Bonjour: France or Bust

Bonjour: this past February Meme surprised me on Valentine’s Day with… well several things, but the most astounding was a Viking River Cruise on the Seine from Paris to Rouen the last of Sept. and early Oct. Since Justin’s b-day was in that time-block he was invited too, of course in a separate stateroom. If you’re unfamiliar with in what country these are located, I won’t be betting on you to be a Jeopardy contestant anytime soon.

Since this was our first long international over-the-pond hop since the pandemic (and my health challenges- Belize for the arch. Field School as Cal Poly Humboldt grad invitee didn’t count as it was a short SWA flight from Houston), we decided to upgrade seats to premium and get two aisle seats directly across the aisle from each other (Justin & I) and a window (Meme). We selected and paid for the trip within days making February an interesting money transfer merry-go-round. Flying out of Albuquerque to Atlanta early on a Sunday morning was a breeze. All went according to plan, being in the front row of the premium section we had plenty of room.

Our passage took us through another 6 time zones and early Monday morning we arrived at our destination: Paris- La Ville Lumiere (City of Light – from its role in the Age of Enlightenment). Viking folks met us and started whipping us into shape: apparently, we’d have a lot of rowing to do ahead of us. They (#MyVikingStory) made everything simple enough that even this ol’ Park Ranger could do it. They put us in a van with a couple (Frank & Laura) from New Jersey, and I thought: “How nice, they even put us with Frankish folks. Long live the Holy Roman Empire!”. Arriving at the Pullman Paris Montparnasse (Hotel), across a boulevard from a well-used railroad station, our rooms were ready before 10AM and we had time to unpack and stretch-n-rest before a 1PM orientation tour & walk around the neighborhood.

Our orientation started with familiar safety & well-being cautions: guard your passports and money as pickpockets thrive on the unsuspecting (especially on the Metro [subway] and certain busy features of which Paris has a plethora), stay hydrated and the tap water if safe and potable, and importantly take it easy- don’t push yourself while you acclimate to the time zone. One of our first encounters with the hustle and bustle of this mass of humanity was a local mature gent that greeted our group’s “bon jour” with a colorful euphonism that, roughly translated, encouraged us to have a nice day. A more exact translation would be “Go the f@#$ home”. Fortunately, this would be the only negative exchange we had during our entire trip, until later with Air France during our departure. Just a couple blocks from the hotel we found several blocks of Asian restaurants & cafes, many Vietnamese. Considering the history of southeast Asia this made perfect sense. The meals in France were delicious, and at one eatery we experienced in Paris (Le Petit Sommelier) I experienced a Boeuf/Beef Bourguignon not only “worth writing home about” but so good I’m telling you now. The cafes too were wonderful respites from the Autumn rain showers.

There were so many Viking arranged tours we availed ourselves to while in Paris: Marais District, the Metro (subway), Notre Dame Cathedral (in & outside) is a must, and a Paris by bus trip with Arc de Triomphe, Avenue des Champs-Elysees, and of course that large perpendicular piece of metal that was only supposed to be marring the historic cityscape for a few decades when built 136 years ago. Now it is communications tower as well as a tourist destination, and a UNESCO site meaning… well not much actually as far as regulations and laws go in that those sites worldwide are protected by that nation’s statutes. We did see many unmasked police out-n-about, both local and national, no ICE though (yet). We found that the language skills of many we encountered included English: more on that later, but for now think about how they acquired their proficiency in same. It surprised me.

Embarking onto our boat the “Skaga” (a headland or peninsula, also a name of a Valkyrie in Norse mythology) on Thursday at noon we got to explore the neighborhood district around our mooring on the River Seine at 2PM with Christian, who was born & raised in Paris but spoke with an English accent due to his British mother. He had been our guide for the earlier tours too. We’d be spending the next week with the 226 souls onboard, forty of which were “ship’s crew/company”. Before steaming downriver Meme & Justin partook on a nighttime “French Wines & Cheeses” excursion that was reported as being “I’m glad I did it” by Meme. The Montmartre Hill neighborhood trek also got thumbs-up: once a favorite “hood” for artists, their contemporaries can no longer afford to reside there.

