Ventura Highway

[dedalus_1947]

Chewin' on a piece of grass walkin' down the road
tell me, how long you gonna stay here Joe?
Some people say this town don't look good in snow
You don't care, I know.

Ventura Highway, in the sunshine
Where the days are longer
The nights are stronger than moonshine
You're gonna go I know

Cause the free wind is blowin' through your hair
and the day surround your daylight there
Seasons cryin' no despair
Alligator lizards in the air
(Ventura Highway, America)
 

Kathy and I came home from a two week vacation a short while ago, in a blissful haze of calm and tranquility. We had such a restful and idyllic time in Ventura, California, that it took a full weekend to decompress and prepare for the work week that waited on Monday. Going to the Hollywood Bowl to see Diana Krall perform on the night we returned was a good way to ease this transition. Her earthy songs of love lost, gained, and redeemed, helped ease the awful pain of returning to work. By Sunday night, I had also done some reflecting on our time in Ventura, and I came to a few revelations: Ventura is a wonderful, under-appreciated, locale to rest and recreate; and I love paperbacks in used bookstores. These personal epiphanies are not especially earthshaking or newsworthy, but they are the remaining vestiges of my thoughts on a great vacation.

This is the third summer that we have rented a beach house in Ventura for a two week period. The first year we rented, Kathy left early to prepare and provision the house. At 3 o’clock she called me at work on her cell phone and screamed, “You won’t believe the view from this house!” She was standing in the expansive, upstairs bedroom, surrounded by five, large windows on three sides of the room, gazing out at a wide, panoramic view of Ventura. Every morning, afternoon, and sunset, we could look out at a gorgeous, unimpeded view of clear blue sky, green ice plant topped, sand dunes, sparkling ocean (see photo below), a seaside pier and hotel skyline, and the slowly rising hills overlooking the western part of the city. It was a glorious way to begin each day, and a soothing way to end one. The house itself is roomy and comfortable, with four bedrooms and a variety of modern amenities, such as a Jacuzzi, gas barbeque, ping pong table, digital TVs in all rooms, and an enclosed patio for colder days. Most importantly, for a beach house, it is only a short walk from the shore, so quick back-and-forth dashes to the house for water, drinks, or bathroom relief, does not interfere with serious sunbathing. The beach house alone would merit rave reviews as a summer retreat, but it’s location in Ventura makes it unique. The city has all the quaint amenities of a provincial seaside resort, with coffee houses, surf shops, antique stores, farmer’s markets and stands, and pubs in close proximity. After sunsets and dinner, we can take a moonlit, conversational walk along Pierpont Blvd, to a nearby Starbuck’s for chai tea and coffee, and then slowly make our way back home.

On the days we needed a change from the warm, languid moments on the beach or at home (or when there was no sun), we could drive (or cycle) a short distance to an authentic California mission on Main Street in the “old town” section of the city. Celebrating Sunday mass at the Mission of San Buenaventura is thought-provoking experience. Looking up at the ceiling, walls, and altar that existed in the days of Juan Junipero Serra, and the old mission days of California, I feel a real connection to our religious and historical past. This is the same ground on which Indians, mestizo soldiers, and Spanish explorers walked, as they made their way up the aisle to the front of the gilded altar, murmuring their unworthiness at receiving the same Eucharist that we do today. Other churches cannot give people that feeling of historical procession of time and spiritual energy. After mass, and on other weekdays, we could also walk along Main Street to explore the shops, stores, theatres, and restaurants of this “old town” part of Ventura.

These Ventura vacations have never been solitary retreats for Kathy and me. Even though we spend time alone and together over the long two week period, we also use our stay as an opportunity to invite and enjoy other friends and family members. Every year a variety of guests visit us while we are away from our regular home and jobs. The number varies, and it depends on what is going on from year to year, and who we happen to mention it to. Some people come every year (Prisa, Beth, and Mary), and some come when they are free and able (Tony, Jonaya, Joe, Stacy, Katrin, Greg, Anne, John, Meg, Kathy and Ken). There is plenty of room and provisions, and Kathy and I always find ourselves in generous and expansive moods when we are on vacation. It harkens back to the decade of the 80’s when Kathy’s parents owned their family beach house on Beach Road, in Capistrano Beach. When Kathy arranged to reserve the house for a week, or a long weekend, her brothers, sisters, and friends, always seemed to find out about it. Many would call, finagle an invitation, and drive down to visit or stay with us. It was a veritable open house of family and friends, and sleeping accommodations were never a problem (as long as Kathy and I stayed in the second floor, master bedroom) because there were plenty of beds, air mattresses, blankets, pillows, and sleeping bags. It was great. The guest list at the Ventura beach house pales in comparison to the halcyon days of the Capistrano beach house, on the shore of the Pacific Ocean. In those days our younger siblings and friends were still single, and always on the lookout for seaside visits, parties, and get-togethers. Those days seemed to last forever and our vacations (of one week or less) never-ending.

