gate for pre-boarding, breezed onto the plane, and fell into 26F. RockDog went straight to sleep. We got up very early to have all this fun. In hindsight, what started out as a nightmare turned into a hilarious comedy show. I only hope our bag arrives in Anchorage with us. 

Touching down at Ted Stevens Airport I hear the familiar sound of a text message arriving. My friend in Seattle, where I stowed Odie, asked: “Did you go in the house?” I had the pass code for the garage so I could drop the keys on the work bench. Knowing the airport was still an hour away,

"I used the bathroom next to the garage (definitely in the house) for a quick pee," I explained.
“Did you hear an alarm,” she replied?
"When I sat down on the pot, I did hear a faint beeping but thought it was the garage door I had left open in my haste to take a whiz," I said.

But apparently. . . 

It was the burglar alarm causing her to get a call from the West Seattle police. Meanwhile her friend arrived, heard the alarm and with a drawn pistol, went from room to room looking for the culprit. And then, the police arrived. It’s a good thing we were out of there or TSA would have been the least of our worries. RockDog and I could have been in the back of a black and white cruiser trying to explain ourselves. . . . .

All the while wondering: Where have all the beaches gone?