A Doug's Life: Becoming a Desert Rat

I think I was right after all.

When I moved from the San Gabriel Valley to Menifee, I told people I was relocating to the desert. They pictured a cabana next to the pool in Palm Springs and cactus everywhere. OK, I said, it's the edge of the desert.

Then I sat and waited almost eight months for the desert weather to set in. Last October, I could sit in the spa at night and look up at the countless stars. But much of the time since then, I have endured gloomy skies, rain and nighttime temperatures in the 30s. I thought summer in the desert would never get here.

Now this is more like it.

Say what you want. Granted, I haven't seen a whole lot of cacti nor one roadrunner since I got here. Seems there are more horses than lizards or snakes. But you know what? Even if this is just the edge of the desert, I'll take it. I find it kind of therapuetic, if the heat and desert breezes stick around.

The dry heat, clear skies and solitude of the desert has always meant vacation time to me. It started when I was a kid, when my parents would take my sisters and me to Desert Hot Springs for weekend retreats. They would relax in the whirlpools of hot mineral water. I would jump in and out of the cold pool, stare at the stars at night and look for scorpions.

It was the ultimate get-away. Oh sure, we would frequent the beach and the mountains, each of which have their own appeal. But to me, the desert was the premier destination for die-hard adventurers.

Of course, weather conditions were not always perfect. My grandparents lasted only about a year after retiring to a mobile home park in Desert Hot Springs in the 1960s. Grandma hated the windstorms. Said she was tired of cleaning sand out of the window sills (on the inside). And so ended my weekend trips for hours of swimming, hiking and shuffleboard.

Even when I grew to adulthood and experienced more of the desert's weather challenges, I stood firm in my passion for the desert environment. My first newspaper job was in Barstow, where my bare feet would hit the cold tile floor every day at 5 a.m. with the temperature near freezing. It wasn't my idea of the perfect desert experience, but there were always enough old men with sun-scorched, leather-like skin around to keep the vision alive.

Then there were the ghost towns.

Just outside Barstow, it was Calico, the remnants of an old silver mining town. It has a mine shaft you can walk into and an old train to ride, plus a few authentic western buildings among the sand dunes. But it was renovated by the folks at Knott's Berry Farm several years back and is a bit too commercialized for my liking.

You want real desert and a real ghost town? Drive up Highway 395 past Ridgecrest, head east toward Death Valley and explore the adobe remains at Ballarat, where gold was discovered in the 1890s at the foot of the Panamint Mountains. I took the wife and kids out there in a van one hot, dusty summer afternoon. I was fascinated. They wondered where the coke machine was.

Keep heading north on 395 and you'll find the turnoff for ghost towns on both the California and Nevada sides of the highway. The best I've ever seen is Bodie, located east of the 395 and a few miles south of Bridgeport. But now we're getting out of the desert and up toward Lake Tahoe, which is another story.

For now, I'll stick with Menifee. We have a good mix of dry desert heat, sparkling lakes, Indian ruins and old mine shafts within easy driving distance. Yep, it's going to be quite a desert summer. Now where's the sunscreen?

Elevation Travel Wants You Out of Menifee

Last March we took a 10-day vacation to Hawaii, taking in the ocean air, the palm trees, and sipping on mai tais at the Barefoot Bar.

Usually when we travel, we do all the booking and planning ourselves. But this time, we decided to call a travel agent.

Up until now, vacation planning always ran through the usual mish-mash of buying numerous travel books, going on websites to read peoples' complaints of stale toast and flat pillows, and zooming in on Google Maps to figure out where all the shopping and dining is at. I had enough of that. A vacation is supposed to be a vacation, right?

Not having worked with a travel agent before, I wasn't sure what to expect.

Melissa Land, who runs Elevation Travel, which serves the Menifee-area, likes to think of her business as a Full Service Personal Travel Consultant.

Nice. I like that description.

And it seems accurate, too. I provided her the dates of our travel and our suggested price range and a list of things that were important to us and she created a package for us. Moreover, she said, "If anything comes up, and I mean anything, call me first and I'll take care of it."

That's all I needed to hear.



As it turned out, we didn't have to call her. Everything went as planned. We were able to breeze by the people arguing at the airport ticket counter, and smiled as we left the couple from Nebraska complaining that they didn't get the room they had reserved.  We got into our room and enjoyed that beautiful view of Waikiki Beach.

