bitchy lamas and big sand

You never really know. I was delighted to see my monk/lama fall a little way from his perch. I put him there, afterall. My pedestal. Many have fallen from it over the years. I've pushed a few. But it was great to hear him tell us that he complained to another monk about how the dali lama is mis-handling world peace. He got busted doing it-- was overheard during the bitch-session at a lama convention. I love that. I love that lamas bitch at and about each other.

Well, we went clamming over the weekend and they were picked over like late season raspberries. We got enough to fry up a batch and make some chowder, but we didn't limit out, and they were small. I wasn't ashamed about it, afterall, I'm in it for the thrill of the hunt. I don't really care how many we get. I hate cleaning the slimy things anyway. And my boots leaked. My hip waders need a coating of shoogoo. Magic. You'd have to see me in my hip waders and my heidi hat to get the full effect. Out there among the Columbia sportswear/Eddie Bauer crowd, smacking wet sand with a shovel and looking for the tell, the little burp of sand that gives away the clam hiding place. We are not purists, we go after them with a clam gun (we don't shoot them. I don't know why its called a gun at all) instead of the classic shovel. I am a rebel, though. If I get a little one, I put him back in his hole if I haven't squished him in the process. But I do follow the sportsmen's code: if I kill it I keep it.

Speaking of tourists.... we wandered down the coast to Cannon Beach to the Sand Castle competition. It was okay. One team had won time after time, and they were professional -- many trophy flags flying above their site. But I liked the locals who did the melted witch from the wizard of oz. A broomstick clutched in a disembodied hand with a cone and partial brim of her hat nearby. Subtlety. There were dragons, of course, and a few actual castles. I wonder who won. We didn't stay.