From the publisher

By Arnold G. York

Ever since the World Trade Center was destroyed on Sept. 11, I find myself living in two separate worlds.

One is the real world where you go to work, pay your bills, go out to dinner, take out the garbage and all of the other mundane things that make up our everyday life. Except now, the real world doesn’t quite feel real anymore. It’s more like being an actor in a long running play, reading old familiar lines. It all feels like make believe.

The real world is out there, just outside the door, like a great giant T-Rex, quiet for now but soon to awaken. When it does, there will be hell to pay. That T-Rex is war. War against an enemy I don’t know, don’t particularly hate, and, in fact, have never paid much attention to until it decided to blow up the World Trade Center. It is an enemy that makes no sense to me no matter how hard I try to listen to what it is saying.

I could understand a world that hates the United States for being an empire because no matter how benign we like to consider ourselves, the truth is, the U.S. is an empire. And like most empires, America tries to grab all the chips on the table and then insist that everyone play by the rules, which typically are its own rules, which change anytime it serves our country’s interest.

What I can’t understand is a world that hates the U.S. because of the Big Mac, KFC, Sylvester Stallone movies, reruns of “Married with Children” dubbed in Arabic, and women who actually walk around uncovered and even venture an occasional opinion.

I can’t understand people who hate Americans because they’re free, and that a person can wander all over America without showing an ID card, or without having to register with the police, and can live among us where most people just accept a person at face value.

No one asks you about your father or your grandfather, or where you pray, or even whether you pray, because, truthfully, no one even cares. We invite people into our homes and their children play with our children.

And yet, all the while, the terrorists know they’re going to kill us, or people just like us. None of what we are seems to rub off onto them. What we view as the essence of being free, they seem to view as a sign of our moral decay and lack of faith, which I must confess, makes no sense to me at all.

So what do you do with an enemy you can’t understand, that appears to have no territorial ambitions and merely wants to wipe you from the face of the earth because you’re you?

There is no question in my mind that if Osama Bin Laden and his followers had nuclear bombs they wouldn’t hesitate to use them. The God of these people is not the God of most Muslims of the world. They appear to have their own personal God who is merciless, unforgiving, unquestioning and aggressive, which, unfortunately, poses a great dilemma for us, personally and as a country.

Once the U.S. strikes, and we will strike, the terrorists most certainly will counterattack. There probably will be other terrorist incidents in the United States or at other installations around the world, and the terrorists will probably choose something that will be as appalling as the WTC and Pentagon attacks.

We would like to believe we are a civilized nation and we can respond to provocation, no matter how brutal, without inflicting a major loss of innocent human life. I suspect our belief is a myth, and they know it. They’re counting on our being incapable of being brutal. They view our humanity and our respect for human life as a weakness and a lack of commitment and purpose, and they may be right. I’m guessing many of our partners and allies feel the same way. That is, we’ll make some noise for a while, kill a few people, maybe knock off Bin Laden or the Taliban government and it will all blow over.

If that’s all we do, I believe, in time, they will be back and it will be worse. We soon may have to confront the necessity to be as brutal as our enemy if we are to survive.

For those of you who are appalled at the prospect, let me offer an example from history. In 1945, the Empire of Japan was probably the most bellicose nation on the face of the earth. Its army was intact and had dug into caves all over Japan. It was estimated we would have one million casualties in the final battle for Japan. We dropped the bomb on Hiroshima, then Nagasaki, and it was over. It was over because Japan knew we were prepared to annihilate it from the face of the earth. The world it once knew was over. Hopefully, we’ll never come to this, but I believe we’re really staring into the abyss.

How many more World Trade Centers would it take before we start thinking the unthinkable?

Why did you reprint the Gordon Sinclair piece without mentioning that it was first published in 1973?

Don Williams

Editor’s note: Above the reprint of Sinclair’s editorial was a statement saying it had been previously broadcast, though a date wasn’t given.