This year brought a variety of active, fun-loving people to our Ventura house. Greg and Anne were able to visit a couple of times; spending one day at the beach, and staying for barbeque, and, on another occasion, joining us for dinner at the Oxnard home of a family friend. Their visits gave us plenty of time to talk, question, laugh, and comment about our lives and our children’s activities. We also had a few over-night guests. Beth, Mary and John came, staying for dinner and games, and then spending the night. Our own children were able to spend the longest times with us this year. Prisa and her boyfriend, Joe, helped us move in on the first day we arrived, and then returned to stay for five days. Tony and his fiancé, Jonaya, came to visit for the first time, and were able to stay for 3 days, and two nights. We did a variety of things together, with the kids, and separately. We played games, saw movies, visited Main Street, and attended the annual Ventura County Fair.

The biggest novelty this summer was the Ventura County Fair. The fairgrounds are a permanent fixture in Ventura, but we had always missed the week-long fair on other visits. This year our stay coincided perfectly with the fair.  We were able to see the fireworks every evening and finally go ourselves. We went with Prisa and Joe, and Tony took Jonaya on another day. It was incredible fun. There is nothing as relaxing and homey as a county fair. It is a rural amusement park without the polish, commercialization, and expense of the monster theme parks like Disneyland, Universal Studios, Magic Mountain, or Knott’s Berry Farm. There were free exhibits of animals, livestock, flowers, photography, painting, and agriculture. It was a showcase of the artistic, agricultural, and husbandry aspects of the county of Ventura, filled to capacity with excited families and children. Of course it also had a midway, where the young people (Prisa and Joe, and Tony and Jonaya) could go on the thrill rides and ferris wheel, while Kathy and I meandered through the exhibits.

We also caught some movies during our stay that satisfied the likes and diverse interests of all our guests. Joe and Prisa went with us to see the Bourne Ultimatum, to get our fill of a “manly” action film, and then we took Joe, Prisa, John, and Jonaya to see Becoming Jane, to satisfy the needs of our feminine side. Not surprisingly, Becoming Jane provided the most insightful moments. There was a scene in which an old judge, whom Jane is trying to impress, smugly dismisses irony as a coward’s form of criticism. Jane Austen, of course, can’t help but correct him; telling him that irony is actually a natural occurrence, demonstrating the incongruity between the actual result of a series of events, and the normal or expected result.
“Dad”, Prisa informed me on the way out of the theatre, “Austen’s novels are all about irony”.

Even though we had always taken along board games on previous vacations, this was the first time that we actually played. One evening we played Apple to Apples and Imagine If with Prisa, Joe, and Beth; another night we played Trivial Pursuit with Prisa and Joe; and on a final night, Tony, Jonaya, Prisa, Joe, and John joined us in playing Imagine If for a final time. I had forgotten how much fun it is to play these games, with the kidding, challenging, and encouraging that goes with family competition. We used to play board games with the kids all the time, as they were growing up; starting them out with Chutes and Ladders, progressing to Othello, and finishing up with Trivial Pursuit. It was a way of keeping them occupied and engaged (Prisa preferred the “roll and move” games, while Tony enjoyed those which required strategic thinking). I always thought we played for their benefit; it wasn’t until later, when the kids were grown and the practice long dormant, that I realized that the real enjoyment was ours.

Most of the time, however, Kathy and I spent our time sunbathing, lounging, and reading novels. These activities became our daily rituals. For variation, I would occasionally go jogging or cycling, and Kathy would go to her gym or use the Jacuzzi, but reading became our main occupation. I’m talking hours and hours of reading. We read on the beach while sunbathing, on the couch while watching TV newscasts, on the lounge chairs in the patio while the kids were playing table tennis, and in bed, before falling asleep, and after waking up. In our youth, reading novels during summer vacations was our means of escape to other times, places, and lives. It was during the summer that I read comics, historical novels, and discovered fantasy and science fiction novels. It was rejuvenating to rekindle this passion during our stay in Ventura. This year we had decided to not bring along any of our current books or novels for this trip. Instead, we thought that choosing and buying new summer novels should be the first order of business after arrival. It was this imperative that led to my renewed interest in used bookstores.

Our original intention was to buy our books at Ventura’s Barnes and Noble, a fine bookstore on Telegraph Road. We had purchased books there before, so we were familiar with the layout of the store, and confident of finding an adequate supply for our two weeks. However, I had also discovered that Ventura has a remarkable number of used bookstores, and there was one in particular that I had found last summer on Main Street, called Bank of Books. Since I wasn’t able to stay long on that first occasion, I promised myself to return. Kathy however, does not share my fascination (she would say obsession) for used books. Whenever she enters a used books store with me, she demonstrates the same mannerisms and restlessness that I exhibit when accompanying her into a clothing store. So I tend to be very sneaky when we go shopping, or sightseeing and I privately want to go to a used bookstore. I found such an opportunity when we went to noon mass at the Mission on our first visit to town on Sunday afternoon. I kept a sharp eye out for the store as we drove toward the church, but was depressed to see a huge sign on the display window of a vacant building, saying, “Bank of Books: Moved to 391 East Main Street”. I assumed the store had moved to the newer, eastside part of town, closer to the malls and commercial stores, and far from the mission section. Dismissing the idea of finding the store that day, I resigned myself to enjoy the day with Kathy, Prisa, and Joe at the mission, and then lunching at Dargan’s, our favorite Irish pub and restaurant. As we were leaving Dargan’s, after an incredibly filling meal of fish and chips, I verbalized my longing of finding the new location of the used bookstore.
“Why don’t you walk up the street to find it”, Kathy said. “It can’t be too far away”.
“You mean it?” I said, in astonishment. “Do you want to come along?”
“No”, Kathy replied, “but we’ll walk back to the car and pick you up on the way back”.
“It’s a deal”, I exclaimed, and I hastily bounded off, up Main Street, leaving my three companions quickly behind. It was only two blocks away, and I found it immediately. A little out of breath, I whispered “open sesame” and entered Aladdin’s treasure cave of used books.

