From A Bird's Eye View

Posted in travel

African Diary – Part 2 Cape Town

May 27, 2013By Sparrow/WatsonComments:3 Comments

by Bob Sparrow (from Africa)

“It’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey”

Getting There

Whoever uttered the above quote never flew from Los Angeles to London, London to Johannesburg and Johannesburg to Cape Town on a journey that included 26 hours of flying and 17 hours of lay-overs. I think I experienced a bending of the space-time continuum – I may have even spent some time in the Twilight Zone; I’m not sure where I was; I wasn’t even sure who I was. All I know is I left Los Angeles at 5:00 Friday afternoon and arrived in Cape Town, South Africa at 3:30 Sunday afternoon. Somebody owes me a Saturday!

Being There

12 Apostles Hotel & Spa

I can’t remember the last time I stayed in a suite at a Five-Star hotel . . . OK, maybe never. I can tell you it’s nothing like camping in the desert. But when we checked into 5-Star The Twelve Apostles Hotel & Spa those long hours getting there just seemed to . . . nah, my back still hurt. “The 12A” as it’s affectionately called, sits on the coast, by itself, between Cape Town and the Cape of Good Hope, and it is magnificent! Our oceanfront suite allowed us to sit on our deck and watch the sun sink into the Atlantic – and all this time we Californians thought the sun always sank into the Pacific. The facility, the location and particularly the staff, were marvelous. With “The 12A” as our base, and with the help of our expert guide, Craig Ziman, we squeezed in as many ‘points of interest’ that we could in three days.

Seeing There

Table Mountain

Table Mountain – it’s a must to take the gondola to the top and spend some time checking out the spectacular views of the cape below from various points. You can even repel down part of the way if you choose – I didn’t choose. Cape Point – better known as the Cape of Good Hope, where the currents of the Atlantic and Indian Oceans meet was a bit disappointing in that you really couldn’t tell where the Atlantic Ocean left off and the Indian Ocean began – I suggested they should dye them different colors – I don’t think they were listening.

Ever stay up nights wondering exactly who fought in the Boar Wars? We visited the Castle of Good Hope, which is filled with military memorabilia where you can find the answer to that question. We visited a penguin beach, yep, penguins in South Africa, as well as the Waterfront (shopping and restaurants), Camps Bay (more shopping and more restaurants), the diamond district (guys, don’t let your wives go shopping there!), where we learned that most diamonds naturally come in . . . you guessed it, a diamond shape. We also took a trip out to the wine area of South Africa, conveniently called The Winelands.

“Township”

Juxtaposed to the quaint, up-scale villages and elegant homes in The Winelands are the shanties, euphemistically called Townships, which line the freeway for miles leading back into Cape Town. The shanties are a 10 x 10 foot room made from aluminum siding and plywood with no running water and public port-o-potties for bathrooms. We were told that over one million people are living in such conditions. Apartheid has ended and there are many wonderful sights here, but this is a clear sign that the complete development of South Africa is still a work-in-progress.

The Best Reason to Go

It’s about an hour’s boat ride from the Cape Town Waterfront District to Robben’s Island, where Nelson Mandela spent 18 of his 27 years of incarceration. The prisoner’s living quarters varied from one room jammed with 30-40 prisoners, to a single 8 x 8 cell, to something smaller, that were previously used as dog kennels. Food was bad and sparse; prisoners were forced to work 8-10 hours a day in lime mines on the island and were often physically and mentally tortured for various reasons or for no reason at all. Solitary confinement was worse.

Robben Island cell

Our tour of the island’s prison was conducted by a former prisoner who talked about conditions in the prison. He said, “They tried every way possible to beat us down, they torture us and treated us like animals, but in the evening we were able to gather together for about an hour or so and we would use that time to educate ourselves – there was a saying, ‘Each One, Teach One’ – that way those who could read taught others to read, those who knew math taught other to do math and so on. The main thing we continued to reinforce with each other was that whatever they did to us, we were not going to let them break our spirit. At night, if time and guards allowed, we would sing, we would dance, we would do little plays for ourselves – anything to keep our spirit alive – that was the most important thing, to keep our spirit alive.”

