San Diego's Catholic Immaculate Church.

My Day began at the Catholic Immaculate Conception Church in Old Town. I was in luck. Father Ecker would provide the service this morning. He spoke how Peter and Paul spread the word of Christianity to those who accepted Jesus as Christ.
   The church was built about one hundred and fifty years ago and has a pastoral picture of Father Serra on stained glass. My spiritual powers are awakened each time I enter the sanctuary. He speaks to the congregation as if talking to each one of us. Today was no exception. At the very end He spoke to me-or it seemed.
   "Tommy's Mom told him to practice the piano by the window."
   "But why Mom do I need to go to the window?"
   "So I can throw you out!"
  Instantly I thought about my Dad Harry. I did not know that my anger towards my parents spilled over to our Spinet piano. My Mom Edith provided me with piano and dancing lessons. She knew with my speech impediment, no gals would come my way. The lessons cost five dollars one half hour in 1952 and my teacher knew I did not have the patience for classical music, but I could memorize a song in  no time and play it the next week without sheet music. But it was my Mom Edith who waylaid the plans of Harry. I didn't know I also had other creative talents until much later.  
   In the Rectory Hall next store I pacified myself with my buddies, Max, Leonard, and of course Al Weaver. We often go next door for a pancake breakfast. Whenever I ask Al, a hero of Okinawa in World War 2, he whispers, "Am I alive?" I treasure my meeting with the boys since I pick up a few things from them, and a few sugar donuts. Yet the rest of my day turned into a nightmare.
   At about one o'clock I drove to the old Lafayette Hotel in the Hillcrest area of San Diego. I felt like dancing but the hotel's lack of parking facilities, air conditioning, and new ladies made me make a decision I regretted the remainder of my day. I decided to drive to Carlsbad from Washington Street. Bad decision.
   The 5 looked like it was rolling, that is until I got to the Carmel Valley area. The freeway turned into a parkway. Cars switched to other lanes only to switch back to the other. For me a local, I knew enough to bounce off the six lane freeway and exit at the Del Mar Heights off-ramp. Mistake. As soon as I got off, I noticed that many motor men had a similar idea. I crawled toward the Del Mar Beach highway. I had forgotten about the going home traffic and the San Diego Fair.
   The highway going west on the 101 had three lanes: One for cars, one for bikers, and one for parking. You guessed it! It took two hours for me to survive the death march to Encinitas. I gave up the idea of getting to Carlsbad but felt lucky to have survived the long endless line. On my next blog, i will show you how to get to and out of San Diego by spending little and minimizing your stress. 
   Again,