Sunday, sweat Sunday, with nothing to do but to enjoy each moment.
The Immaculate Conception Church in Old Town is a spiritual experience that ends my week on a high note. At night I look forward to my Sunday dancing lessons at the dancing lessons in Balboa Park...But first things first. my mind can't work without a full stomach.
Big John's restaurant in Carlsbad would be my first stop for today. The Carlsbad restaurant is on the corner of Palomar and Paseo Del Norte. To the north is the Seven Eleven and it is across the street from the Motel Six.
In August of 2010, I left my West Los Angeles apartment and fled to San Diego. I arrived off the Five freeway at dusk and could find nowhere to place my head on a pillow. The San Diego streets were narrow, and needed paving. My eyes began to droop so I retraced my tracks back to on the freeway and sign loomed up ahead. Up ahead to my right there was a neon sign that read, Motel Six.
And that is when I took the Palomar turnoff, drove east to a Mobile and made a right. And there is was, the Motel Six. I gladly paid my fifty five dollars to the night manager and stepped up to room 202.
And shit! It had a fine AC. Too tired to remove my clothes, I flopped into the bed and put the covers over me. My oh my did the AC feel so, so good. I woke up the next morning and felt alive again. I took a long bath and let the not water flow. It felt good to be clean again. I removed the itches that go with dirt and put on the T.V.
I dressed again, and put on clean underwear. this time wearing clean clothes. My stomach woke up and told me it was breakfast time. The nice manager told me that my stomach could be satisfied by the restaurant across the street.
The Tip Top restaurant consisted of a German grocery store with all types of fish and meats. A man even made sandwiches for you. sat in back of a small grocery area. Just about everything one could buy in a small German town st on the shelves of this market. The restaurant was past the market.
"I'll take the lox and bagel please. Hold the cream cheese and give me jam in its place."
"That will be ten forty one please. Your number is 39."
As it was only six thirty, the eatery was not bustling with people yet. I edited my football manuscript and sipped the remains of my coffee. Three layers of lox with pickles and tomatoes and rye bread gave me the lift I needed.
I began with a bagel half. I soaked it with butter and jam before chewing the succulent spread. The bread melted in my mouth. I cut up the tomato slices and sprinkled the plate with butter. I placed the first of layered lox on the bagel with a tomato and onion ring.
The food seemed to disappear without me knowing it. So tasty it was, my mouth played ring-round-rosy with the first tidbit. The insides of my mouth danced, flapping the lox back and forth inside my mouth before downing it.
Like a fisherman toying with its catch before bringing it in, it took me, yes it took me an hour to complete my breakfast. I don't eat anything gourmet unless I make love to it, or take my sweat time. I left Big John's Tip Top restaurant ready to tackle the rest of the day.
I can't remember feeling so alive. Twenty or so miles south would be my turnoff for Old Town, the same turnoff that takes you to Mission Bay.
Old town is made up of many adobe houses, many over one hundred and fifty years old. But it was Father Ecker who I came to see. His church had been built in 1867 and was only a block or two from the Father Serra's first one. I had begun visiting this church over one year earlier an d like a magnet it brought me closer to God than even the synagogue in New Town San Diego. I connected with the charm and humility of this priest.
In back of the church was a parking lot. I saw a spot and parked my car in it. In back of me a white car drove up and stopped. A beady eyed gentleman gave me a "how dare you look" such a look that I can still see it today. After another look, I discovered it was Him, Father Ecker.
Well I wished to hide but thought better of it. I apologized for perhaps parking in his place and enjoyed his one hour of stories that brought the Son of God into each of our souls. Afterwards the next door's Rectory provided donuts and coffee. I ate with my friends Max and also Leonard.and newcomers Matty and Angel. Matty's husband had been a Naval Commander under Mac Arthur.
"All of the navel men despised the General. President Roosevelt had a boat take him off of one of the Islands and safely landed him in Australia. My husband stayed and was captured by the Japanese. He died during the Bataan Death March"
"A book about Bataan mentioned that one captured soldier had a college ring on his hand. A Japanese officer asked him the name of the college and he responded, Notre Dame. He removed him from the line since he also had attended the same University."
92 years old Matty left and Angie talked about arriving in San Diego and buying a house. Not to bore you, the crust of what she told me I simplified. "WE met in Spain and soon came to California We have been married for sixty five years, but don't ask me my age. We live close to the airport off of Laurel Street. We have a gorgeous view...My husband and I returned to Europe and had no trouble spotting American tourists: they were big.
Later in the day i took my senior nap and decided to take dancing lessons. I met two scrumptious looking gals and it took all of my energy to keep my hands off of them. We are having a Christmas party this Friday. I went to the intermediate class this time to learn the waltz. The Western Swing gave me some hiccups. but I gave it a go. It felt good sweating. I returned to the Hotel Circle and spilled off of the number 163 back to the Motel Six motel thoroughly intoxicated with life.
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