Chapter 8 AN INTERLUDE Being and Seeing No more phone hook-up or convenient busses to occupy our time, we are now in Guajome Regional Park, a country-like setting on the outskirts of Oceanside, near Joyce's.           Our repairs had been minimized, and our meeting with Rick and Snow got changed till Monday, so we had an interlude, a time with nothing much to do, and we decided to take a break at this quiet, peaceful park, with electrical and water hook-ups, and a dump. Most of the comforts and conveniences, yet rural, with a view of rolling green slopes, a miniature lake and picturesque marshes framed by bushy pines, stately palm trees and accented by a brilliant bougainvillea. And way in the distance, across the valley, are the mountains at Camp Pendleton.           Since the rains had stopped, we decided to take a late afternoon walk in this relaxed setting; one I'd described before, in Journey of Awareness, when we stayed here in November. But, now, with the recent rains, the marshes were full and many of the paths were flooded, limiting our walking perimeter. I Am a Camera           A labyrinth of eucalyptus trees forms a canopy outside my window, as I enter an open-eye meditation and decide to photograph it in my mind and recreate if for my readers.           It's said that when using a camcorder, one must stand still and let it capture the action, which would be perfect in this morning's scene: birds, from the size of my thumb and forefinger held together, to big black crows cawing angrily at anyone and everything. But when they are quiet, I can hear the twittering and tweeting midst the flittering and flitting, as the natural aviary comes to life with the birds zipping through the branches and leaves seeking nourishment.           That is the overview, but now I let the camera pick up the details and record them for you in the present tense: the fluttering iridescent wings of the hummingbird light on a pinkish brushlike blossom of the eucalyptus tree, while a slightly larger grayish bird spreads its wings and reveals white, black and gray-tones, as it lands on a more vibrant pink blossom, and other birds of similar shades and varying sizes repeat the scenario throughout the tree canopy, creating constant activity.           But the birds are not the only movement; the leaves themselves flutter in the morning breeze, bringing my attention to their many shapes and colors: the grayish-bluish-green bladelike mature leaves of the eucalyptus contrast the lime-green-yellow-orange shades of the younger leaves. And the pink blossoms fluctuate between the nearly faded out older ones to the vibrant pink and even orange and yellow tinted variety.           Indeed, the eucalyptus tree, an import from Australia, has more vegetation that drops from its loaded branches than most other trees: leaves, blossoms and pods; not to forget the bark that eventually peels its outer grooved layer, and then the inner tan one leaving a white covering. I'm sure that a time-lapse camera would reveal its constant activity and changes. And they are all in evidence, most of the time. For instance, even now, some brown dead caps, from the pods, hang in the tree and cover the ground, while the new top-shaped pods are doing the same. It's a messy tree, but is fast-growing and provides ample shade and protection from the wind. It also brings with it a healing ingredient that is used for relieving sore throats, sniffles and colds.           But, there are other sights to see, so shift your gaze to the acacia tree, in the foreground, with its light green blade-like leaves and the yellow buds that are just beginning to poke from their protective green casing. If you look further, through the overhanging branches, you'll see a burst of bright yellow blossoms that are already in full bloom on another tree. They are finger- like thin brushes, but other blossoms, on another acacia, are round yellow puffs. As lovely as the colors are, many people are allergic to them and dread this colorful spring season.           In fact, Van seems to be experiencing such an allergic reaction, and when I paused from my writing to mention this possibility, he said, "Then the eucalyptus will offset that, right?"           I said, "Yes, just focus on the positive."           Back to the vegetation: both kinds of trees are burdened with the dead or fallen pods, leaves, limbs and bark from the eucalyptus, which is also on the ground. As I'm writing, later in the day, the groundskeepers are laboriously aiming their noisy blowers at the troublesome offenders.           The blue sky, with swishes of white clouds form a backdrop to this morning panorama, and they, too, add to the action, as the clouds increase and the blue decreases, until there is only a white blanket over the sky, blocking out the sun. And, as the morning progresses, the pattern continues to change, with the help of the gentle breeze, which gathers the clouds into giant thunderheads, exposing more of the blue sky and sunshine. Nice for now, but they remind us of the prediction of more rain; not such a welcome addition to our park sojourn.           