Notes From A Bear's Journey

Blood Moon over NY...Photo: Alexander Krivenyshev of World Time Zone      I was young, just turned 17, just got my license and heading down Pacific Coast Highway in the 1957 Ford my dad sold me for $100.  It was summer and I was meeting some friends at Tin Can Beach, the ugly cousin of Huntington Beach just over the hill.  Bolsa Chica was its real name but everyone called it Tin Can Beach, its sands dirty and ruffled, its waves equally crappy.  Nobody went in the water.  It was never patrolled, not like the surrounding beaches that had lifeguards every 200 feet or so.  Here, you were on your own.  You could build bonfires here, the traditional escape for high school kids like me, piling driftwood together, maybe sneaking in a beer or two, a place to laugh and try to make out with your girlfriend, the stuff you see in movies.  Bolsa Chica is a long stretch of highway, the next traffic light perhaps two miles away as if even the cars wante...

     I have discovered (or perhaps just admitted to myself) that I am not paying attention, which is not to say that I don't notice things, although "notice" might be a bit too strong a description.  "Glimpse" might be more appropriate.  And all of this after writing earlier about becoming more "aware" in one's surroundings, about taking the time to notice the details, about trying to slow down and to just  "take it all in" patiently and naturally.  To enjoy and absorb life.  Hmm, who was that masked man who said that?     It is far too easy to slide into a routine, to Groundhog Day the seasons and to celebrate birthdays until (as one tee shirt says) you're surprised to discover that you're hanging around a lot of old people.  Dan Schilling wrote about this slow diminishing of being aware of your surroundings (albeit from his Special Ops perspective) and I must admit that the scene from the first of the Jason Bourne series has h...