Postcards from the Funny Farm

Wow. Great time Friday night at a house a friend rented in Newport Beach. To quote my wife: “literally on the beach, when you open the gate in the front yard you hit sand.” It was harder than hell finding a place to park. Idropped Sarah and the kids off at the house and then started my weaving in and out of those tiny narrow beach streets packed like sardines with cars. As I got farther and farther away I began to realize that “3-day weekend” + “Beach” + “Muy Popular Beach!” = No parking. I did find a spot way down Newport Blvd. at a church. A friend of mine had a Catholic wedding there a while back. I remember how long that was: “And the same be with you . . .” “Please stand” “please sit.” Good God, anyone who has been to a Catholic wedding probably gets what I am saying. Then there’s the communion where as a Protestant my Mom taught us to cross ourselves with our arms toward the priest and simply get a blessing instead of the body and bread. So silly. But hey, I don’t want to appear intolerant. It’s probably equally silly to an outsider were the communions we had at Calvary Capo Beach. If you missed dinner that night you were stoked because you always got a big ripped chunk of sweet Hawaiian bread. Of course I am being crass. I’m simply noting the odd differences between the ways Christians take communion “Body of Christ for you , , ,” “Take and eat.” Communion is very profound, let me go on record as saying that before someone starts to think I’m making fun of it . . . Everyone should take communion seriously in their own way. Ok, new subject . . .

I walked the 3 blocks back to the house and went down to the water with my baby girls, Sarah and my son. We saw my sister, her friend, and other friends who I won’t bore you with by listing all their names and how I know them. Suffice it to say it was a bunch of family and friends. We bar-b-cued and then Eric and I played music on the front porch for a while. I on my guitar and singing / he on his accordion (yes you read correctly). The sound was carnival like and very inspiring. Sarah got some pix, I may post them once I get them off the camera. It was a time of catching up with old friends, seeing how their kids have grown, and sharing stories about the wars or work, words, and worry we are all working our ways through. It was quite blissful watching the sun go down while I strummed “O My Darling” and the accordion filling in the space. Iced tea and chicken/vegee shish-kabobs left us all feeling pleasantly full and ready for what would be the last event of the evening at the beach house.

We walked down the pier and everybody bought softserve ice cream. With 8 little kids there and too many adults for me to recall, it was a long time at the coney island styled ice cream stand. Slurping our ice cream, we starting up the pier ramp. Immediately we saw an eccentric older guy making bubbles with a PVC pipe connected to a noose-like ended rope. He made HUGE bubbles for the kids who would run after them . . . it was quite a sight to behold. It reminded me of the wonder of humanity, the way we live to entertain one another . . . similarly to what I TRY to do here on my blog. AND if it entertains no one, I still have a diary of my life to one day walk through and sigh. On the pier we saw one fisherman caught a medium sized leopard shark. He held it up and we made Brandon go touch it. I touched it too. My daughter screamed and said “Moster Moster,” Hiding her head in my shoulder. It felt slimy and course. More course than wet leather. Sarah took a pic of him too so I will try and get that up when I get around to it. Quite breathtaking actually. Sarah thought it was sad the shark was dying while people touched him. I just told her: “That’s fishing.”

My parents were kind enough to put us up in a Dana Point hotel. We drove down Pacific Coast Highway (PCH) for about 30 miles to get there. We passed quirky art galleries still open in the dead of night . . . groups of people bar-hopping and making a raucous, Bentley dealerships (it’s a posh life down in that beach locale) and of course scattered memories of my youth (I grew up down there). I noted to my wife that up in the High Desert, where the average home cost is 2-300k, it seems that people are more “real” and they don’t say crap like “Oh, you’re teaching? Well that’s nice for you!” The truth is, in these beach towns the average home is about a million dollars and teachers are respected but live there as low as waiters on the income totem pole. Where I am, a career as a teacher seems to hold more prestige respect . . . maybe I am imagining it, but that’s how it seems.

We did some other stuff and had fun in the hotel playing with the kids. This morning we went out to breakfast and swam in the pool, then we drove out to La Mirada to see my 85 year old grandfather in a convalescent home. He’s on his last days and it was REALLY sad how he begged me to “take [him] home.” . . . Very sad indeed. His ideal weight was about 165lbs in his prime. He’s about 80-90lbs now and it really contrasts the strength he used to emanate. I love my grandpa. I hope he passes peacefully. The doctors are sure he won’t be recovering. A lot of people I know are losing loved ones right now. What can I say? It’s almost too sad to talk about. I guess the upside is a wake up call that we need to LIVE OUR LIVES while we have them.

It was an amazing day or so and I feel good to be back home. As always there is so much more to say, but I tried to wrap all my thoughts around that title . . . it’s so visual if you know the area. Do you know the area?:

Driving South down PCH through Newport, Laguna Beach, and Dana Point

Pictures from the aforementioned events can be seen here.