For awhile, I close my eyes to rest them from this constant input, and try to remember the myriad shapes, sizes, colors and activity. But when, again, I open them, I realize how much I'd missed recording. For instance, the dark red, almost mahogany color of veins in the eucalyptus leaves and branches; and the clusters of orange caps of the newly forming pods.               We decide to take the day off from our usual computer activities, which allows us time for another walk, so I take along my imaginary camcorder. Here's what it records: a purple, delicate orchid-like flower blooming in such profusion that one bush only has blossoms; no leaves. And next to it is another bush, like we once had by our house in Leucadia, with orange trumpet flowers and a root system that allows it to become like a vine; lovely to look at, but a disaster for pipelines. And we pause to take a picture of another shrub with small deep red blossoms that last long after they've been picked. I don't know the name of most of these flowers, but I enjoy them anyway, and the pictures, on the picture page, help you identify them.           When we reach the footbridge over the little stream, we bravely cross over and carefully walk on the weeds and grass along the edge of the path, rather than attempt to walk in the still damp mud. But, we are happy that our options have expanded, even if it means retracing the route we'd taken during our last visit, with some definite changes, such as a rippling stream where a startled pair of mallard ducks take flight in front of us.           And when we come to the cement dam, the water is lapping over from one side to the other, making it impossible to walk across. This time the marshes are filled with water and the trail winds between, until it reaches a fork-in-the-road. Since the path has become quite soggy, we choose the one that crosses another wooden bridge, over a little waterfall, and goes past the lake where many ducks are noisily quacking, as we return to the RV area.           But its such a nice day and so beautiful that we aren't ready to go inside, so we wander around the other side of the park, where the pipelines have been uncovered for repairs, pass a flower garden of pansies, snapdragons and nasturtiums, and take a shortcut down a grassy embankment and up the other side, arriving at the front gate. By this time we are both getting tired, so we take the shortest route back to our RV.           In the meantime, someone has moved into the space on one side, but our view of the lake and distant mountains is unobstructed. And later, when a family with three little kids pulls into the space on the other side, I'm still able to see the scene of my open-eye meditation and the sunset with the pink-purple reflection in the clouds above the mountains.           So, it's been a quiet, relaxing day; a pleasant interlude, and I hope you've enjoyed seeing it through the eyes of my camera and word picture. A Mexican Interlude           As planned, Joyce picked us up and took us to her house for one last computer lesson, and then we rewarded our three inner kids with a play day, opting to see the movie, The Mexican, with Julie Roberts and Brad Pitt. We felt exhausted, between lengthy car scenes across the endless deserts; either on the way to Las Vegas or through Mexico. Even Brad Pitt's good looks didn't off-set our disappointment, because he portrays a hot, sweaty and disheveled character; an impulsive, but klutzy thug, who utters uncouth language. And, as to the so-called chemistry between Brad and Julie, it doesn't work. Although it's a love-story, he is unable to make a commitment to Julie's character. And she portrays a hot-tempered flaky broad with aspirations of becoming a Las Vegas croupier, who becomes embroiled in the company of underworld gangsters. The "lovers" are apart most of the movie, and spend their time trying to phone each other, and then yelling and hanging up. Is this ingredients for a hot romantic duo? Maybe, in this day and age; but not for us old-timers who are use to Clark Gable and Vivian Leigh, for instance; or maybe Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr.           The movie never quite makes up its mind whether its a comedy, romance, western, action film, or dark humor. For us, it starts out bad and gets worse, as we trudge through the worst of Mexico's type-cast characters, cars, dogs and towns. It seems such a waste of talent for Julie and Brad. But, that's just my opinion, and it was something to watch while eating our popcorn. Of course, the cricics love it, and so did the public, as it soared to first place.           