From A Bird's Eye View

Posted in opinion

Why L.A. Will NEVER Get an NFL Team

April 13, 2015By Sparrow/WatsonComments:7 Comments

by Bob Sparrow

Just helping you forget about taxes

With Suzanne’s well-written admonitions still echoing in our heads from last week, I thought the weighty topic of Los Angeles and professional football would be an appropriate blog subject as a break from our tax-dulled senses. Metaphorically speaking, if taxes and dying in San Francisco were a rodeo, this blog is the clown that jumps out of the barrel to distract the bull, maybe in this case to sling the bull.

Like many of you, I couldn’t care less whether LA ever gets a professional football team; I am a 49ers fan for life who wouldn’t drive to LA to see a game if I had a seat next to Kate Upton . . . OK, maybe then, but I wouldn’t be watching the game! I do, however, miss that 49ers-Rams ‘north-south’ rivalry and so have paid some attention to all the talk lately around various billionaires building space-age stadiums (paid for with our tax dollars – Oops, I was trying not to mention taxes) in various parts of the city to attract an NFL team. So why am I convinced that the country’s second largest media market, which once had two NFL teams, will not be getting another one anytime soon?

New L.A. stadium . . . in their dreams!

First, after USC’s Reggie Bush took a pay cut to go to the NFL a few years back, some would suggest that LA already has a professional football team, but that would be a cheap shot.

The main reason for no team in LA is the make up of the LA fan. I have observed three types; the first have luxury boxes and are notorious for ‘making an entrance’ sociably late to the game, wearing the latest fashions and then, after being seen, leaving early to avoid the congestion getting out of the parking lot. The limited time they are at the game is used for consuming their Beef Wellington hot dogs, truffle fries and Bombay Safire martinis. These are the fans that would root for their team to ‘kick a touchdown’.

The second type of fan are those that are not originally from Los Angeles, which is about 80% of the southern California population. The only time they go to a game is when their hometown team comes into town to play. Those from Chicago, for example, even though they left the ‘Windy City’ 20 years ago, would not give up rooting for ‘da Bears’ in favor of rooting for the ‘L.A. La De Dahs’. I personally was part of this group when Rams games were being played in Orange County; when the 49ers came to town, I’d go to the games and there would be a sea, make that a bay, of San Francisco red and gold covering the entire stadium. The NFL is concerned that these are the fans that would get beat up, by the third type of fan, in the parking lot after the game for wearing the visiting team’s colors.

Part of the ‘Raider Nation’ Gang

The third type of fan are the ones left over from the Oakland Raiders 12-year, forgot-to-pay-the-rent visit to Los Angeles. This group, who dressed like every game was Halloween, are not so much crowd members as they are ‘gang members’. With this group the NFL would be concerned that if an LA team lost a game or the refs made a bad call that these guys would riot in the streets and then go home and burn their own houses down. Game food for this gang is Beer Chicken, hold the chicken.

Miley’s ‘V’ for Victory

The other NFL franchise owners are another reason why LA will never have a team. They must approve any move to a new city by any other current team, so each team’s owner, always looking to get stadium up-grades (from city taxes – dang, there I go again!), threatens to move to LA – eventually their city acquiesces and the owners breathe a big sigh of relief that they don’t have to move their team, and themselves, to ‘the land of fruits and nuts’.

The NFL might also be concerned that a ‘Tinsel Town’ team might employ people like Miley Cyrus, the Kardashian sisters and Bruce Jenner as their cheerleaders.

L.A.’s new mascot?

In the true spirit of Los Angeles football, one potential owner already indicated his choice for a mascot when he said, “ The team mascot should be The White Broncos, to commemorate O.J. Simpson’s infamous police chase through the city.”

Don’t worry, it ain’t gonna happen!

Posted in opinion

DEATH AND TAXES

April 6, 2015By Sparrow/WatsonComments:8 Comments

By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Wouldn’t this taste good about now?

Well, here we are again. The week between Easter and taxes. I trust that you all enjoyed your holiday, whether it was Easter or Passover. As our dad used to say, “I hope the Easter bunny leaves all his eggs in a Ramos gin fizz.” I’m on a diet this week so I’m hoarding all my chocolate bunnies until I lose these last three pounds. Then I will dive into them like a six-year-old on crack, regain the three pounds, and the cycle will begin again. Those three pounds are as inevitable as next week’s “holiday” – Tax Day.

I’d feel a whole lot better about writing that check if I felt that my money was being managed by people who understood their fiduciary responsibility to the taxpayers. A couple of years ago a book was published about tax waste which did nothing to bolster my confidence that public servants are shepherding our monies in any sort of rational way. Here’s just a few examples:

$30 million to help Pakistani Mango farmers: This was part of a four-year, $90 million effort to boost hiring and sales among Pakistani businesses. During a time, by the way, in which millions of American businesses were going under due to the recession.

