Life's journeys are worth sharing.
There are places in our part of Monterey County in California that you can visit for free, which somehow offset the high cost of living in this popular tourist destination.
The impetus for this post (and please pardon the pause in postings) is the recent three-week visit of family members from the Philippines, one of whom could not help but say, “Monterey is a dream!”
(more…)(This piece appeared in the Jan. 15 edition of the Monterey County Weekly)
This year, I added to my list of New Year’s goals and resolutions: to read the stack of free books that I received as a Christmas gift from Old Capitol Books in Monterey.
Old Capitol had announced it would be open on Christmas Day and that customers could help themselves to its impressive collection of new and pre-loved books as well as cookies and hot chocolate. Customers were encouraged to bring blankets, jackets and tents “for our unhoused neighbors to weather the storm.”
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Christmas is for children. Well, children of all ages. And nowhere did we feel it more than at Candy Cane Lane in Pacific Grove, California, where it’s become a tradition for homeowners to put up a display for Monterey County residents and tourists.
Along with the dazzling lights that adorned trees, fences, roofs and eaves, we found a variety of cartoon characters familiar to all generations. There were inflatables of Snoopy and the Charlie Brown gang, Snow White and her dwarves, the Simpsons, Minions and Bluey’s family, which is our toddler’s flavor-of-the-month.
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(This is a long overdue follow up to the previous post. My bad. Personal and professional commitments got in the way. )
I am picking up on that air travel thread of baggage problems. At the outset, I have to say that most people go through their flights without a hitch, but once in a while something happens, in the form of lost or damaged bags. And then there are other kinds of baggage problems.
When you fly, the airline usually stipulates the amount of baggage each passenger is allowed to carry into the cabin or have checked in. Regulations differ from airline to airline, and from international to local flights.
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Many travelers put a lot of thought into packing, to the point they often overthink and overpack. I am one of them, and I have many times in the past overestimated things, thrown good sense to the wind, and departed with heavy luggage. As a result, I have found myself exhausted in strange and not-so-strange lands from having to carry the weight, suffering from near-broken shoulders and calloused feet and hands, especially when traveling solo.
But sometimes I wonder: Do you really have to pack? When is it okay to let your shoes hang from your backpack? What are the rules for travel? Those were the questions I was asking myself as I pondered the couple standing in front of me inside the bridge while we were waiting to board the aircraft.
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It was freezing that December in Belgium and the only place to offer warmth and a seat without me having to buy anything was the Catholic church, and so I quickly dashed into it, hoping to also light a candle and say a prayer.
The church was a cavernous Gothic structure designed to make you feel small and overpowered by God’s presence, as its medieval builders intended. It was empty except for a few people, and I was deep in thought when out of nowhere, a voice said, “Are you Filipino?” I almost replied, “God, is that you?”
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I was recently reminded of a fictional conversation that took place at a poker game in a popular TV series some 25 years ago:
CJ Cregg: (dealing cards to other WH staffers ) King… possible flush… ace no help…. six… possible straight…. Dave of love for the dealer… ace bets….
Mandy: Check!
Sam: Check!
CJ: Check!
Leo: Check!
Josh: Check!
Toby: Check!
CJ: Mr President?
President Bartlet: There is one fruit….
Everyone: Awwww… please…
President Bartlet: There is one fruit…..
Toby: Mr President, check or bet, Sir, those are your choices.
President Bartlet: There is one fruit….
Josh: …or you should feel free to give us a quiz on inane trivia. .
President Bartlett: There is one fruit whose seeds are on the outside. Name it please.
CJ: Is it the cumquat?
Toby: Check or bet, Sir.
President Bartlett: I bet five
(Everyone else, properly distracted, folds or withdraws their bets)
President Bartlett: It’s the strawberry.
The sound of steady rain woke me one recent midnight, and I imagined monsoon clouds irrigating the land as they always do this time of the year in the home country. It’s the kind of soothing sound that makes a person sink deeper into bed, an announcement that the season has simply arrived and is doing its thing as scheduled.
But then I sat up and looked out the window and realized I was in California where, as the song goes, it never rains. At least not with the same intensity as in other places. I realized the sound I mistook for rain was the hum of the electric fan.
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For the past two weeks, I’ve been taking my daily walks around the neighborhood in the company of Ben Tucker, more precisely, his mesmerizing voice reading the 1962 novel Big Sur by Jack Kerouac.*
Big Sur is a first-person stream-of-consciousness account of a summer the alcoholic writer Jack Duluoz spends in the San Franciso-Monterey-Big Sur area in California, as he sinks into more drinking, depression and insanity. Big Sur supposedly being a sort of autobiography gives me the feeling Kerouac himself is telling me his story.
Big Sur has been called a masterpiece of the beat generation and revolves around Duluoz’s circle of friends, based on real people in Kerouac’s life, mainly his beat generation comrades. In fact, the Wikipedia entry for Big Sur lists the fictional identities alongside their real names. And then there are actual places like San Francisco’s iconic City Lights Bookstore whose founder, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, is portrayed in the novel as Lorenzo Monsanto, owner of the cabin in the Big Sur district Duluoz stays in, so he could write.
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Around this time last year, my family made a three-day/two-night trip to Yosemite National Park in California, and among the hundreds of images I took home were variations on this one. Only when I was reviewing my photo gallery much later did I realize that I had seemed to capture at least three pairs of people representing different kinds of love—paternal love, romantic love and marital/conjugal love. Trite, I know, but that was the thought that crossed my mind when I had the chance to examine the images more closely.
At that moment, I was just trying to take a photograph of the scenery in that part of Yosemite known as the Valley, where the terrain was flat and friendly to the general tourist. Like many others that day, we parked by the roadside to capture from the ground the famed rock formations that towered over us: Cathedral Rock, Half Dome, Glacier Point.
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On the road 