National Geographic Heart-breaker and Feral Equine Vampires

Anyone who has followed this blog for a while knows that when I posted my wild horse pictorial, which can be seen here, I was certain it would lead to a featured spread in National Geographic, and hundreds of thousands of dollars in new camera equipment. I wrote this:

I've watermarked these pictures. Mostly it makes me feel kind of important, but also because I want to make some money if National Geographic tries to use them. In fact, I'm pretty sure National Geographic will be contacting me soon, providing me with hundreds of thousands of dollars in new equipment, and offering me a featured $pread in their magazine. I'm sure you will agree ;-)

So just try to imagine what a crushing blow it was form me to see this in the February 2009 edition of NG.

In case the blurb is too blurry to read, that's Melissa Farlow on assignment with MY photog equipment covering MY wild horse story. I feel so used and betrayed. I've loved NG my entire life! I even almost shed a tear when I had to narrow down my grandparent's enormous collection of National Geographic magazines to only one box, in the interest of saving space, and not having Matt upset with me for bringing home a truck load. I chose only the ones I had loved the most, were historically significant, and whose covers I remembered best. They have been collecting dust in the garage ever since, as would be expected for such beloved treasures.

I realize now that I should have promoted myself more. Why did I think it was enough to just post my photo essay on my blog? I should have been burning up comment boxes around the blogospere with links and joining blog groups. If I had done so, that Hubble Telescope cam would have been mine! ALL MINE! If I had been on assignment, I would have been able to stay all day when that little filly Kylie had a near death experience, but was snatched from the jaws of death by that horse whisperer who whispered her two enemas. On second thought though, maybe it's a good thing I needed to run errands and missed that part. It would probably be visual TMI, even for a NG story. But I could have captured the very moment she stopped seeing the light, and was later reunited with her good for nothing mother. And if NG would send me some infrared night vision equipment, I could capture how wild mustangs sneak out onto Steamboat and Rio Wrangler Drive to party and trash everything up while we're sleeping. I could also include a hard hitting expose about how prisoners in stripes must humiliatingly clean up after said mustang party aftermath. Maybe I should indeed start burning up the blogospere. Maybe they'll let me do 'Part 2, The Secret Nightlife of Reno's Mustangs'. Probably that title would lure in a lot of new readers too ;-)

Mustang Vampire Love

I want to dedicate this pic to Sariah Free. She's got it real bad for that creepy vampire, Edward Cullen, and has probably already burned a hole her Twilight DVD from constant spinning, but I still like her. Which is extremely magnanimous of me, by the way, after she insulted El Pollo Loco straight to my face recently. But she won me over again Friday night when she repeatedly insulted Utah as she hosted Family Feud at our Relief Society dinner - was awesome! So I've forgiven her about the El Pollo Loco comment, because I'm so righteous like that.

Anywho, she's got it so bad for Edward, that she actually made out with him the other day. Okay, not the real Edward, or even the actor who played him, but rather a poster of Edward that a friend had taped to her sliding glass window. I think it was pretty cold out that day, so it was probably just how she always imagined it would be - cold and intoxicatingly marble like. Okay, maybe 'made out' is too strong a phrase, but she was lovin' her some Edward poster.

I bet she didn't know we have vampire mustangs in Reno (which gives me a great idea for yet another NG story).

Contents of a Dusty Box, Part 5

My old friend Marc, AKA NovaShip, said in the comments of the last post:

"It is funny how happy we could be as kids even in difficult times. The South Bay was a great place to grow back then. The picture of the MB pier makes me home sick."

True dat! The South Bay was da bomb!!! I'm sorry for all of you who didn't grow up there with us :(

So sad...

A few weeks back I joined a group on facebook called 'I Grew Up in the South Bay Which Means I'm Kind of a Big Deal.' The name alone makes it worth joining, because let's face - I am kind of a big deal ;-) Finally a little recognition. And oh the memories that are packed in the group's description:

If you grew up in the original 310/213 (Carson, El Porto, El Segundo, Gardena, Harbor City, Hawthorne, Hermosa Beach, Inglewood, Lawndale, Lomita, Manhattan Beach, Palos Verdes (RPV & PVE), Redondo Beach, Rolling Hills Estates, San Pedro & Torrance) join now and invite all of your fellow South Bay-bred friends.

