I Got Sniffed! (while the Iraqis voted)

The Iraqis are voting for their future, here in San Diego. We have 1 of the 7 polling sites for them in the US. A slightly run down middle eastern restaurant that advertises with a plastic banner over stucco: "Hall for Rent" was closed for eating and would be their voting site for the next 3 days.

The restaurant's huge corner parking lot with half a dozen driveways, was crisscrossed with long lines of yellow police tape. Only one driveway marked "In" and another marked "Out" was available. More yellow tape made empty rectangles around the sides and front of the building. Police stood guard at the driveways and orange traffic cones prevented one lane of cars in the street, of using the lane closest to the restaurant. A policeman stood guard out there too.


I pulled into the parking lot, parked and watched. I saw one of our local TV news vans being unloaded while I saw a not large but steady stream of middle easterners excitedly greet each other both in the parking lot and at the restaurant's doors.

It felt like a wedding was happening - most of the women wore long silky skirts that touched the asphalt, with long sleeved blouses or jackets and head scarves, some that flowed over their shoulders half down their backs. Children ran around chasing each other, all dressed in Sunday school best. Most of the men wore dark suits, some with turbans.





I was being watched very carefully and then my Jeep got sniffed! I watched as the handler would indicate side and back vehicle doors for the dog. The dog was totally concentrated on business, very seriously double and triple sniffing every vehicle in the lot . . . until she walked near a strip of bushes. In a flash she became such an ordinary house dog - tugging hard at her leash trying anxiously to sniff another branch that might have been marked by a dog.

I rolled down my window and talked with the handler. He said she trained for 3 months and added that she's not at all like your "lazy house dog!" He said, " . . .she works really hard, you know!" and seemed very proud of her.

A policeman finally walked up to me when it was apparent I wasn't there to vote. He demanded to know what I was doing and couldn't answer when I asked if it was ok I took some photos. He replied after me, "Well, I don't think they'll mind" as I walked out of the parking lot to talk with a lone man picketing - or so I thought. He carried a large placard on a long stick, mostly in Arabic(?), that said in brief English - "Vote For #740"

He wore a t-shirt with a large American flag on it and more Arabic(?) printing below. He slowly ran this index finger over the bright flag on his chest and with halting words almost crying, said he was so grateful to America to give his people a chance to vote - "Our first chance ever!", he exclaimed. He told me he was from a small Christian village in a remote part of Iraq who eagerly awaited to vote last January but the Sunni's sabotaged all their efforts and the ballots were never delivered to his village. He explained voting for #740 would put a contingent of Christians in office.

He started to tell me of the history of his Christian village and how they were the rightful owners of the historic land, when an angry policeman walked up and roughly demanded he stay 200 ft away from everything! I walked off as he tried to explain the permission he was previously granted . . .

Point Loma

I was up at 4:30 this morning and could see that San Diego was covered with a king sized blanket of fog. I threw on some sweats and headed out wondering if the dawn would make interesting photos.

I drove to Point Loma, a hilly peninsula - a long thin mountain partially residental (high rent district) and the rest owned by the military.

High above the crashing surf, the rows of dead service men and their wives seem to extend forever.







On the other side of Point Loma are the beautiful homes built into the hillside - many have views and the lower ones on the bay, have private docks.

















This is Shelter Island, a small flat area, not an island but a little peninsula adjacent to Point Loma.

A dozen live aboard sailboats were anchored, closed up and quiet at dawn while a solitary walker passed by the excited sounds of gulls arguing over splash rights to a muddy puddle.









Before I headed home I stopped for a cup of coffee. When I glanced at a table and some chairs in the corner marked - "Out the Service" with 'the' lined out and replaced with 'of', I reflected how we don't go far in San Diego without being aware English isn't the first language for so many.

Mission Beach

I wanted to show you Mission Beach this morning.

We have a great bay side, not the ocean surf, where you can rent all kinds of water toys on smooth, calm water.

Early this morning I watched some guys set up their business - they carefully set the skis on the lawn, fired up their boats and in this photo a young girl took a face plant trying to get up the first time.











Then I met Mouse. He saw me taking photos of his unattended cart, walked over from his 'island' in the middle of a busy intersection and asked me if I thought it was "classy".

Actually all his items were very neatly folded. His cardboard sign said he had heart problems - he told me he has 7 stents in his heart. He added that his grandmother named him Mouse years ago because he used to steal cheese snacks from her house.

As he proudly posed, he told me years ago he was an artist and took photos of the homeless in the early morning hours, still asleep on the old wooden loading docks where vegetables use to be unloaded from trucks.

Santee Lakes

Welcome to my new blog - this is all very new for me!

I'd like to show you around San Diego, my city in Southern California. We're almost on the border with Mexico, a warm sunny part of the US.

This morning I headed out early to a series of small lakes, just east over some small mountains from San Diego. The little rural community is called Santee.

For $30 a year I buy a park pass to enter as much as I want. There are 4 or 5 lakes - the one you see here had a freeway built on top of it and in the early morning light the reflection of the water danced on the cement above.





Fishermen use these lakes. They were setting up their spots when I arrived.

I found myself speculating that it's a good thing this man is adding more fish to his diet.












I wonder if all these leaves beneath one tree have a similar fingerprint we can read?