Saturday morning found us at La Roche-Guyon for unescorted shore walks around town and learning about French Chateau life. This is when I started looking at real estate listings, as they’re often posted in clusters at strategic street corners.

Early that afternoon we cruised on to Vernon and a featured trip to Monet’s House and his two Gardens at Giverny. Madames & Monsieurs, boys-n-girls don’t miss this one. It is an easy daytrip from Paris and usually busy during “the bloomin’ season.” Ironic, in that Claude developed it as a place for quiet and contemplation. When Monet moved in with his Parisian-Bohemian ways into this conservative farming community he created a stir by using water for flowers vice crops. He was considered a “water hog” much like those in northern New Mexico (read or see “The Milagro Beanfield War.” The gardens were reconstructed in the late 70’s (fifty years after Monet’s death) when Gerald Van der Kemp brought his experience & talents from decades at Versailles to this notable project that offers visual stimulation with every bend in the path, glance, or turn of your head.

The next day, since this was Sunday, of course we’re in Rouen the city of many churches (at one time 70, now down to 30) and active grain shipping port. When Americans think of Normandy most likely the continental invasion of WW II comes to mind. To the French, it is as likely that Joan of Arc is what they’ll first think. Joan is the patron saint of France. A backer of Charles VII in the 100 Years War, she was a zealous defender of the nation. The cathedral in Rouen is where Joan d’ Arc was tried and sent to her martyrdom for the crimes of wearing men’s clothes and partaking in men’s work by fighting in battle. She also heard voices directing her actions, which of course her enemies attributed to the devil. She-sus, she didn’t stand a chance against that stacked deck at trial: it was game, set and match for the oligarchs of the day.

The gothic cathedral, famous for its three spires, is also the resting place of Richard the Lionheart’s heart: he was King of England and Duke of Normandy (more later). Medieval architecture is abundant as you walk around the city center, with narrow allies that were streets a thousand years ago.The saintly images on the cathedral's side display what was acceptable and PC due to social change. The beheaded one is from the Protestant Wars, the one totally missing was from? You guessed it, "The Revolution."

Normandy Monday was a trip to the Beach and the Caen Memorial Museum thrown in for context. I have wanted to make this pilgrimage for a long, long time: in Junior High when I saw the movie “The Longest Day” I was so touched, I went back the next day and saw it again. Majoring in history as an undergrad, I didn’t study Europe past the Middle Ages or U.S. in the 20th Century (except a course in California History, which was way cool), but having been a full-services Park Ranger at heritage areas, two of which were battlefields containing a National Cemetery, the U.S. Cemetery at Omaha Beach has been high on my “wanna-go-there” list for a long time.

Meme knew this when she popped this trip out of the box on Valentine’s Day. I have a maternal cousin (Steve Riley) that described the place as “somber”, I chose “solemn:” the Program Director for Viking arranged for a formal wreath placement. We remembered and gave thanks to all those that struggled and sacrificed to liberate western Europe. This was followed by the military veterans in our group being asked to step forward, which I did: we were thanked for our service. It made me proud to stand there, of all places, to be with fellow vets. The cemetery is the resting place of 9,389 soldiers, sailors, and airmen from battles in western Europe. In many casualties counts they present U.S. losses, or the various Allied numbers. I remember both sides: both lost 10,000+ in the Normandy campaign, and thousands of civilians and structures lost. Some cities, like Caen, have been totally rebuilt since WW II because the allied bombing achieved its objectives. The rows of crosses and stars pay homage to freedom and let dictators know “Momento mori” (Remember you are mortal). I like “Sic semper evello mortem tyrannis” or “Thus always I cause death to tyrants.” As I walked-n-pondered that day I kept hearing Jackson Browne sing: “I have prayed for America, I was made for America, It's in my blood and in my bones, By the dawn's early light, By all I know is right, we’re gonna reap what we have sown.”

