AT THE CANDY KITCHEN

Yep. There used to be one. In MTV. It was on the square. Where now sits the beautiful building that houses the local rag.

There used to be a lot of other stores in that south block on the square across from the JeffCo County Court House where my wife first worked after our marriage. Some were The Mammoth, the best place to buy clothes. Well I guess one could venture to the other side of the square to buy fancier clothes at Albert's or The Susan Shop, but The Mammoth suited (pun) most. Unless one chose J. V. Walkers' Sons on the opposite corner heading east.

Murphy's Five and Dime, Jackson's Jewelers, Steffy Home Furniture (or was it Furnishings?) I'll have to ask my brother who worked there for many years. But a fire took that side of the square before the massive pole barn brick facaded Register-News took that whole side and ruined the downtown scene.

Not that a lot goes on there anymore. Not that that's unusual. Most small towns found their downtowns being ignored when the big box stores settled in next to major highways. MTV was no exception.

But how long the Candy Kitchen was located on that side of the square, I don't know. I'm glad it was there though. Because that's where my Mom and Dad met. Dad worked there and Mom was a customer.

No wonder I have a sweet tooth.

ASTORIA, OREGON

We didn't take this picture there. I Googled Angus' Folly, Angus McCain, Angus McClain, and Oregon vegetation and came up with zilch. But I heard about him twice today on a tour.

Our tour guide was very verbal, very knowledgeable, very able. In great detail he pointed out the bright yellow vegetation that grew in clumps, climbed hills, huddled by the roadside and gave a great color to Astoria, Seaside, Nehalem, Cannon Beach and other burgs we ventured to. Angus' Folly was brought to America by a Scottsman and it took off. Much like blackberries, if harvested or cut out, they merely spread. It's not harmful like the choking plant in the South whose name always escapes me as I want to call it chahula, which isn't even close.

But after Marc, our guide, had talked at length about it and constantly made reference to it, a little old lady among a bunch of little old ladies on this tour asked "What are all those yellow flowers?"

Unless you were there, you couldn't imagine the biggest silent but collective "Duh" unuttered by every other passenger on board. Marc explained again like a patient teacher.

But the rest of the tour was really good. it included going to the biggest WWII Air Museum in the country at Tillemook Air Base. Outstanding details and planes and jeeps and a tank housed in a hangar. Lots of memorabilia including unknown to us a display about the Japanese blimps and submarines that shelled the northwest coast. One balloon bomb killed a pastor's wife and some Sunday School children who were out for a picnic after church. There was even a plan for the Japanese to blow up the Gatun Locks at the Panama Canal to delay the US arrival, but it was canceled. All new to us.

But my wife and I were in the same boat never having studied WWII in high school or college. And I have a minor in history. But ask me about Vasco Degama or Jamestown and I can enlighten.

We also learned that deer cannot tolerate eggs. So if they are eating in your vegetable or flower garden just beat some eggs and mix with the seeds and the deer will be repulsed. I suppose it would also work with tulip bulbs, which our daughter-in-law likes to plant next to the house, but the deer are so tame or have such a hankering for them, that they munch the pretty flowers anyhow.

A final thought due to the tour. But Tillemook cheese and if you can find it ice cream and fudge. Delicious.

SAN DIEGO'S NUMBER 2

I always thought outside of Hawaii that San Diego had the prettiest flora and fauna of any place in the US I'd been. No more. But you're still Numero Dos.

On our current cruise, our first stop was Santa Barbara and that place in Number One. I really didn't snap this photo of the dog and lilacs, but it could have come from Santa Barbara. I'm not sure all the flowers I saw, that is, I couldn't identify them. And some weren't blooming yet such as the jacaranda which is in full force in Arizona, but there was a plethora of blooming plants.

It also helps that there's an obvious pride in ownership in the city. The city itself is extremely clean, especially on the Upper East side and East side. Immaculate, in fact. Our tour guide said that graffiti is taken care of on average every three days. I thought I saw some that had been there longer, but hey, I'm spoiled: I live in a city that is almost devoid of any.

I think they may go a little overboard on some of the city regulations, though. There are no hotels on the beach. Some across the street, but even they are no luxury hotels in the least. I guess if I lived there and my house was positioned where I could see the ocean as many are, then I would love it. In fact, the more I think about it, the way the city lies on a hill that filters down to the ocean, that may really be cool. I know I have a few neighbors' trees that have grown tall enough to block some of my view to Camelback Mountain, and face it, a mountain's not as picaresque as an ocean, so city fathers, I'll agree. Reg on.