$765,828 for pancakes: Generally, I’m all for ANYTHING to do with pancakes but in this instance federal funding went to the Anacostia Economic Development Corp to build an International House of Pancake franchise (and train its workers) in an “underserved community.” The underserved community, however, turned out to the a toney area of Washington D.C. – Columbia Heights, which is termed “one of Washington’s more desirable neighborhoods.”

$10 million for Pakistani “Sesame Street”: Again, giving money to Pakistan, where we have trouble distinguishing the good guys from the bad and a country that somehow missed the fact that Osama bin Laden was living within spitting distance of a Pakistani military base for years. Because, after funding the Pakistani Mango farmers, the government felt it needed to spend $10 million of our money remaking big bird and the other Sesame Street characters into a show called “SimSim Humara” for the Pakistani market.

So, you can see why I might be a bit wary about turning my money over to people who make drunken sailors look like pillars of the community. This confluence of bureaucratic incompetence and taxes came to the forefront for me this week. As you faithful readers will recall, my best friend from childhood, Leslie Sherman, died last November. Unfortunately, she died in San Francisco, which, as it turns out, is the worst place in America to die. Her family has been waiting more than FOUR months for the results of the autopsy. If you think that seems an excessively long time, you’re right. The average time it takes to complete an autopsy and secure a final Death Certificate in major U.S. cities is 60 days. Ellen Huet of Forbes did an expose on the Medical Examiners office in S.F. which uncovered the fact that they were operating under “provisional accreditation”. In other words, they’re totally inept. As a result, the city has hired a new ME who hopefully can provide answers to the untold number of families awaiting autopsy results.

To compound matters, Leslie died without a will or other important documents in place. When we were kids she never cracked a book or crammed for an exam and still got straight “A’s”, graduating from high school and college with honors. Unfortunately, however, financial planning was not her strong suit. So her family is struggling to sell her two homes, close out bank accounts, and take care of all other financial issues without either a will or a completed Death Certificate.

So, why am I bringing this up today, on this bright Spring morning? Because there are some lessons to be learned from all this and really, as a public service, I’m going to point them out for you.

1. Do NOT, under any circumstances, die in San Francisco.

2. Get your financial house in order. Write your will or trust. I know, it’s hard to think about a world without you in it, but believe me, it’s the best gift you can give your heirs. Do whatever your personal situation dictates, especially if you’re single, whether it’s ensuring your bank accounts have a Payable on Death provision to your beneficiaries or that you complete Transfer on Death documents for your investments.

If you don’t do these things the government is more than willing to step in and claim your hard-earned cash. In which case, don’t blame me if your money ends up going to Pakistani mango farmers rather than your kids.

Posted in The Tape

‘The Tape’ – Chapter 5 Meeka’s Revenge

March 30, 2015By Sparrow/WatsonComments:2 Comments

by Bob Sparrow

(As a refresher, as well as for those new to the blog, the links below are to the previous chapters of ‘The Tape’, an allegorical tale of searching, with cameo appearances from beyond from my dear departed friend, Don Klapperich

(Jan 2014) Chapter 1 ‘The Tape’ https://fromabirdseyeview.com/?p=2454

(Jan 2014) Chapter 2 ‘The Tape’ – Searching for Xoon http://fromabirdseyeview.com/?p=2500

(May 2014) Chapter 3 ‘The Tape’ – A Visit with Chief Chuckwalla https://fromabirdseyeview.com/?p=2776

(July 2014) Chapter 4 ‘The Tape’ – Oh Where the Trap Door Leads https://fromabirdseyeview.com/?p=2807

Coachella Valley

Chief Chuckwalla, with moist eyes, seemed a million miles away as he continued to stare out into the valley, trying to decide exactly where to begin to tell this story.

He finally began, “Everyone knows the story of slavery in America’s south, the slave traders gabbing black men and women from Africa and bringing them to America to sell; the cruelty that took place on the plantations and the attendant racism. But few people know of the slavery that took place right here long before America was ever colonized. It began when the Spanish conquistador, Cortez defeated the Aztecs in the early 1500’s which allowed the Spanish to rule what is now Mexico and the southwestern part of the United States for the next 300 years. The Spanish not only took our land, but they enslaved the Inviatim people to work it for them. The Spanish rancheros were the predecessors to southern plantations. They told us that our gods and beliefs were all wrong, that Christianity was the only true religion. In fact they used the word ‘Cahuilla’ to describe our tribe – a word that means heathen. We were told that we would suffer if we didn’t convert. And they made us suffer.