“African Spirit”

We came away from Robben’s Island amazed and inspired, but what we didn’t know was that we were about to experience that ‘spirit’ on our boat trip back to Cape Town. We started our return trip sitting on benches on the outside deck of the boat, but as the sun went down it quickly cooled and we moved inside. Soon after we came inside, a middle-aged black man stood up and started singing in a native language, other blacks, men and women, quickly joined in and although they didn’t all know each other, they all knew the song and each would either join in singing the melody, harmonies or a background beat – they sounded as if they’d been rehearsing this routine together for years. It didn’t take long before all the black men and women were up singing and dancing in the aisles. We few whites on board just stood, listened and watched in amazement. The music was so infectious, I tried to join in, and with the help of the black gentleman standing next to me, I learned a couple of words and joined in the singing. If my skin color didn’t give me away, my voice and my dance moves did; I soon realized what I should be doing is recording this – so I did.

As we prepare to move to the next phase of our journey, the safaris, we are amazed at all the wonderful things we saw in and around Cape Town, but what I will remember most are the people – their great smiles and wonderful dispositions. I’m not sure how they do it, but I’m thinking it has something to do with that great ‘African Spirit’ that will not be broken. Perhaps it is about the journey.

Next: African Diary – Part 3 Game Drives

Posted in opinion

THE MIGRATION OF THE SNOWBIRD

May 20, 2013By Sparrow/WatsonComments:4 Comments

By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Well, it’s that time of year again – the annual migration of the snowbirds has begun. “Snowbirds” for those unfamiliar with the term, refer to all the people from colder climes that come here in the winter just so they can call home to their friends and brag that they’re not having to shovel sunshine. There are so many people here from the Midwest that someone once said that the definition of diversity in Phoenix is when someone from Chicago moves in right next door to someone from Minneapolis.

A quick trip to the grocery store this morning made clear that the snowbirds are on the wane. I did not have to swerve coming out of my neighborhood in order to miss some “high flying” snowbird with his top down, talking on a cell phone, and smoking a stogie.

Nor did I have to endure people turning left, no, then right, no, then left again because they didn’t have GPS in their car and can’t figure out our complicated street system. (I will say that having streets that dead end and then pick up again three miles down the road is a tad bit confusing)

And best of all, I breezed into the parking lot, found a space up close and was able to complete my shopping without having to stand in a long line of people stocking up on gin, cocktail napkins and sunscreen. Rest assured, the most beautiful sight we see this time of year are all the car transport trucks heading out of town.

The bad part about the migration is that most of my friends are snowbirds. They return this time of year to the mountains or the Midwest, carry on with their lives at home and leave the rest of us here to sweat out the summer. Just as they have their unique moniker, those of us who stay here are affectionately known as the “summer sluts”. At least I think that’s a term of affection.

In any event, last week a friend asked me if I actually looked forward to everyone leaving for the season. Since she was “migrating” back to Chicago the next day, I did what I thought was right. I lied. I told her it was awful here in the summer. And, of course, I do miss my friends. But the truth is, it’s kind of nice once everyone clears out. We can get into any restaurant we choose at 7 p.m. on a Saturday night. We can arrive 10 minutes before the opening of a blockbuster movie and still get a great seat. Oh sure, you can fry an egg on the pavement in mid-August but that’s a small price to pay to be the first in line at the Nordstrom Annual Pre-Season sale.

But the best reason to enjoy the snowbird migration? No more dinner invitations. We control our schedule – from now until November we will not be on a social merry-go-round. We will only go out when we feel like it. We will not have to get dressed up. We can sit on our sofa, wearing Bermudas and a tank top, and download movies from Netflix. We can munch on junk food. We can drink beer and vodka tonics to keep cool.

Come to think of it, maybe I am a summer slut.

Posted in travel

African Diary – Part 1 It’s A Jungle Out There

May 13, 2013By Sparrow/WatsonComments:8 Comments

by Bob Sparrow

I hear a low snorting sound just outside my tent . . . or was it inside? I lay perfectly still and slowly open my eyes and furtively search the darkness for movement. I hear rhythmic breathing and feel the warm breath of an animal on my face – or am I just imagining it? As my eyes adjust to the darkness I see the rustling of the canvas tent next to me. The snorting becomes louder, the breathing heavier. What’s out there . . . or in here? My imagination is running wild. We were forewarned that the ‘Big 5’ (Lion, Elephant, Cape Buffalo, Leopard and Rhinoceros) are curious animals and might wander into camp looking for food. I wondered: Am I food? I slowly rolled over to glance in the direction of the breathing . . . it was my wife. I wake up in a cold sweat in my bed at home.