By now some of you are wondering: What about the food and entertainment? Strictly dried, salted fish, hard tack and porridge which often fermented for some navigational challenges. Of course, the 21st century version included full bar and wine selections. The meals were varied with every dinner offering a choice between a standing menu or nightly Chef’s suggestions (they were yummy). The vegetarian of our group was visited the first night by the dietician who asked if she would eat fish (nope) and when she learned I was allergic to walnuts (minor irritation to the windpipe really) they barricaded me from carrot cake while serving Meme carefully prepared dishes wrapped in… salmon. Seriously, the meals were wonderful, and the evening entertainment shared local sounds and traditions. One evening we thought we were getting some rock, as the band tuned their instruments and sound systems to Little Feat’s “Willing”, but they settled into 30’s-50’s Parisian favorites – no Johnny Hallyday (“the French Elvis”).

Early the next morning we did a 180 and from Rouen we cast off headed upriver towards Paris. While “rollin’-on-the-river,” the wheelhouse was open for inspection: of course, there no longer is a wheel, having been replaced by a joystick. Good to see the radar and sonar in action though.

Our next port-of-call was an afternoon at Les Andelys, where we joined a tour to Chateau Gaillard. The castle was strategically built overlooking the river in 1196 by the Duke of Normandy (Richard I, the Lionheart). Richard was King of England and at the same time Duke of Normandy, making him a vassal of the King of France (Philip II or Philip Augustus). It is rumored that Richard and Philip had a very close relationship (very, VERY close…) that soured.

Richard was known for his military experiences and knowledge. He built the chateau/castle without windows, to be more secure. Richard I’s wife, Berengaria of Navarre, was noted as the only Quenn of England to never set foot on English soil. After Richard’s death, his successor King John (known to the French as “John the Simple”, and we say “Magna Carta John” or Robin Hood’s Prince John), put in windows to better view the beautiful Normandy countryside. I think you can guess what feature was exploited by the siege of Philip’s forces.

Estelle, our afternoon tour guide at Les Andelys, was excellent: she helped paint the historic scene. As a nurse (her normal “day job”) she was certainly prepared to take care of any unforeseen needs of our group. Demographically, we had one (Justin) not on Medicare. She brought us to a better appreciation re: the life and times of this important location in western Europe’s history: the social and the political. Looking out at the surrounding landscapes, I was transported in time to feel the pull of those journeying to experience the magic medicine of the area. It too had a miracle event of turning water into wine that brought religious pilgrims there for centuries. Merci beaucoup Estelle.

The next morning our mooring allowed a visit to Napoleon’s Chateau de Maimaison, that became Josephine’s as part of the d-i-v-o-r-c-e. It is said that Napoleon was very generous, he could afford to be, and he still loved her deeply, but being an emperor he needed an heir, which she was incapable of providing. The chateau’s estate was 1,800 acres at the time but is down to 1% of that now (200+ years later). Tastefully decorated (if you like gold and displays of excess) I can see how Josephine was comfortable receiving high ranking guests, etc. This peak, as Justin ascends the staicase, into the other side of life prepared us for the afternoon’s journey to The Palace of Versailles and the Hallways of Excesses.

Versailles is an ode to overt & overwhelming opulence. It is the “Forbidden City” of the west. I can see why by the final years of the 18th Century many were fed up with the excesses of the aristocracy in France, feeding and leading to revolution. At its height there were 25,000 people employed there (ministers, servants, artisans, and specialists galore). Now the site still sees that many visitors each day. A museum conservator’s dream-job and nightmare. Our leader, Bruno, an eight-year veteran of shepherding groups around the extensively tended grounds, well person-i-cured gardens, and palace did a wonderful job or imparting insights as we strolled.

During the week of tours with Viking’s guides we’d had one that attributed their abilities in English language skills to cinemas and three to music. Two of those loved Classic Rock-n-Roll. As Bruno noted when asked: “I love Bob Dylan, Jerry Garcia & the Grateful Dead, and… even more than The Beatles and Stones, the Kinks.” While the location hosts concerts and operas, I was thinking a rock concert venue stretching to the redirected river entrance. What The Who could have done with that back in the day (I’m glad they haven’t done that) . During our last hour of “free time” before returning to ship we found some chairs at a café outside the Palace area, that certainly would’ve been part of the royal complex in the 17th and 18th centuries. As I gazed upon the Palace I thought about “The Palace of the Governors” back home, in Santa Fe, that we’d be flying home too the next day. What a difference in size, scope and yep: opulence.