As passengers booked on the ms Westerdam C. Holland American Lines, sailing from Skagway to Vancouver, dated Sept. 10 through 13, we feel your customer relations department would want to know how impressed we were with the management of Captain Kor Witvliet and his staff to offer all passengers with air connections the opportunity to stay on board during the time of the terrorist attacks inflicted on New York and Washington D.C. and thereafter.

The four days we were the guests of the Holland America Line and the reassurance that with their help we would make it home sometime, was very comforting and most appreciated by all who were involved to find their way home during this difficult and confusing situation.

When we were finally able to board busses on Monday morning, Sept. 17, for the three hours drive to Sea-Tac Airport in Seattle, it touching to see that we were taken care of until the bitter end with packed lunches for on the road and a helpful driver who kept our spirits high.

Mark and Hennie Vander Meyden.

The spectacular hillside view from Heather McKay’s Los Flores Canyon reflective glass home shows the panoramic Malibu Pacific Ocean coastline.

A geometrically shaped, avant-garde steel structure resembling a spaceship, McKay’s home is a 3,500 square foot masterpiece designed by Malibu architect Ed Niles, practical enough to withstand fire and earthquake.

One of Malibu’s most unique houses, it’s as multifaceted as its landlord, Emmy-nominated and multiaward winner McKay, who is consistently creating and presently evolving as a poet and cookbook author.

McKay, who originates from Vancouver, B.C., geared her early talents toward writing, yet seized an opportunity in broadcast engineering, which brought her success–two Golden Mike awards and accolades in TV production, documentary and music editing.

Happy childhood memories of living by the sea in Canada brought her to Malibu 11 years ago, where she lived in her large cedar-sided house until the devastating 1993 Malibu fire destroyed everything. McKay escaped safely with only her pets.

Just as the Phoenix, who perished in flames, resurrected to begin again, McKay focused on rebuilding her life and her canyon wildfire home. Now, massive caissons sink more than 40 feet into the bedrock for stability, while remnants of the former home appear strategically. She calls her glass-walled house “a living piece of art.”

Today this amazing glass and steel house has attracted architectural magazines, photo shoot locations for fashion layouts and music videos. This week it was featured on Home and Garden Television’s Extreme Homes series.

Reflecting on her previous home, career and lifestyle, her poems maintain a connection with life’s possibilities:

Whenever we turn away from one-another,

We cease to exist;

When we turn back

We flare into being,

Like matches in the dark

(from “Dreaming the Arctic”)

McKay’s evolving lifestyle led to a new relationship with food. She relates, “Life is an adventure which comes with a responsibility to enjoy it.”

Surrounding herself with creative people, friends have crowded her kitchen to savor new recipes; edible flower dishes that have enhanced many a dinner party.

Living in Malibu brings nature in focus for McKay. She knows Malibu hiking trails inside and out, collecting wild flowers to accent her latest recipes, as her mother did long ago in Canada. As recipes are passed from one kitchen to another, McKay wants to share more with her new book, “Petals on Your Plate.” She wants people to enjoy flowers in their natural environment and bring them to the kitchen with knowledge of their varieties, flavors, edible parts and preparation, as well as species that have grown along California coastlines as far back as the Chumash Indians.

“People have a misconception that flowers are like perfume,” says McKay. “Actually, many flowers taste like vegetables.”

Nasturtiums, which grow wild in Malibu canyons, taste like watercress with a peppery flavor; their edible yellow, orange-red and purple blossoms blend well with baby greens and vinaigrette dressing. McKay encourages cooking with flowers, yet warns, “Know what you are collecting and what parts are not edible.”

She says she believes experimenting is important before serving dishes with flowers. Some of her favorite dishes include yucca blossoms, lavender, roses and cattails. “You can grow your own flowers, but it isn’t necessary.” Adds McKay, in a statement epitomizing the many turns her life has taken, “There shouldn’t be any rules.”

