Oh the Jellies!

I watch as the waves roll onto the stone steps and black rocks. The scenery is beautiful at the tip of St. John's Point in County Donegal, Ireland. Mom and I have just finished walking about a mile from the car to this point. Behind me is the road I'd just walked away from and the lighthouse we'd walked out to see. The lighthouse itself was alright but nothing spectacular. A simple white tower with a little trim of red but completely inaccessible as it was surrounded by a wall and signage that made it clear that entry was not permitted. For the entire walk to St. John's Point we'd seen no one, it was just us, the grass, the waves, the lighthouse, and a few cows off in the distance. It was beautiful.

As I walked away from the lighthouse toward the water, I noticed a small concrete walkway with steps that led down to the ocean. I supposed people used this point to enter the water or possibly, tie a boat up to the shore. I neared the walkway and immediately came to a stop, perplexed I noticed little blueish-purple blobs dotting the cement all the way down to the water. Curious, I continued down the steps toward the water, careful to avoid the blobs, but it was quite impossible since there were so many of them. I studied them wondering what they were but then noticed the same little blobs were floating in the water. Only those little blobs had shape, some were pulsing in the water even. Then it hit me, Jellyfish. Thousands of Jellyfish were floating in the ocean, caught in the gentle waves that buffered them against the rocks and cement. These little creatures had no hope of surviving where they were. I wondered as I watched them swirl in the water, how had they ended up in this little cove?

I longed to help the Jellyfish but knew that it was impossible. I felt a bit sad for the little guys, my sadness was short lived though. Mom, not noticing the little blobs on the sidewalk had zipped past me to the lowest steps she could get to without being hit by the water. Her camera was focused on the water, she was fascinated by the little blobbies and was taking as many pictures as she could, trying to get the perfect image. At this point she asks what they are so I tell her Jellyfish and mention they must be caught in the current to be getting washed up on the sidewalk.

She paused in her picture taking to look up at me, then realization dawns on her as she looks back down at her feet and sees the Jellyfish dotting the cement. "Oh my God!" She cries and immediately tip toes her way back up the steps and off the cement walkway doing her very best to keep from stepping on any of the little blobs. This doesn't stop the fascination though, before long, she's back to the walkway and takes several close up photos of the walkway blobs before zooming into the ocean again to capture images of the ones in the water.

As sad as it was to see all these Jellyfish, there was a beauty to it all. The experience of life and death at the hands of nature, and the knowledge that this circle of life continues regardless of anyone's presence or knowledge of these occurrences. In this circumstance, it seemed that life just is.

Lighthouses

Three Lighthouses, three experiences, all amazing. In my travels I've been lucky enough to visit and climb three different lighthouses. Each experience was unique and had wonderful views from the top.

The first lighthouse I'd ever visited was on Bald Head Island just off the coast of North Carolina, the lighthouse, Old Baldy, was a concrete tower and not the round shape I'd expected of a lighthouse. In my mind, lighthouses were striped standing tall with a regal light twirly regally at the top. Not in the case of Old Baldy. This old guy was concrete gray with angled sides. I'm not quite sure if it was badly in need of a new coat of paint or if the concrete is starting to crumble on the outside. The light part itself, wasn't perched regally at the top but rather off kilter to one side of the top. The light itself was long since gone as the lighthouse was no longer in operation. The stairs, made of wood, creaked under my feet as mom and I climbed to the top, she oo'd and ah'ed at the views taking pictures at every window of the island and marsh below. The fact that the landings all creaked and cracked beneath our feet not fazing her in the least. I however, was a little more concerned about the reliability of the old wood. I slowly followed mom up the steps, flight after flight as the stairs curved around, hugging the concrete wall. We finally neared the top where a single metal ladder led the way into the very top where the light would have been housed. Not to be swayed from going to the very top for the ultimate pictures, mom scampered on up the ladder. Me on the other hand, I stayed where I was at the top landing and waited for her to come back down. My sense of adventure my be into exploring but where heights are concerned, this part was just a little to far out of my zone. Eventually she'd gotten her fill of pictures and made her way down the latter. We slowly climbed back down the stairs, mom moving slower than I as she paused A LOT to take more pictures. Me, well, I moved as quickly as my legs could handle and didn't stop until my feet hit the ground outside the lighthouse. It was neat to see for sure, but a little more adventurous than I'd like. Still though, the history of the place, the peacefulness of the island made this a great and slightly scary first lighthouse experience to have.