We had one more event that evening: Paris by river at night. Justin made it, but Meme & I did not, as that cruise started when I was crashing into la-la land. Au voir shipmates and fellow passengers. The entire trip had been wonderful. What could go wrong? Enter Air France. I’m not going there, as I prefer to remember the many wonderful times of this great trip.

C’est le vie, and Au revoir France…

Two September weekend nights on San Diego’s Skeleton Island with Jackson Browne

The weekend after Labor Day we traveled west to San Diego to see Jackson Browne (JB) perform at Humphrey’s Half Moon Inn that has an outdoor 1,500 seat amphitheater snuggled between their restaurant, marina and 8-plex bungalows. Meme’s sister (Pat Medici) and brother-in-law (Hal Marcus) had gotten tickets early for the Saturday night show. On a whim, I decided we should join them and bought tickets on the secondary market. Sadly, they couldn’t make it, and seeing their empty seats made me think, “Bless Hal & Pat, we love you.”

As a creative reversal I’m attempting an interview here. JB is well known for his many LP’s, one of which was “The Pretender”, and I’m going to pretend he is interviewing me after his two shows that kicked off his current tour. JB – Good evening, what brought you to tonight’s show?

Me – Mi esposa. Meme, & I saw you on Feb. 3rd ’77 in Sacramento, passing through town when I was a “Buck Ranger” at Death Valley, at a benefit for the Pacific Alliance. You introduced us to Warren Zevon that evening. Since then, we’ve seen you several times in Albuquerque and in Oct. ‘99 had tickets to see you in Santa Fe, where we live. Meme was able to go, but I was on wildland fire assignment in NoCal. At morning briefing it was sprinkling, and I started my safety segment with “Here come those tears again” and explained about your gig that night: it was an excellent segway to “Situational Awareness” and keeping our heads in the tasks at hand. So, I got tickets because of the years of memories listening and relating to your music, plus wanting to see Meme’s sister at your Saturday performance. Pat & Hal were unable to attend, but we had such a great time anyway on Saturday that after we got back to our room (about 100 meters away) we bought two for Sunday.

JB – Do you remember when, or where, you first heard my music? Me – I do. I shared a bedroom in college (now called Cal Poly Humboldt) overlooking Moonstone Beach. My “roomie” Joe Van Horn & I both went on to memorable careers with the National Park Service. I remember the day (it was clear and bright: somewhat a rarity for Humboldt that year) he handed me his copy of “Saturate” with the advice to “listen to this”. I’ve been a follower of your work ever since.

JB – That’s cool, what about my music connects with you? Me – First of all, what resonates is your passionate feelings for humanity. I studied history and anthropology and recognize a journey. There is also place and time: we grew up in SoCal during the same era. In “Running on Empty” when you sing about in ’65 being 17 and running up 101, or in ’69 being 21 and on-the-road, I realize that was me also (except in ’69 I was in the Navy and often zippin’ up I-5 from NAS Miramar or Pacific Beach to L.A. My friend and brother-in-law (Lee Freeman) was with a band (Strawberry Alarm Clock) and I experimented with some sound engineering and recordings for them. I remember their equipment, according to the spray-painted stencils was “Property of the Rolling Stones”, which was cool: it was a dynamic time for young musicians in L.A. at that time, and you were in the center of it. We also greatly admire your connections with the world and human condition. It is so easy for us to forget the struggle that so many have just to survive each day.