The beaches (Redondo, Manhattan, Hermosa, Torrance, RAT, Imperial), Malaga Cove, PCH, Del Amo Mall, Daily Breeze, Marineland (R.I.P.), Sand Dune Park, Hawthorne Blvd, Farrells, King Harbor, Chillers, The Red Onion, The Castle Miniature Golf (R.I.P.), Fashions, Tequila Willies, Ports of Call, Seaside Lagoon, The Plunge, Old Towne Mall, Shamrock, Madrona Marsh, Oktoberfest, ECC, Home Depot Center, CSUDH, Goodyear Blimp, 110 & 405, the Strand, surfing, beach volleyball, South Bay Galleria, AVP, Riviera Village, El Porto, and home of the Beach Boys.

Oh South Bay of my youth, how I loved you!

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Now back to my autobiography...continued from Part 4...

Maybe I've romanticized my memories of the Children's Center - I tend to do that, which is a gift I believe. Who wants to look back at life and focus on the sucky parts? I'm sure there were boring days, but in my mind it was non-stop fun.

To begin with, being so close to the beach meant we could walk there. During the summer months we went twice a week (this is when my love for swimming in the ocean was born). Three teachers, including my mom, would take about 50 of us (the other half of the school would go on different alternating days). It seems like we stayed for hours and hours - the entire day really. This was back before sunscreen was widely used, and or available, so after lunch, we'd all don over-sized t-shirts and zinc-oxide on our noses to protect from the sun. Aaaah, those were the days! Playing in the shade of the lifeguard station with friends, digging for sand crabs, being poked on the bottoms of our feet by sand crabs, trying, but not succeeding, to get the sand out of our bathing suits, being washed up in the waves with a mouth full of saltwater, tar stuck on the bottoms of our feet that we had to get off with lighter fluid (there has to be something better now), standing in the sand in one place at waters edge to see whose feet would be buried the deepest as the waves came and went, seeing how close we could get to a receding wave before another came and chased us back, etc., etc., etc..

*sigh*

We also went on LOTS of field trips. We went to some places many times over the years (we helped our mom sometimes when were were older - she worked there until I was 12). Some of the places I remember going include: Marineland (RIP - and RIP Bubbles the whale too), Seaside Lagoon, The Japanese Gardens, Knott's Berry Farm, Disneyland, Los Angeles Zoo, Santa's Village (RIP), Busch Gardens in Van Nuys (RIP)(we always toured the brewery while there, so age appropriate :D), Cabrillo Beach Museum, The La Brea Tar Pits, Barnum & Bailey Circus, Lion Country Safari (RIP Frasier the lion), and many many other miscellaneous theater productions and puppet shows.

We also watched a lot of memorable short films with the classic movie projectors and pull down screens. Whether it was in school or at the Children's Center, turning off the lights for a movie was always exciting (I was very expert at tying peoples shoe laces to their desks)! The sound of the projector running is still so fresh in my mind. We watched some films many many times, including these:

The Red Balloon - click here to watch (it still has the power to mesmerize). Who did/does not love this film? I want to know.

Winter of the Witch - click here to watch a scene. This show was almost as freaky as HR Puff N Stuff, but not quite.

Skaterdater - click here to watch - so classy and classic!

When we weren't doing any of those things, we were having fun out on the playground or doing crafts. One of the days I remember best, was when someone discovered that using wax paper on the slide could make you go about half the speed of sound. We spent all afternoon, with what seemed like the entire school, standing in line to go down that giant old school metal slide. It was huge!!! The teachers were at the bottom as we came shooting off end. We also had those stainless steel industrial tricycles and two wheelers. We had BBQs regularly, and holiday programs. We did Easter egg hunts and had relay races. We took swimming lessons at a public pool (when the school was at its second location), and spent hours looking for polliwogs at Polliwog Park. I never fail to think of the MBCC when I hear 'Up Up and Away' by The 5th Dimension (I have it proudly on my i-pod). I think it was played alot when I was very young, when it was popular. The teachers always played with us, and cared about us. I can't think of how such a school/day care center could possibly ever be better!