I’m headed to Africa this week, so my imagination may be turned up a few notches, but if you, like me, thought all the dangers were out in the African savanna, think again. Like any good traveler I’ve been doing some research on points of interest that I’ll be seeing over the next couple of weeks and while I’ve learned what the ‘Big 5’ of African wildlife are, I’ve compiled my own ‘Big 2’ that I’ll be looking out for as well:

Man
1. S. Africa has one of the world’s highest rate of murders, assaults and rapes
2. Over 17 million people in sub-Saharan Africa have died of AIDS
3. Around 50 people are murdered in South Africa every day
4. Drivers

i. Cab drivers will scam you, rip you off, take you for a ride

ii. Safari drivers have little to no regard for you back or kidneys

2. Mosquitos – Every 30 seconds someone in Africa dies of malaria

Sounds fun, doesn’t it? Those at the South African Chamber of Commerce will tell you that all major cities around the world have high crime rates. I looked up – New York, in the summer when crime is the highest, has about 50 murders a month. But I know that if I stay away from the wrong people and wrong places in Africa I’ll be fine – as long as they stay away from me. Here are the ‘Big 5’ ‘animals’ I’m going to try to avoid:

The Robber
The Mugger
The AIDS carrier
The Malaria-infested Mosquito
The Cab Driver

Indeed, it is a jungle out there. So why go to Africa, you ask? It is a beautiful country with an incredibly rich history and lots of amazing animals – and I want to see where Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie get their kids.

All kidding aside (I really wasn’t kidding) below is the abbreviated itinerary for your Man-on-the-Savanna to bring you an up-close and personal look (from my warped perspective) at Africa.

LAX to London

London to Johannesburg

Johannesburg to Cape Town (Finally!)

Cape Town site seeing (3 days)

Sabi Sand Game Reserve – (3 days)

Johannesburg – 1 day

Victoria Falls, Zembabwe (2 days)

Home

If any of my writing gets lost in translation it’s because there are over 2,000 languages spoken in Africa (This is one of many ‘interesting tidbits’ that I’ll be reporting back to you with).

Signing off from LAX where I will be packed, sardine-like, into a metal tube floating through the sky for the next 26 hours.

Posted in Holiday observations • opinion

THROUGH MY MOTHER’S EYES

May 6, 2013By Sparrow/WatsonComments:3 Comments

By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Sunday is Mother’s Day and as you loyal readers know, our mother passed away earlier this year. So this is the first Mother’s Day that we will not have a mother to send flowers, cards and well-wishes to. Last year my brother Bob and his wife Linda sent mom such a beautiful arrangement of flowers that mom commented to me that it was the best gift she had ever received. Which only cemented my hunch that she always liked him best.

As anyone who knew her could attest, she was a driven and opinionated woman. No misplaced hair or wrinkled shirt went unnoticed – or commented upon. She was the first to point out that we had gained a few pounds. Mom took great pride in her appearance, always wearing a perfectly coordinated outfit, matching shoes and oftentimes donning a rather large hat. Her children, by contrast, are big fans of what I like to refer to as “soft clothes”. Anything that has an elastic waistband or has been washed to within an inch of its life is just great with us. In other words, we sometimes look like we were raised by wolves – a trait that bothered her no end.

My differences with her were many; we just seemed to view the world from opposite perspectives. This was never more apparent than when she bought a new pair of reading glasses several years ago. By this time I was watching her finances and reviewing her cash flow every three months. So when she told me she had spent $500 on a pair of Versace glasses (see picture above) I just about keeled over. I knew that she was already running low on money and couldn’t believe her extravagance. “Why in the heck would you spend that kind of money?” I shouted into the phone. She explained that they had little diamonds in them and that she just wanted something from a top designer. I was furious. But not as furious as I was six months later when she lost them.

And just to demonstrate how seriously she took my financial advice, she promptly spent another $500 to buy the very same pair again. I was flabbergasted. Here was a woman who saved aluminum foil remnants and took home doggie bags that went stale in her refrigerator just because she couldn’t “waste good money” by leaving food at a restaurant. I thought she had lost her mind.

Turns out, she had only lost her memory. A few weeks after she bought the second pair of glasses she discovered the first pair in the lost and found drawer at her church.