(Don: Ahhh, don’t ya just love organized religion?”)

The chief continued, “Those who either refused to work on the rancheros or refused to convert to Christianity were beaten, blindfolded, tied up and dragged behind horses to this place and imprisoned. Many of them died here, including my great, great grandmother.

“So those were their remains in the cells?” I said.

Palkara

“No.” the chief replied, I could see he was struggling to get the story out. “My great, great grandfather, Palkara and their daughter, Meeka, managed to escape from this Hellhole. Several days after his escape, Palkara formed a posse and, now knowing the location of this secret underground prison, returned in the dead of night and attacked and killed the guards and freed hundreds of prisoners. Unfortunately he was killed in the attack. The Inviatim prisoners, who were released, moved south and established their village by what is now the Salton Sea, but at that time was a beautiful freshwater lake fed by the Colorado River.

“Meeka, who was only about 10 when she and her father escaped, grew to be a very independent and strong-willed woman, who was determined to find a way to get back at the Spanish for killing her mother and father. As she grew older, she would often returned to this place just to remind herself of what happened here and to keep her resolve for revenge. She ultimately decided that she was going to use this Hellhole to exact that revenge. She convinced a small but courageous group of Inviatim tribe members to join in her crusade.

Meeka

“It was in the late 1700s and the white man was now just starting to push the Spanish and Mexicans out and take over more and more of the southwest region. Most, if not all, of the Spaniards who took the Inviatim’s land and imprisoned and killed their people were now dead or gone. But Meeka’s desire for revenge needed to be quenched. She painstakingly found the names of those leaders responsible for imprisoning her people and killing her parents. She then located their children, or children’s children, many of whom were still living in the area and were now adults. Systematically, one by one, she kidnapped and imprisoned them here, locked the place up tighter than a drum and left them to die. It is their bones that remain down there now.”

I sat silently for a long time, in awe of the story I had just heard and finally said, “That is an amazing story; so what happened to Meeka?”

To be continued . . .

Posted in opinion

UN-FUN MONEY

March 23, 2015By Sparrow/WatsonComments:3 Comments

By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Tahiti – where I hoped to write this blog

I think it’s fairly safe to assume we all like to spend money. Come on, admit it, when you think about things to buy you rarely think about a new vacuum cleaner or getting that pesky crown replaced on your back molar. Nope, in general we all fantasize about how we can spend money on “fun” stuff. Last fall on our long car trip home from our summer travels my husband and I dreamed about some of the fun things we’d like to purchase over the winter. My husband mentioned some ridiculous items – among them a Shelby Cobra. I’ve heard him ask for that car so often that I’m now like the adults in a Charlie Brown cartoon – his lips move but all I hear is “wonk,wonk, wonk”. I, on the other hand, came up with some practical items – new furniture, season tickets to the theater, perhaps even a trip to Tahiti where I could ensconce myself in one of those swim-up bars and spend weeks writing a travel blog through the lens of too many Pina Coladas. Then reality set in and the spending of “un-fun” money began.

First up was a new washer and dryer. We had noticed over the summer that our clothes came out a lot less wrinkled when we were using someone else’s appliances. I hate it when my off-hand attitude toward domesticity rears up. How could I not have noticed that our washer and dryer were so obviously sub-par? Clearly there is some “housework gene” that I am missing. But since I’ve never liked being on the working end of an iron, I was all for buying a new “laundry suite”. That’s a term I learned at the appliance store, where I was faced with an overwhelming array of choices. It is astounding to learn the tasks these hunks of metal can perform – remove spots, steam clean, sanitize! I kept looking for a dryer that would fold and put the clothes away but I guess that’s a bit down the road. In any event, a couple thousand dollars later we were the proud parents of a new washer and dryer. Sad to say…I’m not sure that our clothes are any less wrinkled but I’m pretending that they are so I don’t feel like we wasted our money.

The next month my husband was doing a walk-around of the house and determined that we really couldn’t go one more winter without painting it. So we got a couple of estimates from painters. Clearly they assumed we wanted to paint the whole neighborhood. Wow – I know they have to caulk and power wash before they slap some paint on, but really, you could feed a small nation for what they charge. Four days and several thousand dollars later, more “un-fun” money had been spent. Unfortunately, once the house looked so snappy it became evident that much of our landscaping had given up the ghost during the blazing hot summer so more “un-fun” money was forked over to the landscapers.

In January one of my front tires mysteriously had a rather large piece of rubber torn out (I’m taking the Fifth). A trip down to those friendly people at Discount Tire resulted in an inspection that necessitated purchasing FOUR new tires. Tires, or generally anything having to do with car maintenance, is the height of “un-fun” money.