I've never been able to part with my grandmother's MBCC windbreaker

RIP Manhattan Beach Children's Center. You were so good to me - good to us. You will never be forgotten.

So please, let us observe a moment of silence...

Contents of a Dusty Box, Part 4

Julie said in the last comments: "I love how on your autobiography the background was painted after the crayon image & so there are the dried up spots of water color & it looks eerily like there are splatters of blood"

This is a tricky post. I want to do my memories of these three sentences justice, but is such a thing ever really possible? Methinks not, sadly. But maybe I can paint an impression of sorts - try to convey how much happiness and joy is contained on this, page 6, of my 4th grade autobiography.

And I think I might incite some envy and jealousy with this post, but I don't apologize ;-) I only feel sorry for all of you who didn't get to attend The Manhattan Beach Children's Center 'in between the ages of 2 and 5'.

When my mom became a single mother, she had several part time jobs that weren't working out well with two small children. A friend told her about a school for low income divorced parents that she should try to get us into. My sister and I loved it immediately, and then soon after we started there, our mom was hired as a teacher. What could be better 'in between that ages of 2 and 5' than to go to work with your mom and play all day?

(I feel myself being too long-winded all ready)

The Children's Center was about a 15 minute drive from our house, and only a half a mile form the beach. The original school of which I speak no longer exists (my mom was a teacher with this school until I was 12, and many of those years were at a different facility), but the location is marked in the foreground with the yellow marker.

The Manhattan Beach Pier can be seen in the distance *sigh*

(five fingered from google images)

Ha! I'm making myself jealous of me.

I have to back up from the beach for a moment though, I'm getting ahead of myself.

When I think about those early days at that first school on 14th Street, I'm amazed at how much I remember. I think the majority of my very early childhood memories relate the The Children's Center - even driving there. I remember so well standing up behind the front seat with my arms hooked over the front, driving down Aviation and under the train bridge. That was back before anybody cared about seat belts. We had a blue Dodge Dart, and we would hang on the the front seat from the back and sing to the radio - in particular I remember singing 'It Never Rains In Southern California' on the way to school. When we came to Marine Avenue driving down Sepulveda, we would turn right and go down an enormous hill (enormous in the mind of a child), and at the bottom we would turn left onto one of the streets to pick up Mrs. Scott...then on to the school.

To be continued...because I'm like that...

Contents of a Dusty Box, Part 3

My fourth grade autobiography continues...

Awwwe...my poor dad. He wasn't in my life for very long. They divorced when I was only a year old. Mental illness (schizophrenia) robbed us of him. And even more sad - him of us, through no fault of his own. My mother always told us about him, and about his illness, but even so, he remained a mystery - a giant question mark in my mind, until I was fourteen when he showed up unexpectedly on our doorstep one day. But that story is deserving of its own post sometime. Here he is at seventeen, before his troubles began, full of life and potential - and so handsome!

My dad, 17 years old

A visit we made in 2007

Tom (a very proud grandpa), Sophie, Eva & Ella

To be continued...

...in customary fashion...I'm dragging this out way too long...

Contents of a Dusty Box, Part 2

Before I get to some more dusty box items, I want to inspire all of you who may be living with an addiction to Diet Coke, by declaring victory over said delicious, highly desirable, wonderfully bubbly, and insidiously addictive beverage. I've been in recovery now for 11 days and counting!!!!!! I've never been more proud of myself *sniff sniff*

Today I bring you other various items from my dusty box, and take a slight detour from my autobiography. I could do several posts on page six alone. So many of my most cherished and lovely childhood memories are contained in the three sentences of that page. I want to do it justice, which unfortunately means it might start feeling like homework. But in the meantime, here are some other items from my past.