After she died we were cleaning out her apartment and I noticed that her reading glasses were on the nightstand. I tucked them into my purse for safekeeping – I’d be darned if I was going to throw away a $500 pair of glasses! I thought they would be a good reminder of her foolish spending. When I got home I put them on top of my closet dresser, where I see them every day.

A few weeks ago I looked at them (with my $18 Costco reading glasses) and noticed that quite a few of the diamonds are missing. Her vision was so poor that I’m sure she was blissfully unaware of their current shabby condition. I began to see the glasses in a different light. Maybe they aren’t a reminder of her foolish spending but rather that when I am old, I might also make some choices that others think inappropriate. Maybe when I’m old, I too will want just one extravagant thing that makes me feel good, even when I can’t afford it. Maybe when I get older I will begin to see things through my mother’s eyes. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even buy very expensive reading glasses – twice.

Posted in Blog Info / Up-dates

THE BACKYARD BLOG ABOUT NOTHING

April 29, 2013By Sparrow/WatsonComments:3 Comments

by Bob Sparrow

I know I don’t always succeed, but I always try to write something entertaining about where I’ve been or where I’m going, as I love travel and I seem to look at things from a little different perspective than most others. Or I’ll write about some little, but hopefully interesting, observation of life. Sister Suzanne does a particularly great job of the latter – I mean really, she brought us to tears last week writing about taking her dog for a walk out to the end of her driveway. Me – not so much, as I said, I usually rely on ‘going somewhere’ and hoping to find something interesting to write about.

Santa Barbara coast

Last week I was supposed to go on a camping trip along the Santa Barbara coast, exploring the beaches and cliffs of this beautiful area, but for various reasons that I’m sure you’re not interested in – heck, I’m not even that interested – the trip was cancelled. So there I was, ready to regale you with my adventurous treks along the beautiful Central Coast and now I’ve got nothing. Didn’t go anywhere. Didn’t see anything interesting. Nothing extraordinary happened to me. Didn’t discover any special or unique places. I’ve got nothing. Even though Seinfeld made a career out of it, it’s hard to write about nothing. Although some have said there’s a lot of nothing in many of my previous blogs.

Deck-side umbrella table and palapa

Outside fireplace

So last weekend instead of camping in the Chumash Mountain Wilderness, I wandered around in my backyard. No, I didn’t camp there, although there have been occasions, when the kids were younger, when I’d pitch a tent on the back lawn, spend the night in it and be awakened in the morning by the sprinklers that I forgot to turn off. So, this week my ‘going somewhere’ turned out to be my backyard, and while I enjoy putzing around back there, I’m not finding anything of interest to write about this week. Unlike my sister’s backyard, which has Pinnacle Peak, I have no natural landmarks. I do however have some ‘man-made’ landmarks and so I wander around back there trying to find inspiration from them. I look past the pool deck umbrella table where no one is sitting to the palapa that no one is sitting under, and I get no inspiration . . . nothing. I check the ‘Tiki Bar’ to see if there are any stragglers left over from the weekend, perhaps with a good story to tell that would make for an interesting blog . . . nothing. I recently bought a new umbrella for our outside fireplace area, and although it’s nice, it’s hardly blog-worthy. I crank up some Jimmy Buffet music through the outside speakers hoping to get some inspiration from him . . . nothing. We bought this house new 28 years ago and the backyard was just dirt . . . nothing. And today in terms blog inspiration . . . nothing. I’m thinking maybe I should talk to some of the plants; perhaps they’ll talk back and give me something to write about. I bend down and put my ear to the hydrangeas . . . nothing.

The Tiki Bar

Plumeria

Behind the pool is what I called my ‘Ho’omana’O Honopua’, which loosely translate in Hawaiian to ‘Memorial Garden’. I love Hawaii, so my intent with this garden was to bring Hawaii to my backyard, so I wouldn’t have to pay airfare or expensive hotel rates to enjoy the sights and smell of palms and plumeria. I’ve told my family that I’d like my ashes under the moai (stone monoliths from Easter Island – a bucket list destination) on the right in the picture below. It is already a memorial garden in that when I returned from my best friend, Don Klapperich’s funeral, I purchased the moai on the left in the picture below and buried under it a shell casing from the rifles fired during the military memorial service.