Finally, this week our dishwasher decided that nine years was long enough to do dishes. Jeez – I was “the dishwasher” growing up and I lasted 18 years. (Isn’t it funny how our parents “suddenly” decided to get dishwashers when we moved out?). Anyway, we found ourselves on another trip down to the appliance store – I’m thinking we may have to put their address in the “Frequently Visited” category on our nav system. I asked the salesman if that super-duper washing machine he sold us four months ago might also be put into service doing dishes. He was not amused. Thirty minutes later we were separated from more of our hard-earned “un-fun” money.

So, to summarize, we have a new washer, dryer, paint job, landscaping, tires and a dishwasher. Not a pina colada in sight. Oh well, my brother is better at writing about tropical bars anyway. I’ll just sit home and wait for the next thing to break down. Hopefully it won’t be me.

Posted in travel

King of the Cowboys

March 16, 2015By Sparrow/WatsonComments:3 Comments

by Bob Sparrow

Route 66

I had the occasion to travel to Apple Valley, CA for work last week; no, it was nothing like having to travel to the island of Kaua’i for work as I did a few years ago, but it was not without some redeeming qualities. An hour and a half’s drive away, bucolic-sounding Apple Valley is located at the southern end of the Mojave Desert at an elevation of nearly 3,000 feet and is considered ‘high desert’ – apples are no longer grown there. The historic ‘Route 66’ winds through the area, but the quiet, pot-holed streets and boarded up shops would indicate that very few are still ‘getting their kicks on Route 66’.

Interstate 15 now runs adjacent to Apple Valley and I rarely traverse it without thinking of Roy Rogers (It’s on the way to Vegas, so I’ve made the trip a few times!). In the late 40s and through out the 50s Roy was a staple in the movies and on TV and helped popularize the musical Western. Roy and wife, Dale Evans, who had long careers in movies and on TV, retired in the mid-80s to their ranch in Apple Valley, which was home to the first Roy Rogers Museum, which contained artifacts from his movies and TV show, including Roy’s horse, Trigger, who was stuffed and placed in the museum.

Andy Devine

Gabby Hayes

Most everyone in my generation idolized Roy Rogers and Dale Evans and got to know his many sidekicks who provided comic relief; Pat Brady, who drove a Jeep named ‘Nellybelle’, Andy Devine and George ‘Gabby’ Hayes, who both had voices that made you wince and faces for radio. We also became acquainted with Roy’s faithful German Shepard, Bullet. Rogers and his entourage appeared in over 100 films and had top rated radio and TV shows in the 40s and 50s.

Roy was born Leonard Slye (a name Hollywood had to change!) in Ohio and quit high school at 15 to work in the family shoe factory. The family moved to California during the Great Depression where Roy worked driving truck and picking fruit. He was always interested in singing and yodeling and worked with several bands over the years until he and a friend formed a group that became the ‘Sons of the Pioneers’ and ultimately signed a record deal. In 1935, Roy’s good looks landed him his first bit part in a Gene Autry movie. Three years later, when Autry was demanding more money (probably saving up to buy the California Angels!) the lead part was offered to Roy and he was on his way to becoming a matinee idol.

Roy always wore a white hat that never came off during a fight while he was knocking out the bad guys, in black hats, with one punch. Towards the end of each movie or tv/radio episode, after he’d righted all the wrongs, he would pick up his guitar and sing a song, often accompanied by Dale and his back-up group, The Sons of the Pioneers, whose songs can still be purchased on iTunes.

Dale was a story unto herself; born Francis Smith in Texas, she was married at 14 and divorced with a child at 16, yet continued to pursue her singing career. Her marriage to Roy, his second and her fourth, lasted 51 years, until his death. She wrote their theme song, Happy Trails.

He was dubbed, ‘King of the Cowboys’, she, ‘Queen of the West’.

Roy Rogers & Dale Evans

Roy died in 1998 and Dale three years later. They are now both interned at the Sunset Hills Memorial Park . . . in Apple Valley.

If you’re ever passing by Apple Valley and want to visit the museum . . . the original Roy Rogers museum was erected in 1967 in an old bowling alley in Apple Valley, it moved to a bigger building in neighboring Victorville in 1976. To draw more people it moved again to Branson, Missouri in 2003, but eventually shut down for good, due to lack of interest, in 2009.

The passing of an era . . . a very good era indeed for those of us who were fortunate enough to have lived in it. Thank you Roy Rogers and Dale Evans, for all the Happy Trails.