Feeling connected and comfortable with her life today, McKay is the first to say, “I’ve learned that I’ve had a lot of challenges.”

W. P. Hatter asks, “Where is Malibu’s patriotism?”

I found myself asking the same question when our family moved here and our youngest child started school. A few weeks into the semester my wife noticed the American Flag flown at the campus was so shredded, faded and neglected as to be nothing more than a fluttering rag. What lesson were the children being taught when they pledged allegiance to this symbol of disrespect? When she bought and donated a beautiful replacement to the school she was ridiculed as “The Flag Lady” by the principal and ostracized by staff and parent leaders alike. I wonder if they now fly the stars and stripes with newfound pride and honor?

Long May it Wave!

Christopher Carradine

Malibu? You want to go to Malibu? You can’t get there from here. At work in El Segundo the choices of a route home are rapidly diminishing, forcing me to think of renting a motel and only coming home on the weekends. The tunnel under the runway is down to two lanes. If you try to go around the airport by using Pershing drive, you will find Lincoln Avenue closed to left turns from Culver Boulevard. due to the construction of Playa Vista condominiums. Go through Venice on Nielson Way and it’s down to one lane because of sewer construction and the building of those idiotic traffic-calming islands in the middle. Take the always congested 405 to the 10 west and before you get to the McClure tunnel, traffic is backing up because they just closed one lane on PCH until Memorial Day to build yet another sewer. That must be the world’s best sewer as it’s going on three years building. Try to get around that mess by getting off at 4th Street and you will find it also is down to one lane for construction of God knows what. Get off the 405 west at 26th Street so you can take Sunset to PCH and you will find a big backup at San Vicente because of–you guessed it! Construction. No matter where you travel, Caltrans is making your trip a nightmare. And it changes so rapidly that any route you pick is liable for instant closure.

Road construction and repair is, of course, essential. The roads are generally in very good shape and everyone would complain if they weren’t maintained, but one wonders, is all that really necessary? Are they taking into account that by doing this they are inconveniencing thousands and costing millions? Probably some thought is given but not nearly enough. Alternate routes should be planned and closures announced in advance. Do they have the optimum configuration at the construction site or do they just close off anything they happen to want to because it’s easier? Does anyone force them to look hard at these issues? I don’t think so. Consideration should even be given to building new bypass routes or reconfiguring alternate routes for easier access. The reduction of PCH in Santa Monica to two lanes each way was done slyly and with almost no notification. The first I knew of anything planned was two days before when a sign was put up with those obnoxious, ubiquitous words: “Expect delays Sept. 27,” as if that ended their responsibility. And was it just for Sept. 27 or forever? The first published account was in The Malibu Times and Surfside News on the evening of the 27th after the closure. It almost seems as if they were doing that on purpose to avoid any controversy.

I suppose this is wishful thinking but what we need is for someone to organize a commuter’s organization to lobby for commuter’s rights. I envision a group similar to ARRP organized by some ambitious but angry commuter that would ensure road repairs are undertaken with full consideration of all factors. Minimum agony to the commuting public. We do pay the bills, you know.

Lawrence I. Ivey

The Brush Fire Season’s drawing close,

And more deadly than before —

Because of forces who may use,

The conditions–and much more.

Wind and weather play a part,

As always they must do.

But now we have another threat,

To potentially come through.

Be alert, when on the roads,

When in the fire season.

Prepare your property and such,

With calm, and proper reason.

For the danger now is greater,

Than in previous past years.

And with the brush fire season close,

Danger could be near.

H. Emmett Finch

Retired firefighter

So we’re supposed to be getting back to normal, they say. Don’t be afraid to fly, to go into tall buildings. Keep up consumer confidence so the economy won’t tank, support the airlines and the stockbrokers.

I want to help New Yorkers, but Mayor Rudy says to stop sending blood and stuff. They’ve got enough and it’s just getting in the way.