My second lighthouse experience was just outside of San Diego on Point Loma, I visited the Old Point Loma Lighthouse. The lighthouse was shorter than expected but still neat to visit. Mom and I wandered the property, taking in the information and history of the keeper's house and the lighthouse. It was neat to see the garden and the different buildings. This lighthouse had a set of stairs leading near the top but not going all the way up. Unfortunately, the lighthouse offered no views from inside of the outside. The simple grey stairs had a dizzying effect as they were tight and swirled up with little break from the greyness of the interior. Going down was more challenging as the colors ran together, messing with your eyes in trying to watch each step while making your way down. Each person had to take a turn going up or down, there was barely enough room for one to navigate the steps, passing nearly impossible. This lighthouse though, I have a favorite picture of mom. She is climbing steps to the lighthouse building, the simple white building with the small tower of the lighthouse itself sticking out above the rest of the structure stands brightly in front of her. Her back is to the camera as she looks up at the lighthouse. It is an angle that shows her and her love of the lighthouses she visits. A memory and picture I'll cherish.

The third and final lighthouse in my journey's was Hook Lighthouse in Ireland. This beauty is the world's oldest operational lighthouse and has quite the history behind it. When this place came into view, this was the quintessential lighthouse I'd been looking to visit. Massive in size, black and white striped exterior. Tall, straight, and round with the light at the top swirling majestically around. Coupled with being shrouded in mist, this would be the lighthouse to beat, at least for me. We were lucky enough to go on a guided tour, like always, mom had camera in hand ready to shoot pictures of the interior and outside from every window at every level as we climbed. We learned of the history of the monks who ran the lighthouse, the origins of phrases light "by hook or by crook" inspired by this structures location, and other tidbits on modern operations. We climbed to the observation deck on concrete stairs embedded in the walls of the lighthouse. Each flight was flanked by walls until a landing was reached and the floor opened up with a space designed by the monks for a specific purpose, a chapel, the kitchen, and sleeping quarters. The view from the metal observation deck was gorgeous and one I love to relive.

It has been interesting to see the difference between the three lighthouses and I'm sure in my future travels I will have adventures exploring other lighthouses, most likely with mom at my side as she loves the things. Me, I mostly prefer the view from the ground but with mom's sense of adventure, it's good to get out of the comfort zone and climb those stairs. Wood or concrete, rickety or solid, defunct and old or well cared for and operation. All these lighthouses have one thing in common. They are amazing with a history that can't be beat.

Air Travel

Many of the trips I’ve taken involved going by plane. From my very first plane ride to my most recent plane trip there has been a uniqueness to each individual journey. Sure some of the broad details are the same. The terminals of Sky Harbor airport never change, I can count on that sameness in knowing what to expect each time I travel. The wait to board the plane is always the same (once you get to the gate that is). The uncomfortable knowledge that the person who is annoying the hell out of you on the ground, may very well be your seat mate on the plane. There’s always the gorgeous man, totally drool worthy but you keep your eyes off him as much as you can because inevitably, there will be an equally gorgeous woman who joins him, either for the flight or at the other end of the flight. Then the know-it-all, the one who tells everyone else in the group what to do, all the information anyone will ever need to know about anything, this one seems to know.