Posted in opinion

THE EDUCATION OF AN “ICE BUCKET” SKEPTIC

March 9, 2015By Sparrow/WatsonComments:6 Comments

By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Brother Bob – In full Ice Bucket Challenge Regalia

Last August the world was taken captive by seemingly reasonable people everywhere dumping buckets of ice over their heads. The cause, of course, was the “Ice Bucket Challenge”, a fund-raising effort for ALS, sometimes referred to as “Lou Gehrig’s Disease”. The “challenge” was that people either dumped a bucket of ice over their heads or donate $100 to the ALS Association. Once the bucket was overturned the participant then challenged three friends to the task. It was impossible to go on any social media account or turn on the TV without seeing someone dumping ice – from former Presidents to Oprah. You know it’s serious when Oprah does something. Not to mention that my brother and co-blogger, Bob, participated in the challenge and coerced his kids to take part as well. I have to admit, I was pretty skeptical of the whole endeavor. My feeling is that when something becomes “the thing to do” it generally loses all serious intent. Plus, we’ve all read about charity fund-raisers that don’t result in many funds actually going to the charity. I figured that it was AUGUST, for Heaven’s sake, so people in most parts of the country were more than happy to bathe themselves in ice. I was not one of them.

And then something happened that hit very close to home – the husband of a dear friend was diagnosed with ALS in January. It has been devastating to them and to all of us that care about them. They are coming to grips with the effects of the disease and learning all they can about it. As it turns out, the ALS Association is a wonderful resource, providing not only guidance and support, but actually supplying wheelchairs and any other equipment that a family needs to accommodate the manifestations of the disease. So my friend was telling me the other day that the ALS Association volunteer mentioned that they had been able to purchase a lot of equipment to lend out because of money they got from the “Ice Bucket Challenge”. Suddenly, I felt a bit embarrassed that I had not dumped ice on my head. So being the nerd that I am, I set off to research whether the Phoenix Chapter of the ALS Association was unusual or whether “the Challenge” had done as much in other areas of the country as well.

As it turns out, those intrepid people at CNBC were thinking the same thing. Last month one of their reporters, Meg Tirrell, investigated whether the “Ice Bucket Challenge” had been a social media phenomenon or an effective fund-raiser. Turns out, it was both. The “Ice Bucket Challenge” actually raised $115 million for the ALS Association, compared to their annual budget of $60 million. How did they raise that much when so many people chose to dump ice? Because people both dumped and donated. Which should help to restore your faith in human kindness this Monday morning. And to cheer you up even further, it turns out that Phoenix was not the only area to benefit – it helped ALS Associations all over the country buy equipment, provide respite care programs, and maybe most importantly, it funded four research projects aimed at better understanding , and thus finding a cure, for what causes ALS. All four projects had been stopped due to a lack of research money.

There is no word yet as to whether the “Ice Bucket Challenge” is going to be an annual event or whether it was just a one-time phenomenon. Hopefully it will take place again in August and I can assure you, I will be dumping ice and donating with the best of them. And I’m also taking part in the “Defeat ALS” walk in October. Family and friends be warned – I’m going to hit you up for some of your hard-earned money when I strap on my walking shoes. And just to add a degree of difficulty to the walk, I’ll dump a bucket of frozen Margaritas over my head as I pass the finish line. I think that could catch on.

Posted in travel

Best Place to Live – A Day in the Life

March 2, 2015By Sparrow/WatsonComments:15 Comments

by Bob Sparrow

A couple of recent ‘Best Place to Live’ surveys reminded me of my business travel days when I crisscrossed the country and would often be asked where I was from. When I responded, “Southern California, Orange County”, I would hear things like, “Oh, a surfer dude”, (I’ve never surfed), or “Oh, is that why you wear those cool shades?” (I wear sunglasses BECAUSE IT’S SUNNY THERE!), or, “Aren’t you afraid that an earthquake is going to cast California into the Pacific Ocean?” (No). If the conversation continues, people feel compelled to remind me that, 1) there are too many people in southern California, 2) the traffic is unbearable, and 3) the air is unbreathable. Then, feeling the need to ‘throw me a bone’, they’d say, “But the weather’s nice” and then they’d remind me of the earthquakes again.

Last week in a California survey done by Movato Real Estate, I discovered that my city of residence for the last 38 years, Orange, was selected as California’s best city to live in. In fact, Orange County had seven of the top ten cities. If you’re interested in seeing the rest of the cities, here’s the link to the survey:

http://www.movoto.com/ca/best-places-in-california/

I hope everyone feels that they live in the ‘Best Place to Live’, but I wanted to confirm and perhaps help justify this elevated status for Orange County, so last Friday, February 27, I set out to help prove that it is, in fact, one of the very best places to live, in part due to its proximity to such a diversity of environments. Thus my journey began . . .

