with the kind heart, I felt perhaps I was not so strange after all. Brother and sister. Siblings. We sat together on the plane, mother’s ashes held carefully on Joe’s lap. In Long Beach after the short funeral service, the ladies of St. Luke’s hosted a small reception. One of the women thanked me for the aprons Mother had sent. Another announced that she had made the lemon bars for the reception, but they “were not half as good as Irene’s.” My stomach churned; I was dreading driving to Carpinteria, which I had never seen. Joe reassured me as we walked the dogs in the
church parking lot. “Of course, you can do it. You can do anything you set your mind to. I’ve always known that.” Joe drove the rental car to LAX. I hugged him heartily
and thanked him before he bounded out to catch his plane. Then, suddenly, I was on my own. I placed my injured left foot carefully on the floor of the driver’s seat of the car, grateful that it was an automatic. A good right foot and courage was all I needed, I told myself. My plan was to rest a while in Carpinteria, dispose of Mama’s
the breeze caught my eye. I took the off ramp and saw what turned out to be a hot dog stand—on wheels. I parked, and, leaving the dogs whining and scratching, went to investigate. “What’ll it be, young lady?” a tall friendly man asked. “Chili dog, Dodger dog, polish with sauerkraut? Three bucks a dog and free pink lemonade for the ladies.”
“Jeannie,” I thought, “you are not in New York any more.” I bought three, put leashes on Max and Mort, fed
them their wieners, and we started down the trail toward the ocean. It was a view that made me think of Italy or the French Riviera ... places I have never been, but have heard people talk about. Brilliant deep blue sea framed by tall eucalyptus and in the foreground a field of amber grass. Other people with dogs on leashes greeted me pleasantly, as though I had a right to be there. Max and Mort explored and sniffed, found traces of gopher scent which excited them a good deal.
rumPLeD quiLt, fiLLing the horizon With beauty anD Light. smaLL constructions Like Parts of a chiLD’s buiLDing set.
things, sell her house and return, as soon as possible, to my life in New Rochelle.
Leaving the 405 behind me, I entered the Ventura
Freeway. So far, so good. The dogs were quiet, the unfamiliar car easy to drive, and I began to feel a trickle of confidence. I could smell the ocean’s briny air, but I didn’t see it until Ventura was upon me. The ocean in Long Beach was not like this. This was wide and blue and magnificent. Past Ventura the sea stretched out like an astounding rumpled quilt, filling the horizon with beauty and light. Islands appeared like dreams in the distance with small constructions like parts of a child’s building set—oil platforms, I guessed. It was all I could do to keep my eyes on the road.
Soon after the first
of the Carpinteria signs, two flags waving in
author Toni Stuart is a retired episcopal priest. She lives in Carpinteria, near elm Street.
Back in the car, I entered the town and turned the corner onto Mama’s street, Elm Street. A nursery. A lumber yard, and many little beach houses. Somehow I thought Carpinteria would look more like Long Beach or Laguna, but this was not citified, not glitzy or gaudy. I found Mama’s house nestled on a block with other small houses. Her lawn was mowed, her Shasta daisies just beginning to bud. I pulled into her driveway and sat for a long time in the car. I dreaded the moment so I unlocked their way into
to come, but the dogs were insistent her front door. The dogs pushed
her immaculate living room and immediately jumped up onto her sofa. I breathed deeply. I was sure I could smell the scent of rosemary. ¢
SPRINgSuMMER2008 109
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