a weekend away.
"Everyone here who has a Nobel Prize can speak."
Two years ago: Darin makes a prediction about the conversational style of our offspring.
Three years ago: I go back for a second year at USC.
Four years ago: I go for a first year at USC.
Today's news question:What are some of the allegations made in a new biography of Richard Nixon?
(Don't send me your answers. This is just a little way to expand your horizons. Honest.)
A week or so ago -- post-Pookie, all time can be measured as "a week or so ago": I answered that e-mail, I bought those groceries, I married that man, etc. -- Darin said to me, "My friend Howard bought a table at a fundraiser in San Diego and would like us to come."
Hmm. Fundraiser. Evening out. San Diego. Sounded like work to plan. What would we do with the Pookster? I don't know...it might be fun, but...
"Francis Crick will be sitting at our table."
Crick. Crick. Wait a second, I know I know that name.
"You know, Watson and Crick?"
Oh right. Him.
I said, "We should go, definitely."
Now, before you think that I am a snobbish sort of hanger-on, let me assure you that Yes, I am but that is not the whole reason that I decided we should go. I decided that meeting Francis Crick would just be an extraspecial bonus. But primarily, we haven't been out very much sans Pookie since she was born, and this sounded like very much a grownups' evening out. We had the Francis Crick quotient, we had the Darin's-friend-he-doesn't-see-much quotient, we had the dress-up-and-hear-the-symphony quotient. We had the-day-in-San-Diego quotient.
There were two important parts to deciding whether the weekend was possible:
- Was Dora available to take care of Pookie?
- Could I find a hotel room?
The fundraiser was being held in La Jolla, a small town or suburb north of San Diego. It's very pretty, it's very chic, it's very popular, and I was calling with about a week and a half to spare. I got on the web and discovered Funtastik California, which has most if not all of the hotels in a given area listed, along with a way of checking to see if rooms are available. I checked all the hotels, and discovered all of them were booked.
Except one. I made reservations for two rooms.
I talked to Dora, who said that she was available to take care of Sophia. Great. She didn't even haggle with me over the amount I told her we'd pay, which made me think I offered too much. Well, no one will ever accuse me of being a tough negotiator.
We were all ready to go!
On Friday, Dora asked me if it was okay if her eight-year-old daughter came. "Oh sure," I said. Dora's hotel room had two beds in it. No problem.
On Saturday, Dora arrived, but her daughter wasn't with her.
"My husband will bring her at two," Dora said.
"But we have to leave now," I said.
At which point it dawned on Dora (way before it dawned on me) that we had had a serious communications failure: she thought she was staying at our house with Sophia, not coming with us. She got on the phone and worked things out with her husband, but I felt terrible. I learned I have to be really, really clear when making plans like this.
We drove down to San Diego, stopping at the Galleria at South Bay to get some Chick-Fil-A. Traffic sucked, to put it mildly. Halfway through the trip Sophia let us know in no uncertain terms that she was un-frigging-happy, so we had to stop to a)feed her and b)change her.
Eventually we made it to San Diego, extremely tired. (I felt really sorry for Darin, who'd done all the driving. One hundred and thirty of the longest miles in history.) I fed Sophia again and then gave her to Dora for the evening so Darin and I could get dressed.
It turned out the hotel I'd found was actually pretty close to the Salk Institute, where the fundraiser was being held. First we drove past a group of protestors. They held up signs, but the writing was so small the only word I could make out was "vivisection," so I can't tell you exactly what it was they were protesting. We parked and then walked to the Institute.
The Salk Institute is gorgeous. Reportedly, when Salk came up with the polio vaccine, the March of Dimes used all of the money it had raised to fight polio to build this institute. I said, "Why didn't they name it the Salk/March of Dimes Institute?" Because they didn't, is all.
It was evidently designed both as a place for biological research and for art, so the main courtyard is specifically designed to double as a concert hall.
One side of the Salk Institute courtyard
We sat at Howard's table, which was smack in the center of the tables there, a decent amount of space back from the orchestra.
The view from my seat
Next to me at the table was Howard's grandmother, who was celebrating her 90th birthday. She was waiting to hear from her grandchild in Israel, where they were awaiting the birth of her fourth grandchild. I said I was having enough trouble imagining one child! And I forgot to bring pictures, if you can believe that. God knows I couldn't.
Francis Crick sat across the table from us, next to Howard, whom he evidently likes a great deal. Currently he's researching the brain and memory, and Howard kept asking him questions about memory (when the two of them weren't being asked to take publicity photos). Crick is in his 80s, but he's still a sharp guy, clearly used to being deferred to but willing to explain what it was he was talking about in terms someone not as well versed in the terminology could understand.
Darin, who's read a ton of books on consciousness and the brain, had no trouble getting into the conversation, of course.
(I was too embarrassed to ask if I could take his photo, so I have no photographic evidence that he was at my table.)
The "Symphony at Salk" was quite good. It was an evening of pieces from Mozart and Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony, done by the San Diego Symphony. There were two singers, a mezzosoprano and a soprano. The soprano had more professional experience, as the mezzosoprano was just out of college, but Darin and I both agreed that the mezzosoprano was way better than the soprano (who was good, just outclassed).
And we are both really bummed, because we can't find the mezzosoprano's name and Darin says I should put it in here so that when she does a web search for her name she'll find my page!
After the symphony, we drove back to the hotel, collected Sophia (who was still awake but completely calm, instead of the way she yowls her head off if she's tired), and went to bed.
In the morning Sophia woke up at 7, as she is wont to do. Darin wanted to sleep a while, so I showered and dressed, loaded Sophia into the stroller, and went out for a walk.
As I passed Dora's room, the door opened and Dora said, "I don't know if I heard you or sensed you." She took over pushing the stroller, and we went for a walk around the neighborhood. Turned out there was a Peet's coffee nearby, so I introduced Dora to the joys of Peet's.
By the time we got back, Darin was loading bags into the car. We got Dora's bag and then drove to breakfast in downtown La Jolla. We went to John's Waffle House, one of the places recommended by the hotel we stayed at. John's Waffle House had good waffles. What it did not have was sufficient interior air conditioning, so we were very, very hot in there (and it was only nine in the morning -- it was going to get worse!). Dora took Sophia for a walk around the exterior tables (smart, knowledge people at outdoors tables) while we waited for our food.
We drove back to Los Angeles without any of the traffic delays we'd run into on the way down, thank goodness.
So, I need your help here, folks. Yes, it's for something I'm working on currently.
I'm going to share my own tales too. But I'm looking for what other people's attitudes toward astrology and psychics are.
Also in the forum:
Tamar would like some help with finding and buying a house.
Anything suddenly dawn on you lately?
The whole scooter thing: start 'splaining.
Anybody else have problems with arguments and fights and holding your own?
I still need advice on creating a good writing group.
Oh -- Sue's final speech on Survivor is available!
No word yet on Gervase's comments. Maybe Survivor Sucks has it.
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Copyright 2000 Diane Patterson
Send comments and questions to diane@nobody-knows-anything.com