Chasing the setting sun is my favorite while flying east to west, extending the day all the way until the only light left is the glittery criss-crossing boulevards of Los Angeles below, stretching in all directions as far as you can see. This flight was due to a new guy in town.
Santa Monica was home in ’78 and ’79. It was manic in its own beachy way back then, junkies and fruitarians co-existing along the boardwalk, much like today, just minus the gourmet coffee shops and now with greater disparity between the rich and the rest of us. But I am drawn back, diving in to blue when I arrive, into that great Pacific, floating along the waves as the pelicans do the same on the air currents overhead. Solo or with a crew, it is the happiest of moments to let go in that big water, wash so much away, and arrive.
What a wonderful feeling to see the son of your son. Absolutely a thrill and joy, said every grandparent everywhere. And they are all right. This little guy was a treat for my heart. Those little eyes, peering straight into your soul, with an ah, I recognize you, I know you.
And knowing, as my son says, somehow, we are pulling it off, and that just makes me so very proud and happy for them that they made another branch of this extraordinary family we are rooted in. They are juggling all the things up in the air like pros too.
Life is so very unpredictable, but there is something about returning to old haunts that comforts me. The same twists and turns on these paths, graffiti still the art of choice, the whole town on the move towards something ethereal yet constant. Nowhere is the American Dream stronger than in these Los Angeles pockets, where every artist dreams of red carpets and spotlights, and so many glimpse their possibilities in the glitter ball and sparkly day dreams. I love the hope. And, as has been stated, I love luck.
This beach town, this palm-lined boardwalk, the endless horizon, this place brings us together for certain during the sunset. We are drawn like the multitudes to this Mecca. To hear the music of the waves, the passing radios, the stream of laughter and bird call. Time drifts slower, drawing our eye even further west toward the orange and red, the fire out there, ready to ignite the night and the frivolity that this family knows how to love.
We especially love to catch the drop.