We did, however, call Melissa after we got settled in, having discovered a stack of brochures and magazines on our table showcasing the many wonders of Hawaii. The hike up to Manoa Falls looked like fun. The Waikiki Trolley sounded like something we wanted to have. Renting a Harley to ride around the island seemed like a great idea. And it looked like visiting the Arizona Memorial would require reservations.

So, I called Melissa and she took care of it, getting us all the necessary sign ups and tickets.

Since then, I've been using a travel agent for all my vacations.

"Hey Melissa!", I'll call her on the phone. "Get me a ticket to Seattle for such and such date".

"Right away", she'd say. "Oh, if you want to wait a week later to fly, you can save another $150.00 off air fare".

"Excellent", I'll say. "Let's do it".

When you consider the better deals they can get you, it doesn't really cost anymore to go through an agent, it's usually less.

And sure, I've used websites like Expedia and Travelocity to look for fares and book rooms, but you're still having to do all the planning yourself. I like being able to call or e-mail Melissa, tell her what I want, and expect it to happen.

It's nice to just snap your fingers and know it's going to get done.

I guess there are still some things a computer can't replace.

Call Melissa Land at Elevation Travel...

Elevation Travel
(877) 294-3918
bookit@goelevationtravel.com
http://www.goelevationtravel.com

A Doug's Life: 'Take Me Out to The Diamond'

The stadium is located in nearby Lake Elsinore, but John Denver wouldn't mind annexing it for the city of Menifee.

"This is our stadium," said Denver, the mayor of Menifee, Friday night just outside the home dugout. "It's the closest pro ballpark we've got. We're working on that road (Newport Road) to get people in here easier. It should be called Menifee Stadium."

For the record, the stadium is called The Diamond, home to the Lake Elsinore Storm, a Class A minor league affiliate of the San Diego Padres. But as Denver noted, it's just a short drive over the hill on Newport/Railroad Canyon Road from Menifee.

And for this one night, Menifee could lay claim to it.

Denver threw out the first pitch and several Menifee residents and area dignitaries were on hand for Menifee Community Night at the stadium. The Storm gave them something to cheer about with a 6-3 victory over the visiting Bakersfield Blaze.

Denver clowned around with the big green mascot Thunder before the game, then sat behind the Storm dugout with a large Menifee contingent including Tom Fuhrman, mayor pro tem; Dorothy Wolons, president of the Menifee Valley Chamber of Commerce; and Chris Porrazzo, a deputy who was honored in pregame ceremonies as the Perris Sheriff's Station Officer of the Year.

One can hardly blame Menifee folks for taking advantage of a night out at the ballpark -- for a few reasons. One, it was Fireworks Friday. Two, it's just minutes from home. Three, you don't have to take out a loan to get through the gates.

At The Diamond, a reserved seat down the right or left field lines costs you just $9. Box seats near home plate set you back $10. Compare that to prices for the Padres, Angels or Dodgers, where you pay at least $17 to sit near the parking lot or $70-80 for a decent seat.

And where else can you hear little kids announce batters over the PA system and watch a giant green fuzzy creature lead youngsters across the outfield in "Thunder's Fun Run" between innings?

Minor league ballparks have a small-town charm you just can't find in a 50,000-seat major league stadium. Here, you can watch the major leaguers of tomorrow -- such names as Storm outfielder Rico Noel, who came into the game hitting .325 with 11 RBIs. But you can also walk down to the right field corner and do somersaults on a grassy berm with the little tykes.

To prevent an excessive amount of home runs to right field (only 310 feet to the foul pole), a wall approximately 30 feet high is the Storm's version of Fenway Park's Green Monster. Only this one is plastered with ads for everything from Juice it Up to Farmer John to the Lake Elsinore Animal Hospital.

Thunder the mascot was joined during the pregame festivities by a giant pink bunny named Jackpot. Andy Armadillo, the mascot for Texas Roadhouse, took part in the outfield Fun Run. While the grounds crew dragged the infield after the fifth inning, the crowd of 5,024 was entertained by a break dancing gorilla.

Yeah, this is minor league baseball. Don't you love it?

During the pregame festivities, kids gathered at the rail overlooking the Storm dugout. In L.A., San Diego or Anaheim, they would almost certainly be ignored -- or told to find a seat. Here, a "regular" named Ryan, age 7, was actually recognized and approached by outfielder Everett Williams, who chatted with the youngster about Legos.

"I'm part of the team," Ryan proudly stated.