JB - Could you say a little more about that? Me – Maybe I am projecting, but I sense a growth of compassion and sensitivity from our experiences and journeys. From “Take it Easy” and the wonderful bridge into “Our Lady of Well” where you recognize the enormous gap the industrial and subsistence existences. “The Barricades of Heaven” is always moving. “Lawless Avenues” reminds us of different realities, often in such close geographic proximities. When you sang Carlos Varela’s “Walls and Doors”, a song I was unfamiliar with, it struck more than musical chords. Your recording and performances of “I am a Patriot” (cover of Steven Van Zandt tune) remind me that democracy is not free, and there have always been people trying to take your freedoms away. Vigilance, and often uneasy choices and sacrifices, are required to protect it. You’re right about there being “Too Many Angels”, I’ve seen some recently, an there will be more.

JB – What are your favorite works of mine? Why? Me – Geesh, that is a tall order. I thought it’d be hard to ever surpass your album “For Everyman” and then when I heard the works on “Late for the Sky”, and later “World in Motion” … I was reminded that as we continue our journeys around the sun, we grow and evolve. Looking at your playlist from Humphrey’s I see so many songs I love: “Before the Deluge”, “Looking East”, “Sky Blue and Black”, “Your Bright Baby Blues”, “Late for the Sky”, “The Late Show”, and so many others: Meme & I recently discovered that we’d silently had the same favorite song for decades, that being your tribute to many with “For a Dancer”. They touch my soul and remind me who I am.

JB – What was your favorite parts of the concerts? Me – Well, I already mentioned “For a Dancer” – it was a nice touch that you dedicated it on Saturday to Warren Zevon. I had not heard his song “Life’ll Kill Ya” that you performed. Thanks for your complete playlist, and it was great when you and your musical collaborators all came back, for our standing ovation, to do “The Load-Out” and “Stay”. It again showed a bond with your inner-circle and the broader community of your fans. Thanks Jackson for being real, and please keep-on keepin’ on. Our seats were much better than these: https://youtu.be/2yCW5WR8AlU Another JB that played Humphrey’s (photo in their restaurant lobby)

Fire, fire everywhere...

Like many of you, our thoughts have been with those in the Southland where we grew up. We grieve from afar. My family had kennels in Burbank (Lima St.) & Malibu (PCH & Puerco Canyon), and Meme’s lived in Inglewood and later Woodland Hills: common denominators were families involved with showing AKC terriers, paternal grandmothers living next door to us, and communities with multiple combustible components.

Meme & I have a special connection to Pacific Palisades in that we first met in ’72 while working the Great Western Terriers (GWT) dog show that our parents were involved with (they were very good friends; plus past & current presidents of the show). GWT was at the Will Rogers State Historic Park’s polo field. I was just back from a semester of study in Mexico and helping the folks out. Photo (ca. ’72) right to left are Meme, her mother Ruth and brother Mark.

Six years later we had a family & friends wedding celebration there, near the green of Will’s one-hole golf course, conducted by “John the Methodist” from Malibu: unfortunately I stiffed him, not realizing that one of the duties of a groom was to pay the pastor. My bad. Some photos of from then:

This 2nd one shows Will Rogers historic home in the background.

In the late 80’s, as the NPS District Ranger for the eastern half of the Santa Monica Mountains Nat’l Rec. Area (think Hollywood Bowl to Kanan Dume Rd.) I had opportunities to visit the area multiple times. Very dear to us. Unfortunately the historic home Will Rogers had has been lost to the Palisades Fire, but our loving memories remain strong.Before and after photos of WR's home.

I was fortunate in my NPS career to attain some semi-competency of Ranger Skills in law enforcement & wildland firefighting: being a Regional Senior Special Agent in the former and decades of command staff involvement, as a Safety Officer, with national Incident Management Teams and being part of the cadre teaching team for Advanced Incident Management at the national level. So, also like many of you, we have deep and educated empathy for the residents that have lost so much and their fur-n-feather friends (all pets & wildlife) that were only there because a human put them in that situation, in that very fuel rich environment.

