Category: Columns

by Judi Curry

Did any of you drive down Sunset Cliffs this weekend and get a whiff of the aroma of our neighborhood denizens?

I would have loved to have seen how the person driving the car that was right next to the skunk got into the driver’s seat. Did he step over the skunk? Get in from the passenger seat? Did the car reek? I didn’t envy that person.

When I moved into the Ocean Beach/Pt. Loma area the only skunks I saw were dead ones, usually on Canon near the trails. When they began showing their tails in my area I was surprised. There was a lot building going on, and I imagine that their “homes” were being destroyed.

by Judi Curry

No one can accuse me of being a “bush” lover, but an incident happened yesterday as I was walking my Golden Retriever that brought back my feelings of fear whenever I heard the word “bush.”

Buddy and I were walking on a grassy street, closing in on Sunset Cliffs when I noticed a gardener standing on the sidewalk, bush trimmer in hand, watching us with a wild look in his eye. We were probably 2-3 houses from him, and 3-4 houses from the Cliffs. Wouldn’t you know that Buddy decided to leave his deposit right in front of the house where the wild man stood.

by Judith Curry / August 11, 2010

I am writing this, not as a “Letter to the Editor”, but as an article with the purpose of aiding other Californians.

I was born and raised in Los Angeles. I remember the talk of earthquakes for as long as my memory was formed. I remember seeing pictures of the devastation of the San Francisco earthquake in 1906. I remember feeling the 1987 Whittier earthquake primarily because I lived only a few miles from the epicenter. I remember the Landers earthquake of 1992; the Northridge earthquake of 1994, etc.

As a teacher, I frequently was required to have “drop drills” for my students on a monthly basis.

by Ernie McCray

It’s been a little over a year since my Nancy passed away yet moving on is still the order of the day for our children, Carlos, Tawny, Nyla and me.

The kind of grieving we’ve experienced, in our various stages of moving on, has revealed just how fragile we are and how dependent we are on each other, how glad we are to just have each other around.

And just when it seemed that the pain in our lives was toning down, one of the twins, Nyla, announced, since her boyfriend who had been unemployed for about a year found a job in Vegas, that she was packing up and leaving town. Oh, the feeling of loss raises its ugly head again. Not with fangs this time but it’s come with a bite.

For some time I’ve been wanting to say something about Betty Brown, an old friend who passed away a few weeks ago. It’s taken me a while because the pressing question for me has been how does one summarize such a noteworthy woman’s life accomplishments? Listing them would fill an extremely tall and wide notebook, not to mention exhaust the reader.

But I’ve decided to go with simplicity beginning with the reality that there are many advocates for children on the planet but not many of them, including myself, could keep up with Betty’s pace as a community activist without gasping for air.

As a child growing up in Tucson I would sometimes, on a comfortable April day, ride my beat up blue Schwinn out to the foothills – and just soak in the beauty of the Sonoran Desert’s flowers of spring as they danced in the warm breezes, showing off their brilliant yellow and purple and orange and red and blue petals that cling to their striking green stems like lovers on a honeymoon.

Such moments soothed my young soul, making all the world feel like a lilting melody sung in perfect harmony. And to stay with this idea of music as a metaphor for “good feelings,” the world’s music, at the time, did make everything seem “copacetic” as the devotees of jazz and swing used to say in their cool ness.

by John M. Williams / June 30, 2010
Section 1: Last re Working Here

I have achieved some goals and failed to achieve others during my six months in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, as an English teacher.

The most significant failure is in not being retained at the school where I taught for most of this past six months. It was my goal upon arrival to do well, and to work through a year at this one school. It even seemed possible to me that I might advance to a supervisory or administrative position as the year progressed.

As it is, I have become toxic, radioactive, a leper; not only removed from class overnight, but denied any contact at with students, to the extent that I was not even allowed to grade final exam writing papers.

Getting in my car to drive to OB to protest The Black’s “Don’t Feed our Bums” mentality, my mind said to me: “Hey, nobody will as much as give us remnants of picketers from another day the time of day.”

But when I walked down Bacon and hit the corner where it intersects with Newport Avenue and saw all the people and picket signs …

Recently, while channel surfing on TV, I happened on a little repartee on the war in Afghanistan and I couldn’t help but notice in all the wit and pontification that Pakistan was barely mentioned since we’re there, too, chasing down al-Qaeda and the Taliban. With robots: Predator Drones.

This bothers me deeply because, with me, it’s all about the children …

Sitting around trying to clear my mind of all that’s going on in a troubled world I found a picture of me almost as gray of hair and beard as one can be. Green leaves of spring adorned the trees that stood behind me and in my glasses I could see the indiscernible reflections of the children who sat listening so appreciatively to my poetry.

These were students at Einstein Academy, a school literally vibrating with positive energy and I view this picture and the gathering as an expression of how the world should be, older generations, the gray, sharing the wisdom of their age with children, the green, who in their innocence, represent what hope there really is on the planet.

by John M Williams / Special to the OB Rag / May 14, 2010

Let me set the stage. The school I work in is a remedial college designed as a feeder for King Saud University (KSU). My school is called the Preparatory Year Program (PYP). Students take courses in English, physics, chemistry, biology, math, IT and a group of business related subjects.

The organization is a little complex, but let me try. At the top is King Abdullah. Then comes the Ministry of Education. Next is KSU. KSU contracted with a Saudi company named Obekan. Obekan hired Bell, a United Kingdom-based English language teaching charitable trust associated with Cambridge University. Bell recruited teachers, created the administrative structure, and runs the school on a day to day basis. The role of Bell is rather like that of a middle manager; they have very little real power, but are the face of the organization to teachers and students.

by Ernie McCray

Is there anything in the world as cool as just “cooling it,” you know, kicking back in your comfy jeans, and that nice fitting tee-shirt you found in Borrego Springs, some broken in running shoes, acting and feeling like you just know you’re cool.

Talking about a little respite from rising everyday and entering into Twilight Zone like scenes wherein wee-minded anti-this and anti-that beings scurry about frightened to death of life, all caught up in their “America Love it or Leave It” proclivities and philosophies.