Before the movie, we'd decided to go to Acapulco Restaurant for a Mexican dinner, but we felt somewhat saturated, like after seeing the movie Chocolat diminished our enthusiasm for sweets for several days. Nevertheless, Joyce drove us all the way back to San Marcos, where we'd eaten at Hometown Buffet the week before. And, I must admit, the Mexican food still tasted good, despite our desensitizing.           But Saturday is not the time for a quiet dinner in a family restaurant. The music, kids and noise, aided by sizzling, smoking fajitas became too much, drowning out any attempt at conversation, so we finished our meal, and Joyce drove us home to our quiet, peaceful park. A Rite of Passage                      Sunday morning proved to be much more conducive to my frame of mind for an Interlude from the hectic pace, when I attended another favorite church, one we often attend with Joyce. We arranged for her to pick me up and later return me to Freedom, which Van would move to a Wal-Mart parking lot, in preparation for our departure.           The church has begun a new innovation, a pre-service sing-along, lead by a vivacious professional singer, Georgi Streetman, and I felt as if I'd been to a Broadway musical, especially after she belted out her rendition of Control Yourself, a song I'd never heard, but definitely applicable to the day's topic.           The subject, How to Handle Upsets, provided another experiential aide that often applies to me. Relating to the subject, E.J. McDuffey, a Religious Science Practitioner, delivering the morning Invocation and Inspiration, read an excerpt from a book, "I could feel her problems and upsets cover me like a winter coat;  heavy and  long. She wanted to be sure that I felt her troubles, so she went over them and over them. Her consciousness was like a briar patch of negative experiences. And, although there were many different ways to solve her problems, she chose not to progress.           I chose to remove the coat."           I was so impressed with the writing that I asked who wrote the book. EJ replied that she had, and it was unpublished. I wanted to share it here, so I asked her to e-mail it to me, and she did.           The minister, Rev. Brian Anderson, expanded on the subject, as he suggested that we allow ourselves to have our upset, without blame or guilt. And he also reminded us that another person's upset is not our problem, so don't take it on.           The sermon and songs were not the only impacts this morning: sitting in this church brought back memories of so many people who have passed through my life, and yet none of them were here now; all having moved on to other places in their lives, no doubt.           And it reminded me of my friend, Chris O'Conner, who was also my writing teacher. She sat in the first seat of the third row, and afterward she left the way she arrived, on the Lifeline bus. She would often exclaim, "This is such a wonderful country to provide us with  these wonderful services."           Unfortunately, Chris succumbed to the need to be taken care of, and soon after she reached her eighties, she became incapacitated, and while I was away on a trip, she died. I miss her, but there is never a day goes by that she is not part of my life, through my writing, and I can hear her words ringing in my ears, as I write. One of her favorites, "Show us, don't tell us," has goaded me into creating word-pictures whenever appropriate.           But I realized that life goes on, and I've already lived a lot of my years, and I am ready to move on to the next phase of God's Divine Plan for me. Somehow, attending this church this morning, on the threshold of our departure into the unknown, seemed to be a Rite of Passage. Another Time; Another Interlude           In fact, after I said goodbye to Joyce, as Van and I headed north toward Los Angeles, on our way to see Rick and Snow, who were upgrading and reconstructing my websites, it felt like I should begin a new chapter. In my mind, once their changes were in place, I felt that I would be moving into a new reality that would truly take my websites Out into the Universe. Yet, we were not scheduled to meet until Monday, so we were still in our Interlude; it just shifted locations.           Because of the ongoing threat of winter storms, the Sunday traffic was quite light, as we sped along the Pacific Ocean, past San Clemente, Capistrano Beach and San Juan Capistrano; towns that held many memories for me. I had once lived here, during another Interlude in my life, after my divorce from Eric, my second husband. It's such a beautiful area, but those were sad and lonely times for me.           I'd first come here when I decided to become an entrepreneur and I owned the Life Center Health Foods, which I'd created from the four bare walls into a lovely business. On a quite small investment, I'd furnished the place with used equipment and furnishings from the ads, and when I sold it, I doubled my money.           