After the Bel Air fire (’61), which I remember watching on TV as a young teen, Los Angeles passed a series of laws and policies to mitigate future disasters. What they couldn’t do was stop the modern (last 8,000 years or so) inclination to grow things: with the fire dependent chaparral eco-system getting more fuel ready for fires that were sure to come pushed by the Santa Ana winds (also sure to come). In the late 80’s I was privileged to work with Battalion Chief Gary Nelson (he gave me my 1st white helmet an indicator of BC status), from LA County Fire, as we performed prescribed burns and developed pre-attack maps & plans. He called Santa Ana wind driven incidents as “catch them at the beach fires” as that is ALL we could expect to do. The time honored “Anchor, Flank & Pinch” wouldn’t work in the extreme conditions of SA winds. He also pointed out we’d never “lost one” over that fireline called the Pacific: the scene of burnt up beach houses tells you all you need to know about this fire’s intensity.

The released energy components must have been biblical: think of the NBC reporter on Pacific Coast Highway that pointed to the sea and said: when you look that way you used to see ocean, now all you see is ash & rubble. Let that sink in about how hot that would have to be. I realize it just an excited utterance (it didn’t boil off one tidal pool), but I’m glad I didn’t have to give running reports during my decades as an emergency incident manager (too many OWTFs). Just as perilous, will be future mudslides that are sure to come: they always do, and unfortunately they’re often as deadly as the fires. Our best wishes and thoughts remain with the so many that have lost almost everything: As Jimmy (Buffett) wrote post-Katrina: “Breathe In, Breathe Out, Move On’ – I’m afraid we’ll be generations in this rebuild, but one day at a time with a positive mental attitude (PMA) is the way to start eating the elephant (one bite at a time and PMA-all-the-way, everyday).

Knock-toberfest – 2024: World Series Game 2 trip

I’d like to share some experiences about my trip with our son Justin, the last weekend of October, out to our family’s homeland in SoCal. We made the pilgrimage to Dodger Stadium to see Game 2 of this year’s Major League Baseball finals (fondly known as “The World Series”).

To provide some background and context: Meme & I had gone to Game 2 of the 1988 Series when I was a District Supervisory Ranger at Santa Monica Mountains. Game 1 had ended suddenly in the bottom of the 9th inning, with the Dodgers losing and down to their final strike. I was quietly saying “just a hit” (to tie), when a hobbled Kirk Gibson came to the plate and hit a historic game ending walk-off home run. Meme & I were catapulted from the couch in joyful celebration. Game 2 that we attended was a well-pitched Dodgers victory by Orel Hershiser. The Dodgers went on to defeat the favored Oakland A’s on the road in 5-games (4 games to 1). Justin had just turned 5 and didn’t go with us: our pair of tickets, procured in the lottery of that yesteryear, was for two tickets (Reserved level: $ 60 each). He’d remembered he didn’t get to go that year, and jumped at the chance this time around. Meme & I postponed a planned excursion to archaeological parks, monuments and sites in the 4-Corners area, in order for father-son bonding adventure (much shorter than our sojourn to Scotland years back).

Fast forward through many years of struggle to this year. The Dodgers are playing the mighty Yankees, opening in L. A. In the bottom of the first extra inning (10th) of Game 1, they are again behind and down to their final strike, with two outs, when a hobbled Freddie Freeman blasts the Dodgers to victory with a “Grand Slam” homerun scoring 4 runs. This time Meme & I didn’t experience lift-off from our couch, because that is in the living room and we were watching in the den. We did, however, explode from chair & loveseat not believing that lightning sometimes does strike twice.

Early the following morning I left our home outside Santa Fe enroute to a place I have had so many memorable events with Dad, high school & college chums, cousins, step-brother-in-law (it was there that Charlie first mentioned to me he wanted to be an airline pilot. I told him to think about Navy. He went to UW (Huskies!) on a Navy ROTC scholarship, flew P-3’s and is now a Captain for Alaska Airlines). Please, feel free to climb aboard with me as we back out of the garage and in the darkness point the 4Runner south towards Justin’s place in Albuquerque and the ABQ International Sunport. Hopefully you don’t mind listening to my “go to” channel on SiriusXM radio, # 24 = Margaritaville. Approaching Bernalillo that Oct. 26th morning pre-dawn we call Justin with status & update: no answer. We leave a message, calling again at Tramway with same result. Arriving at Justin’s we scurry about and make our gate with plenty of time, but no seats for waiting, except high-chair cocktail seats.

