PlanesTrainsBussesPlanes5



	Chapter 5 PLANES, TRAINS, BUSSES AND AUTOMOBILES Get me to the Church on Time Sunday morning and everything went smoothly: I'd gotten up and called the NCTD for the bus schedule, got dressed and was ready to go. But this nagging voice in my head finally got my attention and I took time to find the monthly bulletin, for Unity Christ Church in Carlsbad, to check the time for second service. I'd been hearing this guidance, but had ignored it, so I was upset and disappointed when I discovered that church started in a half-hour. The bus wouldn't even come by, until then, and it would be another half-hour ride to get to the church. I sat down in despair, beating myself up for ignoring my guidance that would have gotten me to the church on time. This was to be my first effort to "go out into the universe" on my own, and I'd blown it. Van suggested that I go ahead anyway, but I chose to pout. However, my inner voice also prodded me to continue with my plan, and I realized that attending church was only part of the day; the adventure of getting myself out, making it on my own via bus, and allowing the day to unfold still beckoned. In other words, this was a day for "surrendering into the flow of life," and I didn't want to miss it. So, I crossed the railroad tracks and stood at the bus stop, soaking in the glorious warm sunshine. Soon I noticed a pair of men's sandals by the next tree, and I heard a rustle, as the owner, a homeless person, retrieved something from his large plastic bag. For a moment, I felt apprehensive, but he didn't seem to be bothering anyone, so I moved under the shade of the nearest huge eucalyptus tree, while noting the usual North County Sunday morning activities: lots of bicyclers, and vehicles, some with surfboards, heading for their destination, or simply enjoying the trip along the beach; people crossing the highway with their dogs, heading for the beach, and a group waiting for the bus heading south. Soon their bus came and went, and then mine arrived and I boarded. Once settled down, I noticed that mostly Mexicans and seniors, or younger folks seem to frequent the bus services. In other words, those who can't afford cars; or in my case, who also choose not to bother with one. Within minutes we were heading north, along the route where I once enjoyed my car radio playing, "It's a Wonderful Life," and, indeed, with the sun reflecting across the water, life did seem wonderful, and within a short time, I'd be at church. OOPS, I forgot the side trip to the shopping area on Encinas Boulevard. However, I also reminded myself that we could take this route, if we needed to get to the store. And I remembered that Joyce had offered us her car, during the week, while she caretakes an elderly woman in her complex. And my stepmother, Arlene, had said we could take the bus to her home and drive the car back overnight, if we needed it. So, we were amply handled for transportation. I laughed, as we returned to Highway 101, crossing a bridge over the railroad tracks, as a train approached, and a plane flew overhead: plane, train, bus and automobiles all in a row. A good subtitle for my chapter, I thought, as we continued along the coast. In the distant smog over the ocean, I saw a huge ship chugging along, and toyed with the idea of adding "ship" to my title, but decided against it. Once into Carlsbad, the ongoing parade of joggers, runners, walkers, bikers and strollers paraded along the promenade, while surfers, boaters and waders took advantage of the ocean's waterway. The bus turned onto Grand Avenue and again into the transit station, where I got off and headed toward the waiting bus. The driver wasn't on board, so I walked to the depot and got a bus schedule booklet, and also the Coaster (commute train to San Diego) timetable. Now, I had access to the freedom of unlimited transportation. Better Late Than Never Of course, I was late, but Rev. Tony was into a talk about an inspiring speaker he'd heard at the ministerial conference at Robert Schuller's Crystal Cathedral; a scientist confirming the existence of God, among other breath-taking phenomenon. Yet, he paused and waved, as part of his family church format, welcoming a family member home, without question as to lateness or time between visits. In fact, Rev. Tony later announced my presence with an explanation of my being a licensed teacher and now an RVer. It felt good being home, although I didn't know many of the small congregation, as this is a somewhat transient church, other than the small core who keep things going, because North County offers a smorgasbord of churches and other activities (the beach, for instance) to tantalize the residents. However, when the vocalist stood up, I smiled from ear-to-ear, because it was Scott Kalechstein, the troubadour singer whom I dearly love. I'd seen his schedule on his website, and this church hadn't been listed, and it looked as if he might be elsewhere, due to his busy schedule. But here he was and his song, as usual, inspired us. Yet, he looked sad, not his usual vibrant self, and when I later gave him a big hug, he said that he is still grieving the breakup of his love relationship. Nevertheless, he came to life when the children came into church and sang along with him. And he definitely