Ho’ Omana ‘ o Honopua

It’s getting dark and there will be no lights turned on in the backyard tonight, no tiki torches lit, no music playing, no adult beverages consumed; there will be, like this blog . . . nothing.

Posted in Blog Info / Up-dates

THERE’S JOY AROUND THE CORNER

April 22, 2013By Sparrow/WatsonComments:2 Comments

By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

You know that it’s an odd news week when the death of 14 people in an industrial explosion is relegated to page eight. Or when a ricin-laced letter to the President generates all the excitement of an AARP renewal notice. The story about catching the person who killed the district attorney down in Texas was a footnote. But the real indicator that we were in a serious news cycle was the Kim Kardashian-Kris Humphries divorce was only of interest to the supermarket tabs.

No, last week we were all focused on the horrible terrorist act in Boston – the deaths, the injuries, the perpetrators and the heroes. The story was all-encompassing and riveting. For much of the week it was sad and worrisome. I heard more than one person lament that our world just isn’t the same. Friends of a “certain age” talked about how their grandchildren would never know a life where they didn’t have to worry about terrorists, bombs and taking their shoes off before a flight.

I, too, was in this frame of mind last week as I set off on my daily walk with Dash. Since he’s still a puppy we usually just go around the corner and back. And frankly, I’m being generous when I use the term “walk” – it’s more that he stops and sniffs everything while I check emails on the phone. But on this particular walk we saw a car parked at the end of a driveway with a mom and her son. We had seen them before on our walks and always gave them a little wave. But last week as we passed, the mom rolled down the passenger side window and the little boy stuck his head out to greet us.

Dash and I walked over to their car. It turns out that the boy (who for purposes of this essay we’ll call “Sam”), is severely autistic. He had a tussle of curly hair and a big smile. I spoke with his mom a bit – she was cheerful and patient with Sam as he wiggled in his seat. I was reminded of the saying that God only gives us what we can handle. This woman has been given a lot to handle and seemingly does so with an abundance of grace.

I picked Dash up so that Sam could see and pet him. Dash, as is his wont, stuck his tongue out in an effort to barrage Sam with kisses. Sam, not able to communicate well, did what seemed logical – he stuck his tongue out at Dash. The two of them nuzzled in a frenzy of excitement – Dash frantically wagging his tail and Sam giggling at Dash’s kisses. At that moment I realized I was witnessing joy in its purest sense. Neither of them could talk; neither of them had to.

A few moments later the school bus pulled up and out stepped the driver, Jim, and his wife/assistant, Janetta. They were straight out of Central Casting. He was tall and lanky with an easy smile. She was caring and sweet. They greeted us and then went about the business of getting Sam onto the bus. Janetta told Sam how nice his hair looked while Jim tenderly helped him up the steps. Once Sam was settled in his seat, Janetta nestled in right next to him. As they pulled away Jim gave us a big wave out the window. It felt like something I would have witnessed as a kid in my small town.

So as Dash and I turned for home I felt more content than I had all week. I knew that when I got home the news on TV might still be stressful but I had just been reminded that there are far more good people than bad in this world. There are people who are heroic every day. There is joy to be found every day. And sometimes it’s just around the corner.

Posted in opinion • travel

FINDING ‘HOTEL CALIFORNIA’

April 15, 2013By Sparrow/WatsonComments:

by Bob Sparrow

The Eagles

I recently watched a documentary on my favorite band, ‘History of the Eagles’ on the Showtime Channel. If you’re an Eagles’ fan this is a must see; even if you’re not, it’s still great music history. So the first week of April as we headed out to Palm Desert for our 19^th year of enjoying our timeshare, I was mixing my metaphors, dangling my modifiers and juxtaposing the reminiscing of the Eagles documentary and the looking forward to my hedonistic week in the lush environs of Palm Desert. It created a strange concoction in my head – I present it forthwith.

On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair

Warm smell of colitas rising up through the air

For the uninitiated, colitas is the small, sweet buds at the end of the cannabis plant that makes for what was colloquially known in the ‘70s as ‘good shit’. This week we’ll enjoy the sweet smell of a good cabernet.