Waiting for our morning’s direct flight I noticed many Dodgers fans making similar plans: heading west. It makes sense, as the Albuquerque Dukes (and later Isotopes) had been the Dodgers’ AAA farm team. There still is a lot of support here for “Dem Bums”. As we see both legs of the flight are full to capacity (but, we have room for you, my imaginary friend). In Phoenix we lose much of our base, probably going on to other southland airports: we stay aboard for our Burbank (BUR) bound SWA 737 – going to the rear of the craft, as at BUR we still get to board/disembark front and back. For this early in the morning everyone seems wide-eyed-and-bushy-tailed. Must be the SWA hospitality (or the Starbucks they brought onboard).

A few minutes after arrival we’re stretching our legs with the walk-about to the rental car area, where our Budget “Fast Break” is available for rapid exit at the Avis desk (a head spinner I know). The agent asks if we’d like our mid-size in an EV variety. Three times he mentions we’re to bring it back “as is” and shouldn’t charge it. Sounds like a good plan: we hop on it, and hop on in & out their multi-level parking garage (an ode to concrete). Departing the airport we’re close to a primary neighborhood of childhood memories (our kennel on Lima St. near San Fernando Rd.). However, we were on a mission: Tommy’s Famous Burgers next to McCambridge Park was calling Justin (OK, me too). If you haven’t experienced their Chili Cheese Burgers, the next time you find yourself going L.A. way, it is worth a try (Remember, to get extra napkins – you’ll need ‘em).

Sufficiently fortified with cholesterol, we cruised, or floated, along to 6th St. and then Olive (the number of times I’ve done that is, well… a lot), then we proceeded down Olive Dr. to Forest Lawn Dr. & Memorial Park. Up on the hill (near the North Chapel) we visited the resting place of Fred & Margaret Young (4-5 rows down from our parking spot). Dad was such an invested Dodgers fan. I still remember when he met my senior prom date, Susan Long (she had lived on 6th St. and we inadvertently done a 60's "high school" driveby), voted “Most Likely to Succeed”, and a Valedictorian before her years at Wellesley College with classmates that included Hillary Rodham (Clinton). After our senior ceremony at the Starlight Bowl, Dad told Susan that he was really touched by her speech: so much so that he turned down the volume on his earpiece as he listened to Vin Scully and Jerry Doggett doing play-by-play of the Dodgers game. We knew he’d be with us as we rooted for the home team that evening.

Getting over to I-5 South, our next stop was the Holiday Inn Express (HIE) in the Echo Park area near Dodger Stadium. We took a zigzag route, but got there over an hour before check-in. I hadn’t been in that neighborhood for a number of years, one-block from MacArthur Park (no cake left out in the rain – no precipitation, which is good for baseball). The vicinity had changed a lot since I was last there: many, MANY housing challenged people (more on that later). The room was under Justin’s name, and after waiting a bit I went to the desk and asked re: status for the room, and a key card for the rest room. I also showed my “Gold Card”, that is actually Platinum now, and the manager was immediately able to find a room ready for us on the 5th floor (nice view of the area around 6th & Alvarado).

Leaving the hotel at 3PM we (yep, you’re still with us) take Alavardo to Sunset to Vin Scully Ave entrance. This trip normally takes 9-minutes, but today it is Game 2 time, and sponsored by “Fog Hat” and their song “Slow Ride” so it is 1.5+ hours. While passing under US 101, I noted that it was empty of tents and caches. Justin, who is a New Mexico Public Defender by day, told me he had clients tell him they feel “trapped with nowhere to go” in tunnel’s and underpass. Oh, but the tailgating and neighborhoods closed to “Thru Traffic” is festive (tailgating is prohibited at Dodger Stadium (wink-wink, nod-nod). After paying your $70 parking fee (a pittance compared to tickets), you follow the vested arms wavers towards another entrance/exit. But before you’re caught in a magical mystery tour vortex you are directed to a “stop here” spot. Walking through the parking areas you’re reminded of the smell of a Grateful Dead concert, but you sense your fellow revelers are making more than… “make good money, $5 a day, make any more might move away…” Up long flights of stairs brings us to 2nd level Lode entrance: left field. Our tickets our around on opposite right field side, but we decide to take the inside experience of sights, smells and sounds. Crowded: even the men’s rest room has a long line out the door on the left field side, and concession stands – forget it for now. We walk-n-take-it-in, seeing a mix of Dodgers & Yankees fans (what is that “Reds” fan doing here?). Getting to our seats in Section 160, Row M, well before game time of 5:05 PM PDT, we’re cocooned by Dodgers fans, but some Yank-yellers as well. As we prepare to take a selfie photo of father-&-son a kindred fan asks us if he can take the photo for us, allowing a wider panorama. Here is the result.