 Of course, there are the smattering of other groups, the hopelessly clueless older generation, the I’ve-got-it-together travel smart ones, the hot mess couples with kids barely in control and stuff barely strapped together (you know these guys, one funny look at one of their bags and sproinngg!! their bags will pop open and stuff flies everywhere.), then there’s the youth, slumped in their chairs, hair tied up in messy buns, yoga pants and tank tops, perhaps a small carry on but the rest is checked in.  I must admit, I’m not immune to any of these groups, I myself have ranged from the hot mess (minus the children) to the careless youth in yoga pants, and I’ve even moonlighted on occasion as the “I’ve-got-it-together” group.

Once the wait is over, that long (even though it might just be a half-hour) interminable wait to finally, finally board the plane. The announcements begin. Special boarding privilege folks get called, along with those who need extra time and assistance. Priority boarders all slowly make their ways down the jet way to the plane. Then general boarding begins, the cattle call. It used to be the time when my stomach would begin to jump, jitters taking over my body as I wait to board the plane, terrified that somehow I’ll still miss getting on my flight. After all, I’m still not on the thing that will be leaving. Now that has changed, the jitters no longer take control and instead I fight the urge to loudly moo at everyone cramming together to get in line. Instead of jamming into the rest, I’ve begun chilling in my seat waiting until it’s absolutely necessary to get in line with my assigned area group. I figure the longer I wait to board, the less time I’m sitting board in my seat.

When finally, we get settled into our seats, thankfully head unbashed by someone who’s carry-on really should have been checked, we wait until they began to departing process. The announcements and safety instructions begin. The plane begins to move, I’m counting the minutes until the wheels will lift from the runway in the exciting but stomach dropping lift from the ground. I’m waiting until I get to see the ground from way up high, the unique perspective of cloud formations. I’m looking forward to hours of uninterrupted reading and writing time (my personal little bit of heaven).  I’ve found that I like being in the air. Once I’ve overcome the stress of making my way through security, finding my gate, and getting onto my flight concerns drop away with the ground below the plane. I turn my attention to the present, and think a little about my upcoming destination. I wonder about what my journey at the other end of the flight holds for me but really, it doesn’t hold my attention all that much. I’m mostly in the moment. I’m heading on a destination to a new location, the annoyances of my fellow travelers has disappeared. I’m in my own cocoon of space, an introvert’s paradise. A window to my left, a book in front of me, and a combination of plane noise and music from my headphones have all but blocked out the rest of the passengers.  This right here, is what the journey comes to, the trip instead of the destination.

Once the wheels touch down, the concerns will return, worry about finding my connection, or finding the rental car company, the hotel, just finding my way in general. Now, right now, in the air, I’m free. Nothing I have to do, nothing to worry about, no responsibility. I can’t wait until I can fly again.

Wonders of the Fourth

We sat on the hillside, bursts of color explode overhead. We've spent the day at my grandparents house, relaxing, eating yummy summer foods and keeping cool in their house. We spent the morning watching the annual parade downtown Prescott. It has been a wonderful Fourth of July. Now here we are, the day is nearing the end. My grandparents opted to stay home while my parents, my brother and I went down to the high school to watch the fireworks before heading home to New River.

"Wow, those fireworks look really close." Mom observed, and indeed they did look like they were close enough to touch. In my young mind, I fantasized about what it might be like to touch one of those glittery pieces of light. I imagined they'd be like pieces of glitter, all smooth and prickly at the same time.

Suddenly a fiery piece came floating down landing on the hillside where we were sitting. It extinguished and cooled quickly. Before long, my brother picked it up and we examined the burned piece of firework. Just a burnt piece of cardboard I think. It was fascinating and disappointing all at the same time. A part of me lost the illusion of the magic fireworks had to offer, so far in the sky. Unreachable, untouchable, and suddenly in our hands.

Deciding it was too cool a thing, my brother kept the piece of firework to take home and show his friends. On the drive home we quickly learned one more thing about fireworks. The unreachable, and untouchable glittery magic was unbelievably smelly. Barely a mile or two into the drive home, the smell of sulfur was so strong dad pulled into the next rest station and my brother sprinted to the trash can.

The wonderful smelly piece of sky glitter was gone for good. The memories of that night however, will live on forever in my mind.