The store, Bank of Books (see photo above) is just that, a massive, wall to wall, ceiling to floor, depository of used books. It is impressive, and, almost, intimidating. The owner conveniently leaves long, hooked ladders on the towering bookcases, so intrepid customers can climb up, inspect, and select the books that they wish to purchase. The store has every genre, and every style of book and novel. Because of the short time span of this visit, I concentrated my attention on only the fiction section of the wall, and walked along, row by row, looking at the books by authors, in alphabetical order. I selected five novels in the 45 minutes I was in the store: The Warlord, by Malcolm Bosse, Edward the King, Vol. 1. by David Butler, The Rule of Four, by Caldwell & Thomason, The Magic Mountain, by Thomas Mann, and The Glory, by Herman Wouk. I could easily have spent the entire day exploring the store in euphoric bliss; especially when I discovered that there was a basement section to the building. Upon leaving the store, I found Kathy sitting in the shade at the outdoor tables in front of the bookstore. She was finishing a phone call. I kissed her and thanked her profusely, for letting me go. While showing her my purchases, I promised that we would go to Barnes and Noble on the following day.

I’ve finally come to understand that my fascination with used bookstores is not shared by most people. None of my friends and few family members have my passion for used books. I’ve exposed many people to used bookstores, but only a few appreciate them (my brother Alex, and my son Tony, are two who come to mind). All my arguments about financial practicality and the wisdom of recycling books fall on deaf ears. You either love used books, or used book stores, or you don’t. There’s no grey area about used bookstores. I realize now that I love them because my father did.

My Dad loved to read; and paperbacks, “the people’s books”, were his preferred choice. He was a depression baby and a ship-bound marine during the war who never wasted a book. Books were meant to be read, shared, lent, borrowed, or sold; they were never thrown away. I was eleven years old, in the sixth grade, when I first expressed my dissatisfaction with libraries and library books. In public libraries, I always selected more books than I could read in the two week limit they imposed. I would either incur a fine for overdue books, or return them half-read, or un-read. It was frustrating, and I expressed it to my Dad. That is when he told me that I could buy cheap books and own them for myself. I just had to bypass the hardcover books at “new book” stores, and purchase inexpensive paperbacks at used bookstores. I had never heard of used bookstores, but the prospect of actually owning my own novels was thrilling. Adults owned books, not children; I felt I was being offered an invitation into a new and exclusive club. That weekend, my dad and I drove to a colony of used bookstores near McArthur Park, in the Westlake part of Los Angeles. There he pointed out 2 or three small bookstores. Each store seemed a huge, never-ending, treasure trove of used paperback books. My father and I separated, and we each made our way through the rows of paperback books, in different aisles. I loved picking out a book that interested me, studying the cover art, and reading the summary on the back. Each paperback merited consideration, but I had a limit. My mother had advanced me $5.00 (a fortune in those days), and I had to maximize my money and spend it wisely. My dad and I would occasionally meet in an aisle; grunting a greeting, and not wanting to lose our place gazing at the bookcase, we would compare our progress to see what books we had selected so far. After about four hours of browsing, I was able to whittle down my selections to five novels, which I purchased. On the long drive home, as I gazed and inspected each book in my lap, I talked on and on to my dad. I explained why I had selected these novels, and in which order I would read them, and why. I felt that my father had allowed me to enter and participate in a private part of his life, and his love of reading. It was an experience that I never forgot – and always remember, whenever I walk into a new used bookstore.

Kathy and I finally did get to Barnes and Noble on Monday. I was a little disappointed at the selection they offered, feeling that Bank of Books provided more. I only bought three books there; The House of Seven Gables, by Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Torrents of Spring, by Ernest Hemingway, and Appointment in Samara, by John O’Hara. I never got around to reading them, but that wasn’t important; the point was to have them ready, just in case. Looking at the piles of novels we had purchased actually made the vacation longer. It reminded us that we could lose ourselves in words and fictional worlds, and enjoy doing so. We had a great vacation.

Comments

[ojouchan.livejournal.com]

I can honestly say that I spent good portions of my life in used bookstores. My mother used to escape family life by finding hidden used book stores and for every year my birthday, my sister and I would do the exact same thing as you and your father. We'd spend an entire day lounging and reading quietly passing each other in the aisles. Tony is the only man my age (nearly) I've ever met who not only enjoys, but is generally excited at the prospect of going to a used bookstore. This of course is awesome for the both of us.