The concession stands are “hardly a wait” here; in fact you have to speed read before deciding on a couple of cervezas* “Jalisco”, in a commemorative cup, a bag of peanuts, and two Premium (all-beef) Dodger Dogs. As we’re puttin’ on all the fixin’s we note there are few to no onions: reality in these times of agricultural recalls. Even though I had only 3-morsels of “O” it was still good, and the game: we (Los Dodgers) started strong and hung-on at the end. Early in the game our Boys-in-Blue took a lead on long balls, with round-trippers by Tommy Edman (2nd inning), and Teoscar Hernandez and “FREDDIE” (in the 3rd). Juan Soto with a solo shot in the top of the 3rd, made in a one-run game for half an inning. The bottom of the 7th was “hold your breath time” as Shohei Ohtani (NL MVP Finalist) suffered an injury while being thrown out trying to steal second base. As it turns out, no one scored again until the top of the 9th. Both teams had chances, but good pitching by Yoshinobu Yamamoto, just giving up that one run through 6.1 innings, set the stage for back-to-back Dodgers’ victories, mirroring again the start of the ’88 Series. But, as any long time Dodgers backer knows, when that reliever comes out of the bullpen it is like the proverbial “box of chocolates” – “you never know what you’re gonna get”: will it be a hurler in shutdown mode or same guy who has lost the plate somewhere in Narnia: walks 3 of 4.

Fortunately for the hometown faithful, we got pitchers that evening in Anthony Banda & Michael Kopech. They got through 7th & 8th unscathed. In the 9th, however, Blake Treinen and the Dodgers did not go unscored upon and Alex Vesia was called in for the final out with runners on base – it was a nail-biter for both sides. Many of us did not leave directly, taking in the post-game atmosphere (another photo). Of course we learned when we finally got to our EV-ride why so many fans notoriously leave early: it took us about an hour to get out of the parking lot. Once accomplished, it was smooth sailing through Elysian Park and back to HIE. That night, with the cheers of our fellow fans ringing in our ears Justin was awakened (past midnight) by the smell of smoke. He decided to let this First Responder rest as he did a recon and size-up: it was from the housing challenged folks in the alley. I slept through it all. At B-fast the next morning we sat next to another D’s fan that had come in from the southwest. He said he lived south of Tucson, but had been born in Ruidoso. We talked baseball and fire behaviors seen around southern AZ & NM. Shortly thereafter, we left for BUR and our direct flight home to ABQ Sunport (via quick stop, stay onboard) in “Lost Wages”. We all got home without incident (thanks for coming along with us) and later Justin auditioned for a part in Vortex Theatre’s production of Hamlet (he was cast as one of the heavies), adding to things to think about. *- Sorry I didn’t get you one, but Justin did later. I took a borrowed copy of the non-fiction book Nomads on our journey west (good read by the way: did you know that the great expansions of the "wander-about" tribes (Huns & Mongols) that brought such changes east & west 800-years apart was due to severe prolonged droughts in central Asia caused by... you got it: "climate change", or that when Marco Polo when venturing to China benefited from the Khans having established elaborate rest stations every 20-30 miles along the Silk Road routes: free trade was a basic tenent. Before heading to the airport Sunday morning the book had an unplanned close encounter with a cup of coffee. It happens when migratory.