The Storm put a smile on Ryan's face when they took the lead for good in the bottom of the seventh. After Chris Bisson drove home two runs with a single, designated hitter Tommy Medica hit his second home run of the game, a towering three-run shot to left field for a 6-2 lead.

Not even the dancing Baskin Robbins sundae could top that.

So if you're looking for a fun night out in the Menifee area, put the Newport Road traffic jam behind you and head on out to The Diamond. Tonight is Star Wars Night. Show up in costume and you get in free.

Where's my Darth Vader outfit?

A Doug's Life: Junior Writers Do Their Job

Having constructed, edited, critiqued and graded written compositions for almost 40 years, I sometimes feel like I've read every possible combination of words in the English language.

People continue to surprise me, however.

It happened again last week, when I sat down with two other judges to evaluate the journalistic efforts of the children of Menifee.

Along with Gayle DuRivage of Painted Earth and Shirley Wible of Sun City Library, I was asked to serve as a judge to determine the winner in three age groups for a writing contest sponsored by Arts Council Menifee and Menifee 24/7. As a group, we were impressed by the creativity of many of our young people. For myself, it was fun to witness the dawn of a new generation of communicators.

It's encouraging to know that as young as kindergarten age, the journalists of tomorrow can translate thoughts from their little brains to their little hands when writing about "What I Like About Menifee." It's interesting also to note the words some use and the phrases they have picked up from the adults.

Fortunately, these youngsters -- ranging from kindergarten age to eighth grade -- have not yet fallen victim to the "short-hand curse," which is how I describe the way text messaging and social media are contributing to the mutilation of the English language. But give them time; there's always high school. Before long, they might very well be filling up their essays with LOL, BTW and SMH (if you don't know what I'm talking about, ask a teenager).

I like to think there's still time to save them. Heck, I still spend hours trying to rehabilitate college students in my role as journalism professor. If I can have moderate success there, how much more success can we have by praising the work of the little ones as they try to master the language and the skill of creative writing?

Parents, I urge you to join me in this effort to encourage and promote creative writing at a young age. Moreover, I ask you to join me in congratulating these contest winners, who will be honored Tuesday night at the Menifee City Council meeting:

Abbey D. Chea -- K-2 grades age group
Jonathan Hoefler -- grades 3-5
Daniel Diaz -- grades 6-8
Jemena Nesbitt -- special recognition award

These students will read their winning entries at Tuesday's council meeting, and their work will be published on Menifee 24/7. Therefore, I will not repeat their complete works here. But I'm here to tell you, these honorees and all the young people showed enthusiasm and creativity in telling us why they like our fair city.

Some obvious patterns emerged in their writing. Many of the students wrote about how quiet and safe they felt their neighborhood is. They love the parks -- especially La Ladera Park. Many of them seem very familiar with the stores and restaurants in the area (Game Stop is a crowd favorite).

As judges, we saw a variety of writing styles -- everything from straight essay format to poetry to acrostic (look it up -- your kid knows). We discovered how expansive some young vocabularies are (what first grader writes "furthermore" or "don't get me started" in a typical homework assignment?).

We also chuckled as we figured out the unique ways words are spelled by young people who try their best to sound out what they want to say. The execution wasn't always flawless, but the intent was very serious.

In the end, we were looking for how well the students captured the hometown feel of Menifee that we all hope our children would have. We were looking for young writers who could state their reasons clearly and support them with examples. But most of all, we simply wanted evidence that little kids still are passionate about park swings, pet stores and neighborhood friends -- not just video games.

Thanks, kids, for coming through for us. And parents, on Tuesday I'll have more about what your kids wrote in a special tribute to the things Menifee kids say.

A Doug's Life: Keep Me Out of the Sand Trap

About a week ago, while covering the Sun City/Menifee Health Expo, I had my first experience with the Sun City Civic Association community center.

Oh, I had driven past the colorful marquee and sprawling complex at Sun City Boulevard and Cherry Hills Boulevard many times. From the street, you don’t get a clear picture of what all is available to seniors in that facility. Probably a good place for a bingo tournament, I figured, or maybe a square dance. Why would I ever want to hang out there with the old folks?

Then I remembered that, as a 56-year-old, I qualify for admission. Hey, I already get the senior discount at Denny’s. Retirement can’t be that far off, right?

So as I walked onto the grounds of the community center that day, I was actually kind of curious about what goes on there.

