Spitball Army

Man and seal, staring out to sea. Oceanside, California. 18 December 2008.

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This vintage postcard pictures a “storm, Oceanside, Calif.,” and is prettified with green and blue washes of watercolor. Storms at sea are quite a bit darker than this, but I imagine there wouldn’t be much of a market for a postcard that had dark and forbidding beaches on its front. The postmark on the back of the postcard is 1 September 1913 – for a look at a storm at the Oceanside Pier nearly a decade later, see the shot I took – below – in December of last year.

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It was rooted in the corner of a corner lot, dwarfing the Spanish-style bungalow next to it. Its branches extended high and far out over the street in all directions, safely out of danger from the automobile traffic below, and sheltering the pedestrians and others, like me, on bicycles. I would slow my pedaling to marvel at this tree whenever I rode up the hill to Laurel Road, and would slow my coasting when I returned on the downhill route to Laguna Street. The tree’s age and size seemed to engender respect automatically. I called it “Old Man Tree.”

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Yep, there’s someting pretty fishy about that bike rack.

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Instructions plaque fixed below a telescope on the Oceanside Pier.

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– My favorite writing instrument is an L.C. Smith manual typewriter with glass keys that is in perfect working order, sits atop a desk in my office, and rarely gets used.

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What once sat on this plate, in the comfortable and sunny dining room of the 101 Cafe in Oceanside, California, was something I wish I’d thought of creating: an Ortega Chile omelet, served with flour tortillas and a dish of salsa.

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This year I pledged to make good on my internet yapping and mail Christmas cards, something I haven’t done for many, many years. It turned out to be a pleasantly satisfying experience.

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According to the NCT piece, the city of Oceanside recently applied for a grant – not an increase in tax monies, mind you – of $435,000 for the expansion and improvement of bike trails. That’s about $435 appropriated for each regular bicycle commuter.

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Turning west off the interstate, he drove straight toward the beach, a mere ten or so blocks from the highway, where the sun was beginning to sink into the ocean. The sight was stunning and humbling.

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