The Desert

pre-dawn at Desert Willow Golf Resort

Sunrise for a perfect day of golf

I woke up at 3:45 a.m. (The things I do for you readers!) and with an assortment of wardrobes in tow, I’m out the door at 4:05. It takes me 95 minutes to drive the 103 miles from Orange to the beautiful Desert Willows Golf Resort in Palm Desert – golf’s winter mecca. It feels like I’m in a whole different world, because I am. It’s 50 degree at 6:18 when the first sliver of sunlight appears over the Little San Bernardino Mountain range and softly lightens the Coachella Valley below. It will get to 77 degrees here today. I’m envious of the golfers that are teeing off at first light in perfect weather, but I have a full day ahead of me, so I order breakfast, read the paper, write some of this blog and then head to my next destination.

The Mountains

Photo taken from the sun deck

I cover the next 85 miles to Big Bear Mountain in 115 minutes and arrive at Snow Valley Ski Resort where the cloudless sky is deep azure blue. I’ve gone from an elevation of around 200 feet to around 7,000 feet in less than two hours. It will get down to 21 degrees here this evening. Bear Big Mountain provides great local skiing and snowboarding in the winter and great hiking trails in the summer. There was a storm last week and another one coming in this weekend, but I am fortunate to find a window where chains are not required to negotiate the assent on this winding mountain road. Once at Snow Valley, I step out of my car and take a deep breath and feel immediately exhilarated by a blast of fresh mountain air – this is air that no one has breathed before! I enjoy a cup of coffee as I hang out on the upper sun deck of the lodge watching the skiers on the mountain and wishing I were amongst them. I make a snowball, because I haven’t done that in years, and throw it at a nearby tree . . . and miss. While I’m in the neighborhood, I decide to head over to picturesque Lake Arrowhead – another 25 minutes and 14 miles. Back in ‘the day’, Lake Arrowhead was the mountain retreat for many Hollywood stars including, Shirley Temple, Tom Selleck, Patrick Swayze and Brian Wilson of the Beach Boys (photo at right is one I took of Wilson’s former lake house) to name a few. Today Arrowhead Village it’s fairly quiet; it’s off season – no boats on the lake, no stars in sight! Time to head down off the mountain.

The Beach

Huntington Beach sunset

Huntington Beach pier

I drop from 7,000 feet to . . . zero – sea level, as I drive 87 miles in just under two hours from Lake Arrowhead to Huntington Beach. I could have gone to any number of great beaches in Orange County from Seal Beach to San Clemente, including tony Newport Beach or artsy Laguna Beach, but I wanted to visit my favorite beach restaurant, Dukes at Huntington Beach – ‘Surf City’. I find a place at the bar and watch surfers and street entertainers as the sun disappears slowly and beautifully into the Pacific Ocean. My day is complete – sunrise to sunset.

I do understand that proximity to the desert, mountains and beach is not everything, but it just adds to all the other factors that make Orange County a ‘best place to live’.

I make the 23-mile trek back home exhausted, but feeling great about completing the ‘trifecta’ – desert, mountains and ocean all in one day. Next time I’m thinking it should be the ‘Trifecta Triathlon’ – same venues only I play golf, ski and swim. Maybe not.

PS: For those wondering – 312 miles

Posted in Blog Info / Up-dates

DEDUCING DEDUCTIONS

February 23, 2015By Sparrow/WatsonComments:4 Comments

By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

The dreaded 1040

Well, it’s that time of year again where I get out my green eyeshades and sharpen my pencil in order to calculate our taxes. I’m actually one of the few people I know who like to prepare taxes – it’s the paying of them I’m not so crazy about. A few years ago a friend told me about a head-to-head competition he ran between his CPA and TurboTax. Turns out that TurboTax actually found more deductions. That was enough for a geek like me; I began using it the following year. It’s very simple – I input our income, figure out some of the major deduction categories, insert them when prompted and they magically calculate what we owe. Unfortunately this year, it was a LOT more fun inserting the numbers than it was to read what we owed. Yikes! We’re not personally trying to settle the national debt, although the wizards at the IRS and TurboTax evidently think we are. So there was only one solution – find more deductions.

Dash, the Dependent

I began by reviewing our charitable contributions. I thought about all the times I carelessly tossed spare change into whatever charity container sits at the checkout counter at the grocery store. Certainly I must have thrown at least $1000 in there over the course of a year Or maybe not. I perused the list of clothing that we give to the local animal shelter thrift store. If I actually added in my time to the hand-knit sweaters I donated I’m sure the value of them would skyrocket. Of course, I’m not sure that the IRS values my time in quite the same way I do. On closer review of our annual expenses, it became apparent that we spend an awful lot of money on Dash, The Wonder Dog. So I began to look more closely at the questions that TurboTax was asking me. “Do you have children or other people you financially support?” Well, Dash may not technically qualify as people, per se, but those of you who own a pet will certainly testify (perhaps at my IRS hearing) that our pets are just like people. Better, in some cases. “Do you pay child or dependent care?” Dash cannot be left alone for hours on end, which leaves us no choice but to take him to the dog sitter. And although he may not be a child, there is no question but that he is very dependent on us. “Do you have any higher education costs?” YES! Last year we paid to have Dash go through the Canine Good Citizen program which cost us a pretty penny, I assure you. And I’m willing to bet that he got more out of that than those kids who are drinking their way through Chico State.