brought joy into my day. I'd informed Van that I would home late, because I planned to join the group, after church, for Sunday brunch. But I was delighted to learn that this was pot luck Sunday, and I loaded my plate and sat down at the table for nourishing. As I chatted and became acquainted with the new members, I felt an emotional nourishment too. And when Rev. Tony reminded me that we must do lunch, later in the week, I set a date for Thursday. Life was good, and I was enjoying my sojourn out into the universe, which confirmed that I hadn't lost my ability to socialize. A Home Visit and a Walk During lunch, I'd been chatting with a new acquaintance, Anne Lewis, and she offered to take me home, as she lived in our vicinity. But she mentioned that she would stop to visit a long-time church member, Zandra, who had fallen and broken her pelvis. Also, another lady, Dell, would be driving her car and joining us there. Since I was in no hurry, I agreed to go along. Zandra is one of the core group who keeps the church going, and she provides a lovely floral bouquet each Sunday, when she's able. But now she was flat in bed and enjoyed our company. This home visit to a church member added a touch of family, and I knew that it was Rev. Tony's wonderful love consciousness that had created such an environment, transforming the membership, as he too transformed. And I knew that my own inner transformation had attracted me to being included in this visit, and it felt good. Despite her pain, Zandra remained cheerful and positive, as she shared about the many blessings of friendship and service that had been offered, during her recuperation, including Anne, who had brought her food and now picked up the empty containers, and asked what she could do to help during the coming week. Zandra had explained that the hardest part, for her, was to be incapacitated and having to rely on others to help, but she graciously accepted Anne's offer, and said she would get in touch. As we were leaving, Anne told me that she and Dell were going for a walk, and she invited me along. I'd begun the day with the intention of going with the flow, and I said, "Yes." They decided to return to Anne's condo and walk around the peaceful grounds, because Dell wasn't wearing beach walking shoes. On the drive, Anne and I got more acquainted, and she explained that she had been a marriage counselor and a government mediator, but in recent years she'd been on a Purification Journey, which had taken her from a large comfortable home in Orange County to her home state of Virginia and to Atlanta and back. All this time flying back to Orange County to visit her autistic son who lived in a support home. Finally, she'd rented a condo, so she could easily commute to visit him. Such an inspiring and gracious woman, and her home reflects her simple elegance and gentility which has evolved from her quest. Dell joined us at Anne's, and we began our stroll along a concrete pathway that wanders amongst the trees and shrubs of the two condo developments: a retirement section, where she lives, and a family section. We ambled past the swimming pools and golf course, and eventually reached a place overlooking the eastern valley and Rancho Santa Fe, with its greenery, orange groves and tranquil setting; an area that Van and I had passed through and enjoyed on our Sunday drives when living in this area. As we walked, the three of us had been chatting, and getting more acquainted. And Dell had been sharing her insights into the various lifestyles, while pursuing her career of owning her own home cleaning service, although she doesn't do the actual cleaning. Now, as we soaked up the quiet, peaceful surroundings, we noticed below us three colorful hot air balloons, as they began to fill up and expand, and finally soar upward and float away into the distance. What a glorious addition to a perfect day. Both ladies had more plans for later in the day, so we began to amble back to Anne's condo, while glancing toward the hot air balloons disappearing into the distance. And then, because it was closer to where Dell would be going, on her way home, she offered to drive me back to my place. We came over the hill just as the sun was setting into a low level of clouds hanging over the ocean, which gave the ethereal appearance of a heavenly scene. A reminder that we are, indeed, living in Paradise. A Bus Trip to Del Mar When I awoke Tuesday morning, the sky was blue and the sun shining, but by the time Van and I got out to the bus stop to head south to Del Mar, it had become overcast, windy and cool in Paradise. Nevertheless, we were excited about our new adventure, Van's first bus ride; or I should say, Little Ralph, because it was clearly his inner child who was seeing everything for the first time and he was enjoying every minute, as was Joanie (my inner child), who had instigated the plan. He studied everything with a child's excitement and curiosity, asking questions about all the features, including the wheelchair attachments; and Joanie explained what she'd learned on her previous trip, plus she told him about the bicycle rack on the outside front of the bus. We chatted, as we rode along, past the familiar sights of Leucadia, such as the locally owned Mexican restaurants and little post office