Eclectic is the really the most accurate word to describe the city. Hodge podge seems to suggest haphazardness, and in Santa Barb, it seems that an adobe type house just down the street from a huge mansion or two just doesn't look out of place here. Toss in the mission situated on the very top of the hill, throw in the ringing of church bells that we could hear from our ship anchored a 15 minute tender away and you have another lovable part of this coastal paradise.

A Catalina, Coronado, almost Capri city.

SPRING COWBOY

A big hill. No step for a stepper, he had heard his father say, but he didn't know what it meant. His uncle countered with No hill for a climber. Now he understood.

The yellow field, the golden land held an appeal for him. An unfettered oasis. Not a mirage, because this field was real. He saw it everyday.

To ride Old Sal to the top. That's the name his older brother had given the horse. If it was a hand-me-down, then so was the name. Part of the family history.

Once in awhile he would catch his bro riding in the saddle. He was too big now. Too rough for Old Sal. He had torn off a plastic cap that smoothed out the dowel that ran through Sal's mouth on both sides and allowed the rider to hold on. Some Super Glue had remedied as Super Glue often did.

When he had yelled at his brother for taking the unauthorized ride, all he got in return was a laugh. Not the kind laugh, not even the hearty laugh that seems to emanate from the throat, stay there awhile before coming out of the mouth. Sometimes that kind of laugh, funny as it is, would result in a little snot bubble. But this kind was a mean laugh like mean guys on cartoons had sometimes. There seemed too be a lot of that sort of thing on the Cartoon Network, but his parents didn't allow that viewing.

So Old Sal was his. A good listener, Sal understood the field that lay ahead. The openness, the vastness, the possibilities. To ride her to the top and look over his dominion was his desire.

At least for this week. Next week would hold in store a game of army and finding buried treasures in foreign lands. The yellow field transformed into a battleground for the former and a sandy beach for the looking for treasure.

Sal was always there for him, even when his brother was not.

A GENERIC SUNSET

It's an impossibility. Every sunset is unique. Maybe it's because of the one(s) you're with. Your mood. God's splendor. But there has never been a generic, run of the mill sunset. Even on bad, bad days.

Why this one is generic (and as I just ascertained, none are) is that it came from a computer I'm borrowing this week. From a very nice English lady in the Internet Cafe who warned me, "Don't wear off me keys playing FarmVille with it."

You see, we're cruising for the 17th time. This one takes us to Santa Barbara, San Francisco, Astoria, Seattle, Victoria, and Vancouver. Not as long as some, but also not as short as some that we have had the pleasure to take.

Today found us passing under The Golden Gate Bridge at 8 AM. Cold winds, cloudy skies tried to dampen our spirits, but we're a hearty bunch of cruisers, even though on this particular Princess cruise, I'm afraid there are relatively few who would qualify as Princesses. Like most cruisers, a lot would like to think themselves queens, duchesses, or some kind of aristocracy.

But The Bridge (with an apology to David McCullough who is enamored by the Brooklyn Bridge) is an engineering marvel stuck smack into some perfect weather to give surreal photo ops. As we are presently docked before leaving this evening at 10 PM, I've been able to observe The Bridge for the past two hours outside our starboard side room with a view and the various changing hues and subtleties that the SF weather, changeable as some junior high school girls I seem to remember, offer.

A combination of low white clouds and the positioning of a four o'clock sun have taken the golden out of the bridge and left it a dull gray color. I'm not sure golden is its color anyhow; I'd have called it brick. But there's something blase about the Brick Gate Bridge, so Golden is better if not accurate.

Of course we went to Fisherman's Wharf and Boudin's for clam chowder in a sourdough bread bowl. Well, except for my wife who opted for chili in the same kind of bowl since she suffers from an unfair allergy to shell fish. But heavy rain and cold, the same allergy sufferer wore four shirts under a jacket today, sent us back to the ship after a 15 minute walk and 30 minute trolley ride.

But we'd seen SF before and all its charms from Alcatraz to Chinatown to Lombard St to cable cars to Muir Woods, et. al, so as much as we like the city, we didn't mind not taking it all in again.

A final salvo from San Fran: I was nearly injured twice today. Once, on our way to the wharf when we were walking to the elevator a small ceiling encasement fell and nearly bopped me on the head like Fufu. When I made a joking comment that my wife had walked under it and shook the floor with her newly added cruise pounds, I could have been felt her Bunny Fufu wrath as well.

I promise to be nicer tomorrow, although it's a day at sea, so that may just give me plenty of opportunity for orneriness.