A Dog with a JOB

Finally I decided that I should consult the IRS guidelines on the issue. Turns out, that in some cases you CAN deduct expenses for your dog. First, if you’re blind or otherwise handicapped, you can deduct all of the costs associated with a service dog. There is a lot of paperwork involved to certify that the dog is actually medically necessary. The IRS does not take the same slap-dash attitude toward this as the airlines, who seem pretty gullible by comparison with all the passengers claiming their dog is necessary for “emotional support” when all they’re really trying to do is avoid the $75 pet fee. Going blind so that I can claim Dash as a service dog seemed like it was taking things a bit too far. I moved on. The other way you can deduct your dog is if he has a job. Aha! I can definitely make a case that Dash has a job – he keeps quite busy every day following me around scooping up any food I happen to drop. But of course it’s always the fine print that gets you and as I read further, apparently the dog actually has to have regular work hours at a place of business. Like those snarling dogs at the local lumber yard. And a sign must be posted “Beware – Guard Dog on Duty”. Hmmmmm, we are so far from that. We have a front door mat that says “Beware – Our Dog Can’t Hold Its Licker”.

Finally, I gave up on the “Dash deduction” and resigned myself to paying the taxes owed. Our dad used to say that he never minded paying taxes because it was a privilege to live in this country. I admire his spirit but I’m not sure if he were alive today he would say the same thing, given budget excesses for $100,000 hammers and million dollar boondoggles by – of all people – IRS employees. I’m going to send a suggestion in with my tax forms stating how I’d like my tax payment to be appropriated. I’ll let you know how that goes.

Posted in Family

A Taste of the High Life at Desert Highlands

February 16, 2015By Sparrow/WatsonComments:10 Comments

by Bob Sparrow

Suzanne & Bob at Desert Highlands

Suzanne and Alan had their turn in the barrel last weekend – it was their turn to host Alan’s golf group. It was also a good excuse to celebrate our father’s 101^st birthday (although he’s been gone for 14 years) as well as Valentine’s Day. As it happened Linda and I were looking to go to Arizona to see her sister and mine. It was a chance for us to get out of this blustery winter in Southern California (the temperature had dropped below 70 for two straight days!) After a short visit with Linda’s sister, Starlet and husband, Donnie in Apache Junction (I’m sure the visit didn’t seem short to them, they fed us dinner, gave up their bed for the evening and fixed us breakfast the next morning), we headed off to see Suzanne and Al in Desert Highlands. Thank you Donnie and Starlet!

Desert Highlands is a very exclusive gate-guarded golf community in northern Scottsdale, where they’ve lived for the past 15 years. We’ve been there a number of times before and it’s always been great to get together with them, but this time it seemed particularly up-scale.

My view from the ‘transition’

The party on Saturday was exquisite – Suzanne and Al have a beautiful home on the 5^th hole of the golf course with an expansive view of the surrounding mountains. They had enough food to feed an army and enough booze to sink a navy. But the highlight, as it should be with any party, was the attendees. If I was expecting a bunch of snooty multi-millionaires, who had little time for interloping relatives (which of course I wasn’t . . . OK, maybe a little), I couldn’t have been more wrong. Really, what should I have expected from classy people like Suzanne and Al? To the person, every one of the guests was genuinely friendly, interesting and engaging. I almost felt like I belonged there, which I had learned the day before that I didn’t.

The day before was one of those very memorable days – one that you’d love to live over and over. We arrived at Desert Highlands golf clubhouse and were met by the golf attendants. They took our clubs and then they took our car! Before I could run after them yelling “Hey, my car’s being stolen”, Al let me know that the club offers a free valet service and that my car would be returned upon completion of the round of golf . . . and no tipping! I knew that!

The manicured golf course, nestled around Pinnacle Peak, is a visual spectacle; even the rough was like fairway, which is a good thing as I spent plenty of time there. I also spent a good deal of time in what they call the ‘transition’ area and quickly discovered that getting through the transition area was a kin to crawling with the French Foreign Legion through the Sahara Desert. Suffice it say that my game allowed me to see the entire golf course and way too much of the ‘transition’ area. It was nonetheless a beautiful golf course, the weather was perfect and I was with good company – I kept telling myself that the score really didn’t matter.

