TOURIST TOWN

About 4 years ago, our economy started to tank. And you can blame whomever you choose to blame... This is not a political blog, so we'll steer clear of that game. But I mention it because, for the last four years, the summers here in Monterey have been dismally attended by tourists, creating a gaping hole in our local economy. But that seems to have changed overnight here in Monterey.

This weekend alone we have the Motorcycle Grand Prix - with BMW, Ducati, Yamaha, Kawasaki, and Ninja bikes flooding the town with a throb of their mufflerless bikes. We have the Reggae Festival at the Fairgrounds, with the dreads, the jerk chicken, and the steel drums of Jamacia in our back yard. The delightful smells of Gilroy's Garlic Festival wafts in over the hills, and down the street we can hear the soulful sax of our local jazz in the park Sunday thing going on. The Aquarium was rumored to have close to 13,000 visitors Saturday alone! Last night, we ventured out into the throbbing crowd and got a glimpse of the economy on the rise. A new art studio on Cannery Row got smart and made it an "art and coffee" bar, and they even closed off streets to accommodate the visitors milling about. Local police were busy 'escorting' the motorcycles to and fro, and the Jaegermeister girls were in full force... they really need to eat a sandwich or two though. We saw friends and neighbors in the mix, but mostly, tourists abounded with glee. We passed two ladies from Florida, shivering in the cool, brisk evening of a Monterey summer. We observed visitors from Holland trying to make sense of a local map. Even the otters were in on the tourist deal and decided to, uncharacteristically, frolic in the surf of the marina just for show. It seems as though tourism has hit Monterey all in one weekend. We ended our evening at a downtown pub, watching Olympics with the the other locals seeking a haven from the insanity. It was all fine and good until the skinny models from Jaegermeister walked in... with their whistles and swag. Now, I sit here in the midst of snatches of reggae and jazz, listening to five military jets taking off from our local airport. Ahh.. the noise of a tourist town.

A WARM SPOT

A couple of days ago, a friend of mine was bemoaning her astute observation that the birds were out to get her. She had gotten pooped on - and not in a "good-luck" sort of way, she had one dive bomb her on her way into her house, and, the weirdest event of all, a pigeon had flown into the front of her car... and was stuck between the radiator and front grill.... alive. And, did I mention, stuck? So she drove home. And then back to work the next morning. And then to run errands. And then back home. And back to work this morning too. All the while, the pigeon was tucked neatly, riding shotgun in the front of her car. I can only imagine the wind blowing through his wings... Today, at lunchtime, she went to check on her new travelling companion. And there he was, fit as a fiddle, snug as a bird in a grill... and the campaign to evict him from his, obviously preferred, mode of transportation began. First, the boyfriend dug around in the front of the car for awhile, trying to shoo him away. Then a very helpful elderly gentleman stopped by to see what he could do to help. And his wife got out of the car to see what he was doing helping this very attractive, young lady... Then the concerned citizens came by to make sure that someone wasn't trying to steal the pretty girl's car. Pretty soon a crowd had gathered. A couple rode up on their bicycles and ogled the misadventure of said pigeon. Two more ladies, obviously representatives from some animal rights organization hustled their way into the crowd to make sure the pigeon wasn't being maimed. And of course, I had to go out to see what all the fuss was about. There was the pigeon, obviously enjoying the attention, sticking his head out of the grill and pecking at any knees that came within pecking distance. It was beginning to look like they were going to have to dismantle the car to remove this new resident of Hondaville. When someone got a brilliant idea and simple pushed on one of the horizontal grills to open a space wide enough for the bird to squeeze out. He hopped on the ground, a bit disoriented... consider it.. he had ridden to Trader Joes, the mall, Target, home, and work for a couple of days... you'd be all turned around too! For a dramatic effect, he limped a bit and dragged his wing on the ground for a minute or two. Apparently not afraid of people, he let us all coo over him for a bit (ha... my pigeon humor). People were so anxious to help this weary traveler. They brought him a dog bowl of water. An additional cup of cold filtered water, some popcorn, and some crumbled up, day-old crackers... you know, the sort of things we carry around in our purses... He picked at the popcorn, casually perused the crackers, and looked at the water dishes like they were some form of torture device meant to keep him from satisfying his 3-day old thirst.

Someone finally got a brilliant idea and figured that birds like our dear pigeon probably were used to getting their water from the nooks and crannies in the sidewalks. She poured out the water and the bird was in heaven. Food, water, freedom. What more can you ask for in bird world? He hung around for awhile. I am thinking he kind of liked all the attention. The crowd dissolved back into everyday destinations and the bird just sat there, in front of my door, waiting for more of something. He finally gave up and flew away. Presumably to find another warm spot to sleep in tonight. I wonder if he'll choose a Lexus this time?

FLYING IS FOREIGN

I have this bird. He was free. Well, not in the sense that he was allowed to fly through the open skies and sleep where he likes. Free, as in, he didn't cost me anything. Well, not that really either. I mean, there are the food bills. And the treats. And the toys. And the cleaning up after. Hmm... Maybe he isn't so free afterall. But I digress. This bird is our pet. I know, not the most fluffy or cozy of pets. But he is ours. And he likes to make himself known. He currently resides in a wire cage in the corner of our bedroom. We leave the doors open and the top off. Apparently he doesn't think of freedom in the true sense of the word. Every so often, he'll fall out of his cage. Seriously. He'll go to move from one perch to another and literally "fall" out of the cage. He flutters about the room for a while, hits the wall a couple of times, and lands on the floor. Where he sits. And looks up at us with those big bird eyes begging us to come get him. Flying is foreign to this bird. He has toys too. Bells. Bells he likes to ring. At all hours of the night. So we have taken to putting them on the outside of his cage at night so he cannot play with his toys. He will climb to the top of the open cage, crawl over the side to get at his bells, and fall. He flutters about the room for a while, hits the wall a couple of times... well, you know - he's done this before. And we have to get out of bed, go find him, and put him back in his cage. He is quite content in his cage. And really hates it when he accidentally falls out of it. Which got me to thinking. How much are we like birds? We live in our cages... content to eat and chirp and play with our toys. Constrained and trained by limiting beliefs that the world is harsh or we can't make it or we're not good enough, fast enough, or don't have what it takes... So we are content to stay on our safe perch... and when we do manage to 'fall' into our freedom, it scares the beejeesus out of us and we flutter about and hit the wall a couple of times and give up... and we beg for someone to put us back in our cage. Flying is foreign to us. But aren't you the least bit curious? I mean, the top is off and the door is open! Spread your wings - fly - practice a few times... soon you'll learn to avoid the wall, find your rhythm and get the hang of the whole freedom thing.... and who knows what open doors and windows you might find in your adventures outside of your cage.