and deli on the west side of the highway, and the long row of eucalyptus trees to the east, beside the railroad track. And as we passed Juanita's Mexican restaurant, we again marveled that the place was packed, as usual, whether night or day. You would see no franchise businesses in this town, because they are not allowed, although they abound over the hill, to the east, where everyone shops. Soon we passed Captain Keno's, once a haven for surfers, but now frequented more by senior citizens seeking an inexpensive and bountiful meal. It had been a favorite of Dad and my brother, Gary, who traditionally chatted, while eating a huge helping of pancakes, ham, eggs, English muffins and hash browns. And on some special occasions, such as Father's Day, the family would gather here, to please Dad. But, now he had made his transition and the family had scattered. But, we were here, and now we were crossing Encinitas Boulevard, with the Leucadia Pizzeria on the corner, where my granddaughter, Arianna, had worked when a teenager. And they still serve the best pizza anywhere; my favorite being a chicken-vegetable combination Now, we passed the stained glass place where I'd given my huge "Rainbow Center" sign and received a rainbow reflector in exchange for my generosity. The specially designed stained glass sign had cost me $60.00, but my businesses had long closed and when we were ready to leave this area, had no need of the sign . And on the left is the Palomar Theater, which still has top movies, and some surfing pictures. After all, Encinitas may be billed as the "Flower Capital of the World," but it is equally famous as the Surfing Utopia, especially at Swami's Beach, mentioned earlier, and which we are now passing, with its ornate East India style architecture and picturesque grounds. It is one of the headquarters for the Self-Realization Fellowship, a spiritual organization founded by Paramahamsa Yogananda, a guru from India. Across the highway is Swami's Juice Stand where one can buy delicious freshly made juices and other natural delicacies and healthy meals. At one time there was a wonderful health food restaurant close to Swami's, but it had long ago closed down. Now, the Potato Shack is a favorite restaurant on one of the side streets. My friend, Helena (who now lives in Colorado), once worked there, and also at the Community Market, a communal type natural foods store, frequented by hippies and other health minded folks, which had taken up much of the west side of one block in town. But when it upscaled and moved into the Lumberyard Shopping Center, across the street, the former location was taken over by an oriental rug business, but now it houses a consignment furniture store. Dr. Steven Vogues chiropractic office, Optimum Health Center, on another side street, was a gathering place for anyone straying into town, such as Helena, who sometimes traded her time as a receptionist for massages. And then she learned to give massages herself, and finally, after she returned to Colorado, she went to massage school and got her certificate. Helena and Dr. Vogue are only two of the colorful people from that era, and many others still make this area their home. Yet, the expensive homes along the highway and overlooking the ocean, south of Swami's, in addition to the La Costa residents, bring in an upscale clientele to the Lumberyard, which was once just that, but is now a classy shopping area with its specialty shops and restaurants, such as La Peep. Many businesses have come and gone there, but some, such as Pacific Eyes and T's, have managed to remain. And Hansens Sportswear has become a mainstay at the south end of town. Community Market remained for many years, but the high rent, among other things, finally caused them to close their doors; and then another health food store opened for awhile, but gave up, due to the high costs. Encinitas is a quaint and fascinating town with such landmarks as the brick ?, with St. Germaine's, an indoor-outdoor restaurant serving delicious natural foods. And I forgot to mention Roxy's, in the heart of town, which serves good healthful foods too. There are many natural foods restaurants which cater to the tastes and lifestyle of the residents of this beach community. One of them is Ki's, which moved from Cardiff-by-the Sea, the next beach town south of Encinitas and past the Cardiff Beach State Park, to a choice location, with ocean view, across from Restaurant Row, along the beach. Most of them feature seafood, such as Chart House, and they are expensive, but Ki's caters to the natural food enthusiasts and they keep their prices affordable for their customers who crave carrot juices and other goodies. How I loved eating at those seafood restaurants, and at Ki's, and if I had my way, I'd still be enjoying this lifestyle. But when Van got caught in a job downsize and lay-off, our lives changed drastically, which I've written about in many of my books, especially the Money Makeovers series, which can be seen on my MoneyMakeovers website. In any event, south from Swami's, the beach and ocean view is astounding, even without the sun shining across the water. I remember when all this beach area was open and free parking, but the state turned it into pay parking lots, which makes it difficult for the