I’m not afraid to fly, I just don’t have anyplace I want to go right now. I still feel like I should be staying close to home. Of course I’m always willing to do my bit for the economy–well, not a new car or a refrigerator–so I went to Bloomie’s, flashed my plastic and left with a few gifts and a new wallet. No money to put in it, but I’m doing my part for America. I also donated to the garden center, schlepping home bags of shredded bark, some fall bedding plants and three bags of daffodil bulbs.

Few things feel more normal than fall gardening. Birch and red bud trees are turning yellow, Virginia creepers are blazing red, maples are crimson and orange, smoke bushes are deep purple. Even the California buckwheat blossoms have turned to rust and golden blooms tip the rabbit brush.

I spent half a day potting up herbs and chrysanthemums, deadheading lavenders and harvesting poppy and salvia seeds. There’s nothing so life affirming to me as the feel of warm sun on the backs of my legs. So what if I looked up every time a plane flew over.

While I dig in the dirt, I’m sorting out my priorities.

Spending three hours at a specific plan meeting to make sure the county doesn’t rezone our canyon –probably a waste.

Spending three hours with my tush crammed into a second-grader’s desk on Grandparents Day –worth every minute.

I resolve to keep in touch with old friends, spend more time with family. Stop hassling the New York publishers for not sending the book I was supposed to review this week.

In my newfound spirit of volunteerism, I drove three hours to Sequoia National Park to help pot up to 2,500 baby trees. It seems these seedlings were being stored bareroot in a cooler that malfunctioned, raising the temperature overnight from 35 degrees to nearly twice that and forcing the trees out of dormancy months before they could be planted outdoors. Nothing like saving native trees to get one back to basics, though they’re much too tiny to hug.

Driving east out of the San Joaquin Valley into the foothills, Highway 198 cuts through granite that looks like a cubist painting, past silver olive and deep green lemon groves. Water levels in the lakes and rivers are lower than 70 percent of normal this year. At Horse Creek, a sign warns against fishing and diving from the bridge though there isn’t a drop of water below.

The park entrance is a few miles past Three Rivers, surely the most patriotic little town in California. Every house, store, barn, roadside mailbox and even a few tractors sported flags. The park nursery, a makeshift greenhouse and shadecloth-covered potting area, is a short hike down from the visitor center, where we met Melanie Baer-Keeley, a U.S. Park Service horticulturist in charge of the nursery and the park’s revegetation program. A veteran of the Theodore Payne Foundation in San Fernando Valley, she helped Bob Sussman set up his Malibu nursery specializing in California native plants.

In short order she organized two dozen raw recruits into teams of potters, damp soil shovelers and wire screen cutters (to fit inside the bottom of the deep plastic pots). Those with strong arms and backs loaded trays of pots into a pickup. Another team would off-load and stack them in huge wire-bottomed beds, where they will be watered and cared for alongside other species waiting to be planted in the forest later in the fall or early spring.

We separated the seedlings– Giant Sequoias, Jeffrey and Lodge Pole pines–which were soaking in huge buckets of wet polymer, and gently placed each one in its prepared pot, filling and tamping the damp soil around the long roots. We had to be careful to keep all the green needles above the pot rims to catch the sunlight and to firm the soil around the roots. We worked from 9 a.m. to 3:30 p.m., taking just a short lunch break, sometimes trading jobs to use different muscles.

By quitting time, there were more than 1,000 baby trees, row upon row of two-inch green tufts that could some day tower 100 feet tall, replenishing the forest. Awesome.

I vowed to go back and help plant them in the ground, maybe hike up into the Giant Forest where the biggest trees in the world are. I think I’ll take my grandson, camp overnight at Powisha and explore Crystal Cave. It would be good for him to see what was here in the land of the free before our ancestors arrived. Kids don’t always understand the concept; having to do pretty much what they’re told restricts most of their freedoms.

But seeing those majestic trees, actually helping the seedlings take hold, might give him a sense of why freedom is worth protecting.

It sure helped me set some things straight.