So I called up the captain, please bring me my wine

He said we haven’t had that spirit here since 1969

Marriott Desert Springs Hotel

It’s hard to think of the Eagles and not think of their biggest hit, ‘Hotel California’. There have been many interpretations of the meaning of the lyrics of that song, the most common is that it’s an interpretation of the high life in Los Angeles. So this week I’m loosely translating it to represent my decedent week in the desert where we eat at great restaurants, drink expensive wine and play luxurious golf courses. Because it combines Life in the Fast Lane and a Peaceful Easy Feeling, I have concluded that the Marriott Desert Springs Hotel is my ‘Hotel California’. The lyrics echoed in my head . . .

Welcome to the Hotel California

Such a lovely place, such a lovely face

Plenty of room at the Hotel California

Any time of year, you can find it here.

Yes, you can find it there in Palm Desert, but you may not want to find it ‘any time of year’; in the summer it’s not such a ‘lovely place’, but in early spring – awesome!

One of the great features of this timeshare is that it’s an hour and half’s drive from home; so no airports, delayed flights, missed connections or airplane food; and yet once you’re there you feel like you’re in a whole different world – perhaps because you are.

Some dance to remember

Some dance to forget

And there are some of us that have just forgotten how to dance altogether, but the images dancing in my head of desert nights, desert skies, desert flowers, desert sunsets silhouetting Mt. San Jacinto in the distance and billion stars in the sky are simply magnificent.

Relax said the nightman, you are programed to receive,

You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave

Actually check-out is by 11:00 a.m. or you’re subject to late fees, but after a week of ‘Desert Decadence’, it’s time to go home.

Hotel California ends with, if not the greatest, one of the greatest guitar riffs in rock and roll history, I’ll conclude with:

Find your Hotel California – ideally a few hours drive from your home, but in a totally different world
Listen to some Eagles music, if you don’t have any, GET SOME!
Enjoy a week of indulgence; you’ve earned it . . . probably

Back home and the lyrics that are now echoing in my head are: My diet starts Monday!

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Posted in Blog Info / Up-dates • Family • opinion

THOUGHTS ON SPRING, ANGRY BIRDS AND BASEBALL

April 8, 2013By Sparrow/WatsonComments:3 Comments

By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Spring has sprung, the flowers has riz, I wonder where the birdies is?….Anonymous.

Spring has definitely come to the desert. As both my brother and I have mentioned in recent weeks (probably ad nauseam), the flowers in the desert are truly one of nature’s miracles. They pop up almost overnight and bloom in magnificent colors – brilliant orange, pink, and yellow. They signal the end of cold weather and the beginning of spring. Of course, my brother has the advantage of viewing the beautiful flora here in the desert and then returning home to the wonderful climate of Orange County. I, on the other hand, see the beautiful flowers and know that we will be enjoying springtime for a maximum of – to be on the generous side – 10 days. Then, like someone has flipped the switch to a blast furnace, we begin our season of “dry heat”. As I’ve often said when someone mentions that term – my microwave oven is also a dry heat but you don’t see me living in that, now do you?

The other sign that spring has come is that the birds start to fly about in great numbers. They chirp endlessly – some sort of mating call I suppose. If this year is any indication, we’re going to have a HUGE bird population in the next few months. The most annoying birds are the woodpeckers who love the flashing on the roof that surrounds the fireplace chimneys. Apparently woodpeckers must be related to roosters because at the most un-Godly hours in the morning they begin rat-a-tat-tatting on our roof. Their constant pecking echos down the metal chimney flue to create the most startling sound known to man. Or at least that’s how it seems at 4:30 in the morning. This is such a problem that several men in the neighborhood have taken to shooting BB guns at them – a la the crazy father in “Steel Magnolias”. There they are, outside before dawn, in all manner of undress, shooting at birds who are laughing their tail feathers off at the idiots trying to shoot them down.

We unwittingly have found a way to exact revenge on all the birds. A couple of years ago we installed a glass front door and sidelights, allowing a view to the backyard when standing at the front door. The picture at right was taken at the door so you get the idea. Birds, however, are not that smart. Somehow they have confused our house with a landing strip at Sky Harbor. With the advent of spring, they are on a quest to fly right through our house. Consequently, it is not unusual to hear a loud “BAM!” and see the wingspan of a bird imprinted on our front door. Before you even think about calling the SPCA , rest assured that no bird is injured in this process. After they hit the door, they fly away stunned and most likely go home and take an Advil. Usually by the end of spring word has gotten out in the bird community to stay away from the “trick” door at the Watson’s house. But for the next few weeks we will be the pathway to hell for countless of our feathered friends.