surfers to afford. Yet, somehow they manage, and they can be seen, during the high waves, on any day. Most of them have jobs that accommodate the surfing schedule. In keeping with the title of this chapter, I noted an airplane flying low above the ocean, as we chatted; and I also noticed another change along this highway: the huge boulder seawall that helps to keep the high tides from tossing rocks and seaweed across it. It's not especially picturesque, but more practical, especially for the restaurants, which frequently used to get flooded, at high tide, during big storms. Their parking lots still fill with water, during high tides, but the boulders help to minimize damage. Solano Beach, the next town, has small businesses and restaurants along the west side of the highway. The new train station, which was moved from Del Mar several years ago, occupies the east side of the highway. Residences and apartment complexes are plentiful, between the highway and the beach, and also up on the hill, overlooking the ocean. Several landmarks greet us, at the north end of town, such as Roberto's, one of the Mexican fast food restaurants belonging to this local chain. And The Learning Tree, a private school, which both my granddaughters, Arianna and Airica, attended in their younger years, when Dottie and her family lived in the area. There's no ocean view from the highway, in Solano Beach, but it can be seen, again, as we approach Dog Beach, where the dogs are allowed to roam free; and they have a blast, as one can be seen this day, his tail happily wagging, as he plays on his special beach. I can sit and watch the dogs pay by the hours, as they romp in the water, chase frisbees and race along the shore on their side of San Marcos Creek. Despite all this frivolity, the other side of Highway 101 may be more known, for here is located the famous Del Mar Race Track, originally owned by Bing Crosby, and where the rich and famous once played. Jimmy Durante and Desi Arnaz once lived along this Del Mar Beach, amongst other notorieties, and the energies rapidly shift, as we pass this exclusive residential area. In addition to the Race Track, where we sometimes spent an afternoon, during racing season, the Del Mar Fairgrounds are also here, and they bring memories of many enjoyable Father's Day and my birthday celebrations with my Dad and Arlene. I can taste those cinnamon rolls and corn dogs, even now. And I can remember that we always tried to find a strawberry shortcake for Dad, which he dearly loved. Arlene always liked to visit the floral show, because she worked in that department for many years, and it is a tranquil and visually pleasing addition to any visit to the Del Mar Fair. To describe Del Mar would take an entire book, because it not only is where Dad and Arlene lived for many years, but it's an exclusive and expensive playground for the wealthy, on vacation, besides being home for many others, such as the motivational guru, Anthony Robbins, who lives in a castle on the hill, and a sheik and his harem live at the south end of town. But riding by, on the bus, all one notices is the unusual terraced shopping center, built on the side of a hill, and in English Tudor architecture, as is much of Del Mar's business section. The exclusive Del Mar Inn, on the west side of the highway, is somewhat obscured from view by the shrubs and the design, which obstructs the view from passersby. But I have wandered through the luxurious grounds and inside the hotel, and it is exquisite. I also have purchased the delicious pastry at the Champagne Bakery, on the west side of the hotel. One of Dad's favorite desserts is their strawberry cake, as only the French can make it. In fact, I've eaten in many of the restaurants, and shopped in the stores, because, after all, this was our parent's hometown. Not that we moved in the social circles of the wealthy. Even though my parents were millionaires, due to the worth of the apartment complex they owned, they did not think of themselves as such, because the money was tied up in the property. And they worked hard to manage and maintain the place, so it was simply where they lived, and they did not socialize with the others; they enjoyed living a quiet life in Paradise. As the bus passed by the old Del Mar Grade School, I thought about having taken writing lessons there, as an adult, from Chris O' Connor, my writing teacher at this now converted Adult Education facility. Chris became a friend and also lived with us for five years. And I am totally indebted to her for teaching me writing skills. In fact, I can still hear her words ringing in my ears, with every stroke of the computer keys. She has passed on, and I miss her, yet, I always feel her guiding me, as I write, and I can hear her say, "Show us, don't tell us," along with her other admonishments. Chris, once a John Robert Powers model, lived a fascinating life, and wrote about her job as Social Director at the Plaza Hotel in Manhattan, doing what Ivana Trump did when married to the present owner, Donald Trump. However, when Chris worked there, Conrad Hilton owned The Plaza, and he was married to Zsa Zsa Gabor. Chris liked to recall that Zsa Zsa would always encourage her to marry a millionaire; and she did. But they eventually divorced and Chris lost her