Simply put, I was impressed. They have a giant swimming pool, a huge lawn bowling area, shuffleboard courts, an arts and crafts center … pretty much everything you’d need to stay busy. Suddenly, I wanted to put down the notepad and shuffle a board or two. The memories of shuffleboard games with my grandfather at his “retirement home” came flooding back.

Then something off in the distance caught my eye – a golf course.

That made perfect sense. A retirement community such as Sun City, which was developer Del Webb’s model of perfect senior citizen living, had to have a golf course. Doesn’t everyone who’s retired – and some who aren’t – play golf?

One of these days, I plan to find out for myself. Granted, the golf course there in Sun City looks nice and inviting. So does the layout across town, by Menifee Lakes. But for now, I’ll stick to reading, genealogy and the grandkids as my leisure time activities.

OK, maybe a game of shuffleboard once in a while, but that’s where I draw the line.

Here’s the thing about golf. Basically, I’m a terrible golfer. I can hit a baseball that’s pitched to me, but for some reason, I have a heck of a time hitting a golf ball that’s just sitting there on the tee, daring me to take a swing.

Oh, I gave it a try. I spent one entire summer practicing on a Par 3 course (the JVs of golf), and I thought I was getting the hang of it. Then a friend dragged me out on a full-size, 18-hole course and told me, “Now you have to use your woods.”

You mean those other clubs in my bag that look like sledgehammers? How am I supposed to get one of those under the ball with enough force to drive it 80-100 yards? Worse yet, how am I supposed to even get the ball off the ground?

On that first attempt at a real course, I learned real fast what a mulligan was – like on my first swing. After a while, my buddy told me I got no more “do-overs.” About the third hole, a guy asked if he could join our twosome. He lasted one hole before politely asking if he could play through. Guess he didn’t like watching me kill worms with my ground balls.

A couple days later, I told my uncle I had tried the big course. An avid golfer, he asked what my score was.

“A 75,” I said.

“You shot a 75?” he replied in amazement. “Doug, that’s great! And on your first try?”

“Well,” I responded, “we quit after nine holes.”

So there you have it – the reason I’m taking a hard look at lawn bowling and backgammon. Oh sure, I’ll probably give golf another try when I feel like four hours of torture. For now, I’ll stick to a game of catch in the back yard with a 3-year-old.

Bye Bye Cookies and Soda; Hello Gym

In a Dec. 30 column listing my New Year's Resolutions, I pledged to start working out regularly again and get back to healthy eating habits.

Is it January yet?

Talk about getting off to a rough start. The whole plan was to lose the 15 pounds I had gained since having foot surgery last summer, which forced me out of the gym for quite a while. The good news at that time: I had kept off five of the 20 pounds I had lost a year ago, when this whole fitness thing started.

The bad news: Those five pounds are back. Not only that, another five jumped on along with them, making me five pounds heavier than I was in the beginning. (Well, not really in the beginning. I think I was something like 8 pounds, 10 ounces when this whole thing really started, but you know what I mean).

OK, so now for the excuses. Sure, I have some. You think I'm just going to admit I'm a lazy old man?

Excuse No. 1 -- As soon as toe surgery for a bone fusion took place last July, I went from five days a week in the gym to 24/7 at home on crutches. Or, as my granddaughter Riley called them, my "crunches." Every five minutes it was, "Pop, you need your crunches?" No, Riley, I'll just sit here and feel sorry for myself. Run along, now.

But even though I couldn't work out in the gym for months because of the swelling and healing in my foot, I figured the lack of a workout with weights, cycles, swimming, etc., would be offset by the workout I got on my crutches. Man, I got pretty good on those things. I raced everywhere on them. I had to be burning major calories. Unfortunately, this leads us to the next excuse.

Excuse No. 2 -- Although those thousands of "steps" I took on the crutches was a decent cardio workout, it also screwed up my shoulder. When I finally got off the darn things, I had more pain lifting my arms above my head than in my foot. The doctor's diagnosis: A strained rotator cuff, probably caused by hoisting myself off the ground over and over for months on end, with only my arms to support the weight.

Excuse No. 3 -- Realizing I still couldn't walk normally and now could barely reach back to pull my seat belt across my slowly expanding waistline, I let the frustration get to me. Rather than maintaining the calorie-counting regimen that had worked so well, with protein shakes and lots of fresh fruits and veggies, I gave in to the "Hey, things are on hold anyway, so where's the cookies?" line of thinking.

