I should title this, "Of Death and Remorse". Two years ago, my dad was in the hospital, having survived against all odds a marathon bypass operation. It was a nightmare ordeal, and we had not been prepared. He had gone in on a Friday morning, and I had seen him at 6 a.m., as he was in his gurney, getting ready to be sedated so that he could enter the operating room. It was supposed to be a four or, maybe, five hour operation. It turned into a 19 hour torture session, and I don't want to relieve what we suffered as a family during that day, nor speculate about the malpractice that might have been committed against my father.
Well, on Saturday morning, we had a chance to see him in the critical care unit. He looked like a disaster. His face was severely bloated, but when I and my mother entered to see him and talk to him, he kept banging his head up and down and moving his mouth. We could not understand what he was saying because he had a breathing tube inserted, but he was trying to tell us something. I think he knew how bad he was, and was probably trying to tell us goodbye. I say this with hindsight, because at the time, we took it as an encouraging sign, and we hoped that he would recover enough in the next few days so that they would remove his tube and he could actually talk to us. At least I told him I loved him.
Today was an attempt to not dwell on the past. I wanted to try something different. I have never been to Venice Beach, that tourist attraction on the west side of Los Angeles. I lived in that megalopolis for about ten years, but I never made that trip, and I remember the reason. It was because we were warned about how seedy it had become, way back in the late 80s and early 90s. Yes, there was still quite a bit of hype about that beach, it was supposed to be a paragon of quirky individualism, with Elvis imitators on rollerskates and buxom men and women practicing weight-lifting and creating marvelously chiseled bodies. It was supposed to be a celebration of hedonism on the beach, but back then, we also heard many stories about it being a panhandling paradise overrun with homeless people and trash on the streets. So, I never went, but the hype about it remained in my consciousness, to serve as a distraction when I was afraid to relive more traumatic episodes in my life.
I have been planning on visiting for the first time, and wanted to do so by first going to Santa Monica Pier, then walking along the beach strip until I arrived at Venice Beach. It seemed doable, apparently only two and a half miles separates them, and I should be able to walk it in one hour, approximately. It would give me the chance to explore that location and use my 6x17 camera. I also took my Instax Wide camera.
We are supposed to be in a heatwave, and we have excessive heat warnings, but it seemed relatively cool as I left the environs of the city called Crown and got on the freeway heading west. It was an uneventful drive, and this time, I actually remembered to turn and catch the 60 freeway, not like the last time I was headed west. The clouds were not very dense, there was actually plenty of sunlight, but as I neared the coast, the ocean gloom hung in front of me like a reminder of sorrow. Remember the memorable and clichéd phrase parodied in the comic strip Peanuts, when Snoopy tries to write and the first sentence is, "It was a dark and stormy night?". Well, it was a dim and gloomy morning as I neared Santa Monica, and I couldn't help but try to distract myself. I did it with the names of offramps. There is a "Bundy" exit, so, I am sure the writers of the sitcom "Married with Children" used it as the surname for the father, Al Bundy. There is also a Cloverfield offramp, and of course, about ten years ago with had a movie about a monster. There is also an Applegate street, so that made me think of Cristina Applegate, the daughter on "Married with Children". Things to distract myself as I neared the 4th street off-ramp and prepared to park in the Civic Center Park which, to its credit, has excellent location, plenty of space, and has reasonable prices. For today and my 5+ hour trip, I was charged a grand total of $5.
Arriving, I went to the Third Street Promenade, the upscale district that took the place of the seedy pedestrian avenue that I remembered from the late 80s when I was a student. The place seemed a little quiet today, even though it was a Saturday and almost 12 noon. But what can you expect? We are getting over Covid and it was gloomier than the job prospects of a Ph.D. candidate in Literature. There were very few people, but they were there, as were the tourists. I had to struggle to find two 6x17 compositions, but in the meantime, I took a few cellphone photos. Here they are:
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