fortunes several times, although she never lost her true wealth, as a writer and as a teacher. When Chris taught writing, she would enhance her lessons and regale us with stories about her acquaintance with the many notorieties of another era, such as Grace Kelly, Jennifer Jones, Liberace, and her neighbors, in California, Lloyd Bridges and his sons, Jeff and Beau, who attended school with her daughter. And how Chris admired her beloved Dolores Del Rio, whom she met doing an interview, as a reporter in Mexico. Chris even wrote a book about the inspiring actress and her school without corners, for orphans and underprivileged, but it never got published; the world's loss. Publishers kept telling Chris that the public wasn't interested in nostalgia; but they would be, if her books had only reached the readers. I suspect that something within Chris wouldn't allow her to accept the accolades of success, yet is was within her all along. But, we are arriving at our bus stop, and these reminiscences must end. Now, we exit the bus and walk along the bath beside the tennis courts where Arlene and her sister, Phyllis, live, and where my dad once lived, before his death several years ago. We come around the corner where we can see the ocean at the bottom of the hill, and we walk past the Mediterranean style white villas and the pool, up the steps, and we are home for a day of nurturing and sharing Arlene's good food and love; and also playing our favorite card game, UpDown, along with Phyllis. An Airplane Meditation Fluffy white clouds slowly floated across the deep blue sky, during my open-eye meditation, as I contemplated this chapter and the activities of this new day. I asked God, "What does planes have to do with anything?" And I immediately became aware of the sound of an overhead engine followed by a small plane cutting through the serene scene, yet not hindering but enhancing. And within minutes I noticed, far in the distance, a jet zooming into the heavens, which reminded me that today my daughter, Dottie and her husband, Steve, would be leaving Denver's DIA for Miami. In the quietness, the still small voice within my head gave me a lesson that would definitely fit into this chapter. It said, "There does not have to be activity for you to write about. Sometimes the subject can be about silence, inactivity and simply being and listening. As if to confirm the message, I became aware of a loud engine quickly coming closer, and a helicopter appeared within view, without my having to move. The Voice reminded me of an article I once wrote titled, It Was There all the Time, which emphasized that we must become still and look around in order to discover that often the answer or solution that we think is someplace else, has been with us all along; we simply weren't aware of it. And then fragments of three fables immediately came to mind: the first is rather hazy in my memory, but it was about a man who left his home in search of a chest, only to arrive at a distant city and find the chest emptied. He eventually learned that what he was seeking was in his own home. Let me know if you remember how this story goes. However, Van filled me in on the details of another fable that we'd seen at Disneyland's Epcot Center: a puppet show enactment of a fable by Hans Christian Anderson, depicting a man who kept trading his valuable items for something of lesser value. Each time he was subject to criticism by his neighbors, but his wife continued to extol his virtues, despite his seeming failures. However, eventually he made a trade that brought him his fortune. But his true wealth evolved because of a wife who believed in him and praised his ambition. Another story, Acres of Diamonds, tells of a man who sold his home and went in search of fortune, only to eventually learn that his former home was located on a field of buried diamonds, but now someone else benefited from the good fortune. And yet another story that I'd read somewhere told of a man who had inherited apparently worthless land in the desert. However, he turned his liability into an asset by harvesting the rattlesnakes and selling products he'd made from the skins. My memory is sketchy on the details, but the idea is quite clear: it isn't necessary to look elsewhere for your fortune, and the lesson is intact. Of course, I'd gotten up from my bed to write these ideas, before I forgot them, and throughout the time on my computer, I could hear the roar of overhead planes and helicopters, enhanced by an occasional train passing by. That reminded me of another example: the Coaster, originally intended to be a commute train which ran mornings and evenings to transport workers from their bedroom communities in North County to their jobs in downtown San Diego. At first it didn't seem to be accomplishing its purpose, until someone realized that its services were needed all day for housewives and others who wanted this easy access into town throughout the day. In fact, the next Saturday, I would be fulfilling a long time desire, of riding the Coaster into San Diego, by joining a group from church on an excursion to famous Old Town, where we would have lunch and browse through the historic district, before returning home. This adventure will be reported in this appropriate chapter, after it takes place.