The other day, remembering my New Year's pledge and feeling somewhat better both physically and mentally, I decided enough was enough. Inspired by a sign of increased healing in my reconstructed toe and by a shot of steroids in my shoulder, I set this week as my return to the gym -- and the salad, apples and small portions of fish and chicken. Sadly, this also means saying goodbye once again to soda, fast food and my all-time favorite -- chocolate chip cookies.

For the record, I don't start this until Wednesday. Right now, I'm enjoying the last few days of ice cream sandwiches, cheeseburgers and Dr. Pepper. But boy, in three more days, I'm attacking those extra 25 pounds like a pit bull in a meat factory.

Four months ago, when I was still new to Menifee, getting back into shape was a process for which I promised to give my loyal readers regular updates. I believe the promo on the Menifee 24/7 Facebook page was something like, "Read about Doug's resolutions and see how he does."

Well, I do believe I am now kinder to others. Beyond that, it's back to square one with those New Year's Resolutions.

So if you see me riding a 10-speed around town (remember, I can't run too well) or stocking up on carrots at the local grocery store, cheer me on. Summertime is coming, and I don't want to be a blob. I still plan on getting those horseback riding lessons, and I would hate to climb on and send some fine steed to its knees.

A Doug's Life: "I'll Get You, You Rascal"

Springtime has arrived in Menifee, and the critters are coming out to play.

It started with rabbits. Cute little things that run (hop) in bunches around the neighborhood. I have no problem with them -- maybe because they've stayed out of my back yard.

Unfortunately, other varmints haven't.

Several weeks ago, I noticed a rather large hole at one end of the dirt embankment at the back of our property. "Snake," was my first thought. I started to peer down into the hole until I had visions of a giant python clamping onto my shnoz.

"Let's just wait and see what happens," I said to myself, and walked away.

Sometime later, about 50 feet across the embankment, I discovered a similar but somewhat smaller hole. Now I'm thinking Monty Python has completed a secret passage roughly the size of the Holland Tunnel, in snake scale. Now I'm concerned. But still, I haven't seen any creature emerge from its front or back door.

As time went on, I was reminded of the arrival of animals and insects that were relatively dormant during the cold winter months. As soon as we had a couple warm days, I noticed that our neighbor's pretty violet ground cover had become Hotel California for approximately 9 million bees. Next, after forgetting to close the screen door a couple times while letting the breeze in, I inadvertently invited a clan of "Daddy Longlegs" (the scientific term) into the house.

But still no snakes, nor anything bigger than an insect. Only the haunting evidence of such.

Then came the frantic barks of our Golden Retriever, Binny, at some unseen enemy out back. Why is it that the beast can sense danger a mile away, yet can't hold a "sit" command for more than two seconds? Anyway, I knew something was out there. And when I saw Binny digging up the big hole and sticking his nose in there, I almost expected him to come out with only half a snout. But nothing.

The next time my gardener came around, I showed him the first hole. His response:

"You got a raccoon."

"Are you sure?" I responded. "Have you seen him?"

"Nope," he replied. "But there's raccoon poop all along the base of your fence."

Apparently, the experts can tell raccoon poop from that of a dog, cat, weasel or any number of other critters. I took his word for it. The hole is now filled in and the gardener is on the lookout. The smaller hole, he said, is home to a gopher.

"I'll get him," he said.

I trust him, but now he's got me thinking. It isn't even May yet. What do I have to look forward to? Coyotes? Scorpions? Rattlers? This is pretty much the desert, right?

"Prairie dogs, maybe," said my gardener. "Beautiful creatures. Wait 'til you see one standing there on his hind legs, just staring at you."

Yeah, I can wait.

Trust me, I'm no stranger to back yard creatures. At our home in Temple City, possums were frequent visitors. Nasty things. I would be awakened by the sound of our previous dog, an ornery yellow lab, tossing around a possum like a rag doll. I'd find them dead in the yard. One even ended up in the house, finding convenient entry through the dog door.

I chased birds, mice, rats and possums out of our old house. One time, in the dark, my bare foot stepped on a half-eaten squirrel. But raccoons and snakes? Don't know if I'm ready for that.

As I've said many times before, something about this town appeals to me. Much of that appeal has to do with animals -- horses, especially. But no horse has ever tried to reconstruct my back planter, and I doubt one ever would.

As for Mr. Raccoon, well ... I'm not going down without a fight. Bring it on, you little masked mischief maker. Two of us are meeting in that back yard and one is coming out in a cage.

Wonder if I'm claustrophobic.