After driving through the Arizona desert for days, I was ready for the cooler California air. Reaching San Diego I found a camping spot right on the Silver Strand State Beach, a cool and sparkling sliver of seashore between the beach towns of Imperial Beach and Coronado. The next day I called my editor, Anita Palmer, who lives in the area so we could meet up over a meal.
I hadn’t talked to anyone in several days except for the border agent who stopped me. Traveling through miles and miles of sand, cactus, and cake-bake heat had taken its toll on me. I was ready to talk. And I did.
Over dinner, Anita smiled as I spilled my guts about all I had been pondering during my desert wandering days. From weather, to the state of world affairs, to you-name-it. I may have even touched on my take on the theory of relativity at one point. I’m not kidding.
Anita got in a few words about San Diego here and there as the sun was setting. We had a brief discussion about editing. And she gave me some tips on places I might want to include on my West Coast travels. There was a pause to take in the sunset over the bay. Then I continued my unloading of pent-up desert wilderness thoughts and observations … till she was able to escape at the end of the meal. She swore she enjoyed the conversation.
Before leaving San Diego heading north for the metropolis of angels, I ventured up to a magical place, the stately veterans memorial atop Mt. Soledad. There a 22-foot white cross on top of the 822-foot suburban peak reaches toward the sky. From the memorial you can see downtown San Diego and Mexico to the south and La Jolla and the Pacific Ocean to the west and north. Quite a view for an old Texas boy.
Mt. Soledad is in the very upscale seaside community of La Jolla. Lots of rich and famous people have made La Jolla their ZIP code. For example, it was the last home of Dr. Seuss.
Some of the legends attached to this neighborhood could fit in a Dr. Seuss book. There was a folktale that Mt. Soledad was home to little people in the 1930s -- the ones who played in the Wizard of Oz movie. Tucked among its winding roads were what appeared to be tiny houses with tiny doors and windows looking west over the ocean. I would like to think it was true, but alas, it was just the angle of the hillside streets that made small homes look miniature. (Or was it?)
After walking around and taking some photos, I drove down the hill wandering the narrow streets toward the Pacific. I turned onto Coast Boulevard with homes on one side and on the other side a little stretch of beach park between the road and the ocean.
A perfect spot, I thought, for watching a sunset from one of the most western points La Jolla. Obviously I wasn’t the first to discover this perfect sunset watching spot. People were gathering already, more than an hour in advance. The limited parking spaces were all taken.
Unbelievably, just ahead, I spotted a long open parking space curbside. A space big enough for Argo. As I stepped onto the sidewalk a bit of pride washed over me for parallel parking ARGO in this spiritually provided parking space. Parking Karma ! A feeling akin to being a lottery winner. I am sure it is a similar feeling of exhilaration.
Sunset time is my favorite time of the day.
Always a reflective pause for me. A meditation moment. Something about it connects with me.
I take a photo to capture the sunset moment. Either with a camera or with my mind. Usually with both.
This night I walked across the sidewalk, over to the edge of a short cliff. A natural sand and stone path led down to the narrow beach. I walked on over to the end of the red rocks jutting out to the water. Waves were splashing up as they crashed into the side of the shoreline.
Four children were playing in the waves. Further down two people were embracing. The sun still had a good distance to go before slipping beyond the water.
As I stood there, I was debating with myself over staying the additional hour till sunset, or getting on the road to where I planned to stay the night.
The practical voice in my head said, “Hey, you can still see the sunset from the other place.” The soft wussy head voice said, “But this is too perfect of a spot to leave … and you have the prized parking space.”
Staying seemed like the “bird in the hand” best option. But it was more expedient to get to my destination before dark.
Expedience won out. I started walking back to ARGO.
I noticed a young couple that had just descended the path from the street. I stopped to let them walk pass me. Between them were a boy and a girl in the five- to eight-year-old range, I’m guessing.
The father was leaning down talking to the kids in a subdued solemn manner. The mother looked like she was in deep thought as she nodded her head in agreement.
It caught my attention. I lingered and listened as they walked on.
“It was right over here,” He pointed, looking ahead and then back at both children.
“Over here?” The little girl pointed ahead.
“Just about,” he said.
Their son loosened Mom’s handhold running forward to jump over a gap in the rocks.
“Be careful,” Mom said, reaching out to grab his hand again. The boy complied.
“Your mom and I had a blanket spread out,” Dad said. “There were candles circled around it.”
They walked on toward the where Dad had been pointing.
“This is where I proposed to your mom.” Dad paused.
Mom took the blanket out of the bag she was carrying. Dad grabbed one end to help spread it out.
It touched me. I don’t know where they traveled from to come back to this spot, this sunset. Sounded like this was the first time to bring the kids.
From wherever they traveled, this was a revered place for them. A place where a question was asked and answered. A place where two lives were changed years ago.
Now they are a family of four.
A family on their way forward, looking back to a turning point. Sharing a special memory on the spot where their new life began.
I don’t know the name of the family. We never exchanged a word. I only heard, by chance, a small portion of the account that was being shared with the son and daughter.
A sweet moment. And I rarely, if ever, use the word “sweet.” But that’s how it hit me. Their tender sweet moment touched me.
I moved back to the edge of the cliff. As I stood there watching the sun disappear, I felt the warm air of the day being pushed away with the setting of the sun. The chill of the air told me it was time to head on. I raised my camera. Took a photo. Watched the last brilliant golden flash give way to the night signaling the end of another day. I turned and walked back to ARGO.
A La Jolla sunset memory.