One day I thought to myself, "I don't know how to run a business," and sold it; then I managed the store for awhile, after my divorce. From here, I returned to Del Mar and lived in one of my dad's apartments, along with Dottie and her first husband, Leon. It was definitely An Interlude in my life.               Pushing the Envelope           But this story isn't about that lifetime, it's about our new adventure in the Present Moment; and an exciting one it is. For one thing, driving through hectic Orange County and then the outskirts of Los Angeles, past the LAX Airport pushed the envelope further than we usually venture into this metropolis. However, it's the only way to Dockweiler State Beach, where we planned to stay several days for our meeting with Rick and Snow.           Van did great driving through the traffic, but the interchange from I-405 to I-105 became harried, and he slowed down to make the wide swooping curve. Of course, several cars honked and glared, as they drove by, because he wasn't driving fast enough, and they were trying to make their turn-off to LAX. But he handled the affront, without getting ruffled, and continued to our destination.           I felt quite proud of myself, having first gotten directions by phone from the receptionist, and then forging through the process of using my Street Atlas program that Cousin John had given me. Without a flaw, we drove right past the sign "Highway Ends 1000 ft." and into the entrance, which takes us onto the beach of the park.           By this time, the predicted rain had begun, but we were safely in our space (86) when the heaviest brunt hit. Actually, it wasn't all that bad, because we were protected beneath a hill behind us.           Later, when studying the map, we noticed that we were further protected because of the alcove, Santa Monica Bay, which keeps this area out of the main storm, as it by-passes and goes into Ventura County and Santa Barbara. Okay, so Thank You, God, for bringing us to this place at this time. Still in Our Interlude                     The best part, thanks to our Tour Guide (God), although we'd selected a non-hookup site, we were located on a higher level, toward the end of the parking lot, and we had one of the few views of the ocean (the view from the other sites ($10.00 more) was obstructed by a huge sand bank, built to prevent flooding from the high tides.           Now, without the need to hook-up, all we had to do was settle down and watch the waves rolling into shore, through the rain splattered windows. And that wasn't all that entertained us: the low-flying planes, including 747 jets, flew right over the front end of the park, on their descent to the airport. We could almost see the passenger's heads looking out their windows, they were so low. Thank goodness the park receptionist mentioned that we might like the further sites better, as they were quieter. Yah! Well, how quiet can a 747 be?           Nevertheless, Little Ralph was enthralled, and the noise wasn't all that bad from here, for some reason. So we rode out the first storm, of this severe winter in Southern California. Or, at least that is what you would think, from the news coverage, with pictures of fallen trees and flooded streets caused by the heavy wind and rain; and reports that planes were being delayed or canceled. But, none of it affected us, other than watching the planes, which were arriving less than a minute apart, contrary to the news reports.           But Van said they are probably in a hold pattern, flying in circles (over the ocean), awaiting their turn to land. I concluded that I'd rather be here than going through their bumpy ride in the storm.           However, we were becoming concerned about the prospects that this storm could be lasting most of the week, which would mean that traveling conditions for RV's could be bumpy too, and we began to wonder if we should extend our Interlude in this setting. A Rainy Interlude           The first storm really didn't last all that long, and it wasn't even all that bad. In fact, a number of people were scooting along the cement walkway that stretched in front of us, from Manhattan Beach to Santa Monica (at least 10-miles), on bikes or skateboards; and some were jogging, running or walking. It's really a picturesque sight of a Rainy Interlude in Playa Del Rey; not as scenic as our favorite Doheny Park; but okay, under the circumstances.           We came to look forward to the daily sight of a white-haired, bearded man, barefooted and wearing only shorts, pushing a shopping cart full of his worldly belongings along the walkway, despite the rain. And, later in the day, he returned; this time wearing a shirt. An Extended Interlude           Okay, God, so what's going on? I'd called Snow to arrange our meeting for Monday, only to learn that she'd been at the LA Marathon all day and had been awake since 3:00 a.m. so she needed to get some food and rest. But, worse than that, her car had broken down on the freeway, and she'd barely gotten home. Now, she would need to get it repaired on Monday, but we could touch base in the morning and see what was happening.           