I did managed to play the 19^th hole well – the Desert Highlands clubhouse, which was very posh to begin with, had recently been remodeled and was now nothing short of spectacular, with new boulder-framed sitting areas and fire pits around a new, outside ‘Sunset Bar’ over-looking the pool and the city of Scottsdale beyond. Add a cold beer and it doesn’t get much better than this. But it did!

The Gett’s backyard

Friday evening after golf, we were invited to dinner at the home of a very fun couple, Bob & Liz Gett (pronounced jet), friends of Suzanne and Al. The Gett’s home should be called the Grand Desert Highlands Resort – comparing it to a luxurious Ritz-Carlton would be selling their home short! The 8,500 square foot, elegantly decorated home actually is only out done their beautifully appointed outside living area, with landscape lighting, pool, spa, multiple fire places, giant TV screen, covered barbecue area and . . .and . . . and . . .

Bob & Bob having a Cuban cigar

After a delicious dinner and engaging conversation about the Patriots’ recent Super Bowl victory (Bob & Liz are from the Boston open and they attended the game), we sat outside with after-dinner drinks and watched the city lights of Scottsdale come alive following one of those spectacular Arizona sunsets. Just when I thought the evening couldn’t get any better, Bob asked, “Would you like a Cuban cigar?” Heaven.

Thank you Suzanne and Al for a weekend that our father would have really enjoyed, even at 101!

Posted in opinion

WHEN I WAS YOUNG AND WINE WAS CHEAP

February 9, 2015By Sparrow/WatsonComments:8 Comments

By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

The Time Capsule

I pride myself in being someone who doesn’t hang on to “things”. My philosophy is that if I don’t use something in a year or so, OUT it goes! So it was with some embarrassment that as I was cleaning closets the other day I found a box full of “things”. From the 60’s. Not my age – the decade. It was like opening a window to the past, a rather ridiculous past, but past none the less. Most of the “treasures” were found in scrapbooks from high school. It was a virtual time capsule from those years, so what should have taken 10 minutes morphed into three hours. Mostly, I wondered why I had kept some of these things to begin with. After all, raffle tickets to unnamed events, Greyhound bus passes and newspaper clippings from an Easter hat competition really shouldn’t have been that noteworthy. Clearly, my “throw everything out” philosophy came long after high school.

The Junior MIss trophy

I decided that I would only keep the most sentimental items so I started discarding the low hanging fruit – photos of people whom I no longer remember. Heck, these days I might not recognize people I met just last month so people from high school are clearly beyond my recall abilities. Next, I went through some of my sports memorabilia. There wasn’t much of note. I got rid of ski lift passes (although it was amazing to see that at one time you could buy a full day pass as Squaw Valley for $6) and the one blue ribbon I won on the swim team. That pretty much took care of the sports section. Next I threw out all the dance cards, cheerleading campaign buttons and programs from my choir and piano concerts. Nothing makes me cringe faster that to think of all the poor people who suffered through me pounding on the piano, desperately searching for the right key. Which brings me to the next thing I found in the box – my Junior Miss trophy from 1968. For the “talent” portion of the program I played Clair de Lune. I thought I did a fairly decent job until a boy came up to me at school the following Monday and told me that his dad (a musician) had said I played it like a fourth year piano student, at which point I crowed, “Great! I only took two years of lessons!”

Next, it was on to all of the miscellaneous items I’d thrown in the box. These were mostly mementos from places I had visited. A coaster from the old Hippo restaurant in San Francisco, an autograph from Matty Alou of the SF Giants and a menu from the high school graduation trip I took to Hawaii on Pan American airlines. Yep – that’s right – they used to give you a full color brochure of your dining choices – in coach. Better yet, drinks were fifty cents, beer and cigarettes just a quarter. No wonder so many people got drunk on planes! Most of my fun came in looking at a couple of old menus I had from two classic dining houses – Sabella’s of Marin and #9 Fisherman’s Grotto in San Francisco. The menu I had from Sabella’s is actually the wine menu (God only knows how I got my hands on that!). It’s fun to see that in the heart of what is now known as “wine country” there were only three California wineries listed and the wines were Sauterne, Chablis, Rhine, Burgundy, Chianti and Rose. Not a Merlot, Chardonnay or Cabernet to be found. And the prices averaged $3.00 per bottle. The dinner menu from Fisherman’s Grotto was equally depressing – entrees ran from $2.50 for fresh Monterey Abalone to the outrageous charge of $4.00 for Lobster Tail. Best of all, ice cream was only 30 cents.

It was three hours well spent. Not only did I get to go down my own personal Memory Lane, but I got to go back in time for a while. When things were simpler, a bit more elegant, and wine was cheap.