San Diego, September 2003
On My Own Again
Having ridden the trolley blue line from end to end before the conference
and with time to fill hauling my luggage around
between my latest check-out time and my earliest check-in time,
it was a natural decision to ride the orange line a bit.
The trolley seemed pretty crowded for Friday mid-day.
I noticed more handicapped people than I expected to see.
There were people with canes, those in wheelchairs and those communicating with sign language.
Perhaps there were some mentally ill passengers as well, but they are not always as easy to pick out from a crowd.
I tired much more quickly of watching the scenery and people on this leg of my trip.
The idea of finding a place to sit in Little Italy pulled me back before I reached the end of the line.
I remembered fondly the short break I took there
one mid-morning in January
as I walked
from the Bristol downtown to Balboa Park.
As it turns out the spot where I sat then is across the street from
La Pensione.
On the off chance I decided to see whether I could check in a little early.
That turned out to be just fine, and I was allowed to occupy my room
instead of hanging out on the sidewalks, in the nearby park or in the hotel's courtyard
for the remaining hour or so until the posted check-in time.
The moment I opened the door of my room an elusive piece of a jigsaw puzzle on which I'd been working appeared before me.
There was a
desk and a window.
I felt the urge to sit and write.
Thoughts of how and where I should live have been awash in my mind for quite some time,
but the picture never fully came together.
There was always one piece which was missing.
The missing piece was a place like this to write.
As I've grown to know myself over the years I've learned that I should consider myself a writer.
This says nothing whatsoever about whether I have any talent or a chance of making a living at it,
but it has a lot to say about how I see the world and how I should be making my way through it.
Knowing this, shouldn't I seek out the best environment for my writing?
Shouldn't I seek out a place to live with this in mind?
My room had other amenities beyond a desk with a view.
I had a ceiling fan on a ceiling which seemed higher than my room was wide.
With the refrigerator the room became all the more like a writer's hideaway.
Despite my best intentions of finding a nice Italian restaurant for at least one meal while staying in Little Italy,
alas! I ate out no more.
Perhaps if I had not found the Ralph's….
On the phone with a friend mid-way through the conference,
I happened to mention the complimentary drinks we were given.
Being chastised for not having any of the fine Californian red wines,
I found that remedying this at our evening at SeaWorld was not enough.
While shopping at Ralph's for some food to lessen my need for eating out,
I found wine for sale at the Ralph's grocery.
Despite the fact that I have encountered this nice trend in many parts of the country,
all my years living in Montgomery County, Maryland have trained me to react with surprise when I find it.
So to my growing pile of food in my shopping basket I couldn't resist adding a
bottle for the weekend.
Thus I found myself supplied with more food and drink than I needed for the time remaining,
albeit not the most balanced of diets.
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