This adorable crocheted beret looks to be straight from some hipster's ETSY shop - but it was indeed plucked from my dusty box. There has to be a granny afghan somewhere in the world that matches this vintage hat (anything more than five years old qualifies as 'vintage', right?). I know for sure that if I ever wore it, it was only to please my grandmother - I'm pretty sure her neighbor Auggie made it. I would have most certainly been horrified to ever have anything like this on my head. But my forty year old eyes see it differently now. If I were still some young cute thang, I'd have it on right now! But alas, those days are sadly long gone, and I'm pretty sure I would look rather silly.

But Eva, on the other hand, is chillin' like villain in this totally bomb granny afghan beret (Ella's been rubbing off on me lately). She ROCKS it!

This is me in the fabulous Bicentennial dress my grandmother made me in.......1976. Much much much much muey to my chagrin, I no longer have the dress. I think my sister still has hers though, and I still have my hat :) We wore these in a big Bicentennial pageant at El Camino College, and I was the state of Vermont, if I remember correctly.

Very impressive stitching around the elastic on the inside - to me anyway. I haven't gotten past sewing aprons yet.

The Spirit of '76 was a huge deal that year!!! Holly Hobbie was popular at just the right time, with her bonnet all pulled around her face like that - kind of Besty Ross-ish. What kind of little girl did not have a Holly Hobbie rag doll in 1976? Or a Holly Hobbie birthday cake for that matter? A very sad one, that's who!

to be continued...

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Last week Sophie surprised us with an interesting leprechaun trap.

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Kylie the wonder pony with her good for nothing mother, looking healthy only five days after her near death experience.

Contents of a Dusty Box, Part 1

I've been extremely nostalgic lately and lost in thought about my youth after being in touch with so many childhood friends on Facebook, which lead me recently to fetch a dusty old box out of the garage to look for some pictures. The items in the box were random, from my 1984 Los Angeles Olympic velcro wallet full of high school pictures, to my fourth grade autobiography written for Mother's Day. This 17 page autobiography is surprisingly revealing, occasionally misleading, and sometimes eerily prophetic. I'll begin with just the first few pages to start.

Pretty good cover I think - I made myself look very pleasant

But EEEK GADS!!!!! WTH! Something went horribly wrong with the page 1 illustration! It's true I was kind of a tomboy, but I made myself look like hairband rocker minus the hair product. Yikes!

I was trying to draw something like this, my fourth grade school picture. I remember those two -toned brown suede Vans though. My mom finally broke down and let us get some after spending our entire lives in orthopedic shoes (more salt for my mama). I loved them so much!

A hot day in January - hahaha!

My poor mother :(

I was born more than a week late and in need of some serious exfoliating.

Oh wow! I still make the same writing errors I did back in the fourth grade - including words that don't belong, or leaving words out completely. Sometimes several at a time.

Here I am in front of my playpen. Who wouldn't want to climb that thing and dive out?

Ella learning to walk in front of her playpen. I really love trapping her in that thing :)

To be continued...

Wild Horse DRAMA!

Here's how it unfolded...

On Thursday, I went up in the hills to take a brisk walk and try out my newly repaired camera - the one that pooped out before Christmas

But mostly to try out my newly repaired camera

After a while, I noticed some of the horses were concerned about something, and had started to move in the direction of their curiosity, but I didn't see anything, and couldn't figure out what was bothering them.

Then, from the opposite direction, a truck full of hay arrived and they were distracted.

But still concerned

Eventually however, their stomachs won them over

But not without hesitating a few times first

I wouldn't mess with my favorite if I were you

They all gathered around the truck and patiently waited while the hay was unloaded. They seem to be very calm and non-violent when they're around the hay truck

A member of The Hidden Vally Horse Association gets friendly while feeding the horses

On their way out, going the opposite direction of the way they came in, the people from the HVWHA spotted what the horses were so concerned about - a horse was down. I went to investigate, thinking maybe it was giving birth

But it wasn't. It was a sick and dying pony, the one I wanted to take home to give a hot bath and cuddle up with back in this post

The two ladies knew all about her and had named her Kylie. She was born in September and has been suffering with an eye infection all winter, and her stomach was extremely bloated.