Flowers and birds aside, the most telling sign that spring has sprung is that it’s baseball season again. Somehow just hearing a game on the radio or on TV elicits fond memories of bygone days and gentler times. I know that people complain that the game is too slow or that the teams are composed of drug-addled, spoiled players. But there is something nice about the timelessness of a baseball game. For me it brings back memories of our dad on a Saturday afternoon, chores done, relaxing in the back yard listening to Gil Hodges and Lon Simmons announce a Giants game. Dad came by his love of the team honestly; his mother used to sit in her apartment sporting a Giants cap, cheering them on through thick and thin. I don’t think she ever missed a game – she transitioned from a huge radio in a wooden credenza, to portable radios, to television. She never saw a Giants game in person until age 70, when our brother, Jack, treated her to a day at Candlestick. He bought her a new cap, a hot dog, peanuts and a beer. She was in Heaven – surely the highlight of her life. And to this day we all love hearing Jack reminisce about that day.

So I’m glad that baseball season is here. In full disclosure, I won’t actually watch a whole game until the playoffs. My husband, who is an ~~obnoxious~~ Yankees fan, can’t sit through a whole game either. But we have an entire summer ahead of us to catch snippets of games and root for our teams. Ideally the Giants sweep the Yankees in the Series. Such are the dreams of springtime.

P.S. So many of you have written or inquired about Dana and we wanted to let you know that she is doing GREAT! She is an amazing young woman who has a wonderful spirit. She’ll be enjoying a few days in Palm Desert this week with family. Nothing could be better for healing a heart. Thanks so much for your kind thoughts and prayers during this time.

Posted in Family

The Fixing of Dana’s Heart

April 1, 2013By Sparrow/WatsonComments:30 Comments

by Bob Sparrow

Mr. Bell’s Fixit Shop was Dana’s favorite book as a toddler. We read it to her so many times, that by the time she was two and a half, she had it memorized, literally. I could just turn the page, she’d see the picture and recite, word-for-word, what was written. That remarkable recall memory would later serve her well in school. Mr. Bell had a sign in front of his shop that read, ‘I Can Fix Everything But Broken Hearts’. Cutting to the chase, predictably he’s able to repair a doll for Jill that mends her broken heart. In this tale of life imitating art, Dana had a heart in need of fixing. Playing the role of Mr. Bell was Dr. Alfredo Trento, Director of the Cardiothoracic Division at ‘his shop’, Cedars-Sinai Hospital in West Hollywood.

Dana is the world’s best patient. We visited her as she was lying in pre-op, cracking jokes, pulling faces in her new ‘O.R. hat’ (see photo below) and speculating on whether they are going to insert a human, pig or cow replacement valve in her heart. She concludes it’s down to a pig or human, as the Chick-fil-A cows have once again mounted a strong ad campaign in favor of the pig value.

Dana tells us that she’s made cookies for all her O.R. and I.C.U. caregivers and put them in little ‘Thank You’ bags. She told the hospital staff, “If you do a good job, you’ll get a cookie”. If you’ve tasted Dana’s cookies, you know that’s a great incentive! They wheeled her into the O.R. cracking up and I cautioned her to ‘lie very still’ during the operation. Dr. Trento tells us that the operation will take approximately 5 hours (there’s probably no smoke breaks in there) and that he won’t know what valve he’ll use until he looks at the heart. Husband Joe is hoping they use a human valve because he knows that Dana is such an animal lover that if they use a pig valve, as a ‘Thank You’ gesture she will want to get a pot belly pig as a pet.

In an hour we get a call from a nurse inside the O.R. (one of the great uses of cell phones) that the operation is going well; in three and a half hours we get another call telling us that the surgery has been successfully completed and they are now sewing her up. Shortly thereafter Dr. Trento comes out to the waiting room to tell us that everything went very well – we all breathed a very heavy collective sigh of relief.

We visited Dana about an hour later in I.C.U. where there are no pictured allowed, but when asked about the picture I took at the right, I told them it was an artist’s rendering that I just drew. I’m pretty sure they didn’t believe me, but they let me keep the picture anyway. She was in quite a bit of pain up to 12 hours after the operation, but the next morning, less than 24 hours after the operation, Dana got out of bed and walked around the I.C.U. – pulling all the tubes and bags along with her. It looked like she was walking with R2D2. I think she set a new Cedars-Sinai record for the two laps she completed. There is a lung transplant patient two rooms down that is challenging that, but I think Dana’s got it.