What was happening? Rick called, with his cell phone, to say that they were awaiting a tow-truck, because the car stopped on the way to the repair shop. Oh Oh!           As we spoke, the tow-truck arrived and he had to go. I began to wonder how all this was fitting in with God's Divine Plan, or were we all victims of our patterns; and if so, what ones?           Snow had suggested, the night before, that if their car wasn't available, we could drive Freedom to the church parking lot, which is only a few houses from their home, for our meeting.           After talking with Rick, Van and I discussed the situation and decided that, considering the adverse weather and the closed door, it would be best to stay here a few more days. This proved to be a good idea, because Rick called back, from the repair shop, and reported that they wouldn't be able to even look at the car for an hour-and-a-half, but he must walk to his work, which is near their home. I passed along our decision to stay a few more days and we agreed to schedule our meeting for the next day.           In all reality, it was just as well that we had an extra day, before our meeting with Rick and Snow, because Van had not been feeling well and could use the time for recovering. His symptoms coincided with a bit of information I'd learned at church, Sunday, when the minister announced, as an experiential aide, that he had been upset over having had flu all week.           I'd become upset with Van for getting sick at this important time, our meeting with Rick and Snow, and suggested that he look within to recognize and change the pattern that finds it necessary to sabotage my forward movement. And, I also did some inner work myself, to offset any possible interference, as there seemed to be more involved than I might have suspected. A Terrible Interlude           At noon, I turned on the TV for an update on the weather conditions, only to learn that there had been a shooting at Santana High School in San Diego with two students dead and thirteen injured. Because of the close proximity to LA, live coverage was going on, and I relived the terrible events at Columbine High School, in Colorado, where my granddaughter, Airica, had been attending. In fact, she had quit to begin home schooling and was planning to return to pick up her belongings at the very time of the shooting, but she overslept. Nevertheless, she was emotionally affected, because her friends were there, and she spent most of her time with them for the following weeks.           Now, another incident had taken place and lives were being ended or disrupted, and we felt the sadness and chaos of this senseless event. As if in sympathy, the skies opened up and began pouring forth the predicted rain of the oncoming storm.  A Modern Day Miracle           Watching the big planes, in dark, cloudy skies, provided a different open-eyes meditation, compared to the tranquillity of Guajome State Park. Every few minutes we would see the lights of another plane coming out of the clouds, slow down and glide toward the runway. And each time the miracle became more amazing. How can anything that heavy stay in the air? I know there is a law of aerodynamics that explains it, but I see it as a modern day miracle. By all rights, those planes shouldn't even take off the ground, let alone fly.           Yet, here they are, planes from all over the world: Air France, KLM (from Holland), Air Canada and Mexicana, in addition to United, Southwest, Alaska, Continental, TWA and American from this country. And I could easily read the names of each one, as they flew into land.           I felt a tinge of excitement every time one burst through the clouds and approached the runway, which is out of our sight, because we are at beach level and it's higher, beyond the embankment. Nevertheless, I felt a welcoming, as people from other places arrived in Los Angeles and went about their lives.           And, I also felt caught up in the frustration of those who didn't make it, because of the cancellations due to bad weather on the East Coast; and also those who weren't able to leave here, for the same reason, as the Newscasts showed airport schedules marked "Canceled."           I thought, "Well, weather is simply a fact of life." And a voice within me said, "Yes, but you must focus on another reality, 'God is the Truth of Life,' which is much more powerful than the limitations of the facts."            Recalling Bob Davey's conversation about the particles and waves of light (energy), I realized that anything is possible through the power of thought, and perhaps, after all, that is how planes are able to fly: someone thought them into reality. And, furthermore, I can think my life into reality.