Kylie seemed to be dying a slow death, but would somehow muster the strength to stand up and walk a few feet at a time before collapsing again

She would collapse wherever she was - even right on top of the brush

But then she would rally and find the strength get up on her feet again

Only to collapse a few yards away, where she would be comforted

These nice horse loving ladies (and there was a gentleman with them too) began directing her toward the herd, in hopes of finding her mother who could nurse her.

But her mother wasn't around - the ladies knew exactly which horse to look for.

In the meantime, between all the stopping and starting, lots of phone calls were made to different veterinarians and government agencies. Taking care of sick wild horses is a convoluted process because they are federally protected. Not just any vet can help out, or even legally put one down. The fear was that she would be eaten alive by coyotes before the right person arrived.

And this was how things stood when I left the scene - thinking she would be coyote dinner, whether she was put down or not, because legally, when one dies, it must be left out for food.

BUT, a miracle happened, in form of a government horse whisperer, who whispered her two enemas and various other miraculous whispers, which snatched her right out of the jaws of death (and coyotes). Also, her good for nothing CPS mother came back (they say her mother is not a very good mother), bearing mother's milk, and according to Bill, from The Hidden Valley Wild Horse Association whose number I took down before I left, she's on the mend and seems to be doing well!

The end :)

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p.s. Ella made her school's volleyball team and the Sacajawea video she and her friends made for their history project has been selected to go to state finals! Yay Ella :)

Mixed Messages

It's possible we're damaging our children with mixed messages. Case in point...last night was a serve yourself/eat when you want type of dinner. We had some chicken, some rice and bread, etc.. I wasn't paying much attention to whom was eating what, or when, before I became distracted by the apron I started before Christmas - the one onto which I had attached the pockets unevenly. I decided to fix it right then and there, and didn't realize Sophie hadn't been served any food. After I had been working on the apron for a while, I walked into the living room and found Sophie still in her ballet leotard eating her dinner on the living room floor, complete with half a loaf of french bread, and surrounded by her animal figurines. She had picked out and eaten almost all the center of the loaf, and had her hand deep down inside for another piece. There was also a discarded chicken bone behind her. I thought her resourcefulness was about the most adorable thing in the world, and ran upstairs to grab the camera. I took some pictures, laughed and laughed, and kissed her and told her how cute it was that she had served herself dinner and was eating it on the floor with her animals - then I went back to my apron in the other room.

About ten minutes later, Matt comes down stairs into the living room and I hear him saying, "Sophie, what are you doing? Why are you eating that whole loaf of bread like that? Rachel, did you know she was in here eating the entire loaf of french bread on the floor?"

Sophie starts crying - it doesn't take much. She never wants to do anything wrong, because she's sweet like that.

I don't answer right away.

Me after awkward silence: "umm, what?"

Matt: "did you know Sophie was in here with her arm down the middle of the french bread eating it on the floor? No Sophie, you can't do that."

Me: "Oh, yeah......I did see her doing that...and was kind of letting her."

Do you think she'll need lots of therapy when she grows up, or what?

Sacajawea Rap

This is what Ella and her friends did for a history project instead of writing a paper. It's kind of a ghetto fab/CMT channel version of Sacajawea - prepare to be amazed!

Ella's sporting the soul-patch

Happy Hair Ending

Wow...who knew we were all still harboring such harrowing bad perm memories? The pain in my comment box was palpable. I think some group therapy, at say...North Beach Pizza in San Francisco, is in order! Let me know when you're all available and I'll bring a comfy portable couch along.

Well, my junior high bad perm saga had a happy ending. My hair wasn't permanently (pun intended) damaged after all. But then there was my 8th grade graduation dress...

Here I am taking modesty a little too much to heart - or was this my mother's fault again? I have my suspicions. Possibly more salt her way cometh...

Hmmm, looks like all my BFFs went shopping together without me. Check out the way my friend Amy is checking me out. She's all like, "giiiiiirl, we're in the twentieth century now."

Here I am, gracefully gliding back to my seat like a delicate and proper Victorian lady-in-waiting. I was only 100 years late and one parasol removed from being Monet's muse.