Wednesday is ‘moving day’ from I.C.U. to ‘I Don’t See You’ or whatever the regular rooms are called. Her new room is decorated with lots of flowers and balloons – thank you! She’s feeling pretty good for someone who just had her chest cracked open – thanks to ‘better living through chemistry’. The doctors and nurses at Cedars-Sinai are amazing – could not ask for better care! I felt like we should leave them a tip or something, but instead I’ll just give them a great recommendation.

On day five, her last full day in the hospital, Dana is visited by a nurse that asks if she would like to talk with a social worker. No. Someone from the clergy, a minister, priest or rabbi? No. How about a ‘Volunteer Dog’? YES!!! Yep, hospitals now provide dogs that come in and visit patients. Pictured here is a white Labrador named Emma, who stopped by to see Dana and do a little ‘Lab Work’.

Dana’s recovery has been remarkable; she is back to being her normal high-energy self, in fact our only concern is that they say her ‘new heart’ is going to give her more energy! Welcome back Darlin’ Dana!!

Posted in Family • travel

Wonders in the Desert – Family

March 25, 2013By Sparrow/WatsonComments:3 Comments

by Bob Sparrow

I was amazed again by the wonders of the desert on my journey last week, but this time in a totally different way. Those who have followed us here know my fascination with places like Death Valley and Joshua Tree; last week’s journey took me to another desert, the Sonoran in southern Arizona, and the wonders I saw there were our brother, Jack’s kids and grand kids – no hiking and camping on this trip.

But the first stop along the way was to my sister, Suzanne and her husband, Al’s beautiful home in the private golf community of Desert Highlands in Scottsdale, about as far from camping as I could have gotten. Linda and I made the stop in Scottsdale on our way to Tucson not only to see Suzanne and Al, but to see if it was true what they were saying about their new dog, Dash

It didn’t take long to see that it was true, Dash was now in full control of Suzanne, Al and all that goes on around the house . . . no, make that their lives. It was easy to see why this dog commanded such attention – he is adorable. When I found us all talking baby talk to the dog, I knew it was time to hit the road. We headed south, confident that the newest member of our family had his owners firmly in control.

Abby, Colin, Katie, Shelley

Look up the word ‘family’ and you’ll find everything from ‘a taxonomic group containing one or more genera’ to ‘a loose affiliation of gangsters in charge of organized criminal activity’. What you should see is a picture of the Watson family – Colin, Shelley, Katie, Abby and Murphy, the dog. They are a fun-loving family full of caring, intelligent, thoughtful, humorous, loving people. Add in nephew, Matt and kids Jackson and Madelyn, and you’ve got quite an assembly of people I just love being around. Matt is a single dad who has his own physical therapy business; he is an intelligent, spiritual man who has a serious side, but is also one of the funniest people I know. My cheeks hurt from laughing when I with him. And I’m related to them all – which some say adds credence to the ‘me being adopted’ theory.

Murphy

Katie (15) and Abby (12) both play tennis, very well, I might add. They’ll be stars of their high school team, probably earn scholarships to a highly regarded academic college (they’re both straight A students) and enjoy the game of tennis the rest of their lives. Unlike most kids and parent involved in youth athletics these days, they have neither the illusion nor the desire to become

Jackson, Matt, Madelyn

professional athletes – rather refreshing. If ever my faith needed to be restored in our youth, our future, it was – in straight sets.

After spending a very enjoyable ‘family’ weekend, we stopped in Phoenix on our way home to have breakfast with Linda’s sister and her husband, Starlet and Donnie, who, you guessed it, are great people!

I have come to enjoy the wonders of the desert; the mild days this time of year, the gentle nights; always amazed at how things not only live in this environment, but flourish. And so it is with family there; I enjoy the smell of Matt’s chicken on the barbeque, the noise of kids at play in the pool, Colin’s British accent, Shelley’s make-you-feel-comfortable style, but mostly I enjoy the wonder of family and feel so very fortunate that Linda and I are so blessed with great family.

Donnie & Starlet

If you’re reading this on Monday morning, most of you know that I will be a bit preoccupied with my immediate family – daughter Dana is undergoing heart surgery this morning. I’m looking forward to next writing about her successful recovery.