Day 1: Celebrating the Trite and Trivial...

Oh, the Stories They Can Tell...

Cars whizzed past the airport baggage exit at the San Diego airport until a brown Subaru passed and honked the horn. It turned toward the curb and stopped abruptly. Morgan Rae came running around the car with arms outstretched. She and dad embraced on the edge of the street. It was a RaeRay reunion, and I wished that Nicole from London had been nearby watching. She sat next to me on the plane and seemed to envy the fact that I would be touring the West Coast with my daughter. She had taken my window seat before I boarded the plane in Dallas, and she said flying always reminded her of her father. He was a pilot. She was born in Boston, an American citizen, but her parents moved to London when she was four, and she had lived there ever since. She was coming to San Diego for a two-week Yoga school and would be going back to London. She was excited to learn that my daughter Morgan Rae was her age. The two would not meet, though. Morgan Rae was in a hurry to show off her new world and share new adventures with Michael Ray.

It had already been a long day for him. He could hardly sleep the night before, so he left for the Nashville airport just before midnight. He would make the 2 hour drive in darkness and a driving rain. He had made reservations to leave his car at the Fly Away parking service, but when he arrived there after searching the outskirts of Nashville, the gates were closed. He pulled in to a darkened gas station next door and phoned the number posted on a sign. A man who answered said he saw car lights next door; he would open the gate. The same man took Ray’s keys and drove him to the airport in a van. Ray tipped him $5.

The time was 3 a.m., and a lone security agent inside the door said none of the ticket agents or bag checkers would be there until 3:30 a.m. Ray lugged two heavy carryon bags through the station to a waiting area, where he tried to nap. He didn’t know that those bags would get heavier as the day progressed. The gates finally opened and the bags passed inspection as the X-ray agent studied the charging cords and box of hobby beads inside. That was the last time Ray would have to worry about having to repack the rolled up contents. The next five hours would include brief naps interrupted only by a mad dash to the tram and another plane in Dallas and chats with Nicole from London. Ray was preoccupied mostly with thoughts of the RaeRay reunion and breakfast in San Diego.

As the Subaru left the airport, Morgan Rae called her temporary roommate, Paola Rosanna Procida, who was going out for brunch with Raeray. She was showering, so Raeray would have to kill a few minutes driving around the beaches before picking her up.  We toured Dog Beach and Ocean Beach with its specialty shops all up and down Newport Road. We finally arrived at the Point Loma house where Rae had lived for the last six weeks. One of the neighbors, a woman named Barbara, told about learning to crochet from Stevie Nicks. During the late 1970s,Barb’s husband was playing in a band that opened for Fleetwood Mac. Stevie demonstrated her hobby to a group wondering how to spend their time between shows during a two-foot snowfall in British Columbia. Barb followed Raeray to the gate still telling stories as we left to pick up another friend joining us for lunch. His name was William Joseph Quinn, a retired special education teacher and New Jersey native named for Joe Namath. He, too, was an incessant talker. With Billy aboard, we drove toward the South Park area to a 38 year-old restaurant that employed a dish washer in 1981 by the name of Whoopi Goldberg.

Rae had discovered Big Kitchen a few weeks earlier after meeting someone less famous who worked there as a dishwasher. We parked a block away and walked down Fern Street to the corner of Grape. A woman in a long paisley skirt who identified herself as Judy the Beauty saw us coming and came in our direction. “I knew you would be back,” she told Morgan as they hugged. She was proprietor of Big Kitchen, identified in the magazine article on the restroom wall as Judy Forman. She welcomed Billy back, too, although he’d never been here before. We took a tour of the eatery with it walls covered with photographs and artwork before settling at a table on the street in front of a two piece band – a young man on a stool strumming guitar and an older woman playing saxophone. Paola arrived after a while, and we ordered from the menu of omelets, scrambles, frittatas and sandwiches, both meaty and vegetarian. The food was outstanding, especially a coffeecake made from cornbread. Judy reminisced a moment or two about Whoopi, telling us “I worked with her; I gave her all of my good lines.”

From Big Kitchen, we dropped Billy off in Ocean Beach, picked up our white dog Penny Lane at Paola’s place and headed out to find the night’s lodging. A neighbor in Point Loma had suggest The Dolphin near the harbour, but a call there told us it was not pet-friendly. The clerk said the owner would probably allow Penny Lane to stay if he were there, but he was off that day. The nearby Consulate hotel allowed dogs with a $100 cash deposit, but its reviews suggested Stephen King should stay there before writing his next novel. We finally headed over to Hotel Circle to the dependable Motel 6. It was dog-friendly, and we paid a few dollars over $60 total for a clean and comfortable night’s sleep.

The last thing on Raeray’s menu for Day 1 was to watch the sun go down at Sunset Cliffs. Morgan had done exactly that every day since arriving in San Diego, either alone or with friends, except one – when she was feeding the homeless with a group of Buddhists. That’s right, she and a newfound friend named Mark Nissenbaum visited a Buddahist Temple and then dined and chanted with a Hare Krishna group one Thursday, preempting her daily sunset stroll. So it was only fitting that after we parked the car at Sunset Cliffs and began walking toward the beach, we coincidentally ran into Mark. He was the first friend Morgan made in San Diego six week earlier and might be the last one she saw before leaving to head toward Oregon. He shot a few pictures of Raeray and posted them on Facebook. The time was 5 p.m., and the sun would be splashing into the far Pacific about a half hour later. Ray had to wriggle his 66-year-old body through a few crevices in the sand to reach one of Rae’s favorite viewing spots. Families with children and groups of foreigners surrounded us as a drone driven from far below peeked at us over the cliffs. Morgan said this was a scene repeated day after day. It was one of the reasons she loves San Diego. The sun finally set, we walked down thousands of steps to the beach and back up and then found the car again along Sunset Cliffs Boulevard. We drove to a discount food market and picked up $34 in groceries – “you saved $22,” said the cashier – and made our way back to the Motel 6. We arrived in time for the last 9 minutes of the Super Bowl. Our $2.99 salads from the discount food market store made a great dinner. It has been a blessed day. We can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings.