I skipped over our visit to San Luis Obispo earlier in the trip. As a matter of good housekeeping, I need to go back there and fill in the blanks and confess to a quirk in my personality.
San Luis Obispo is a beautiful place. The city started a unique practice back in the sixties to encourage more neighborliness among the residents. They closed a few downtown streets to automobile traffic. They planted trees, added benches and walkways, and encouraged the residents to take advantage of the perfect weather and get outside to meet each other. As the project gained momentum, they closed even more streets and opened more area to pedestrian only traffic, jogging, bicycle trails, and sidewalk businesses.
Now, the city pulsates with foot traffic. Everywhere there are runners, neighbors greeting each other or meeting for dinner at one of the indoor/outdoor restaurants, children playing in little pocket parks as their parents sip wine and watch from nearby benches. The streets are bathed in dappled sunshine, filtered thru the ever-present Madrone trees. The only thing more impressive than the quality of life in that little paradise is the price of real estate.
They say confession is good for the soul, and maybe it is. I suppose we are all born with personality quirks and, since they are natural, we should not be reticent to discuss these little flaws. I’m sure, according to Oprah, that if we get it out in the open and talk about it incessantly, it will be all better. I am not, however, sure that I want my affliction cured.
I like girls—there, I got it said-- it’s out in the open. I have, since my teens, been fascinated by all things female. J. P. Richardson could have been speaking for me when he wrote“…. a pony tail a hanging down! A wiggle in the walk, a giggle in the talk, Lord it makes the world go round---”. I love girls, especially pretty, young girls—I cannot resist making them laugh just to hear the music it creates. I love to watch them wiggle and hear them giggle. Wayne suffers from the same affliction, but I think I have a more serious case. Mine has not shown any sign of going away with age—if anything, it is getting worse.
Given this predisposition for attractive young ladies, which we both share, some of our experiences will make more sense as this narrative continues.
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| Nicole |
Back in San Luis Obispo, as we walked along one of the attractive foot paths, a side door opened and a twenty-something vision appeared. She seemed to be opening the store and gathering supplies and she almost bumped into us as she swung open the door. I was taken aback, but recovered enough to ask if I could take her picture. She beamed!
“Certainly,” she said, as she held the door open, took a deep breath (I love it when they do that), and flashed a thousand watt smile. I snapped away and she winked and closed the door. I have the picture, and look at it occasionally, admiring the perfect teeth---and the way her jeans fit.
Around the corner from Nicole, (I didn’t get her name, but decided she was a Nicole), we ducked into a combination library, book store, art gallery, and coffee shop. I felt I could use any culture I might pick up there and Wayne had other motives.
“The bathroom is thru the kitchen and to the left”, a sweet young thing told Wayne, recognizing his obvious distress. I ordered coffee and engaged the young lady in conversation. She was appropriately named Angel and was as cute as any button I’ve ever seen.
The shop was lined with bookshelves and filled with deep, cushiony armchairs and sofas. We relaxed a while, read the local newspaper, perused the books on display and idly wondered how they could afford to pay the overhead on such a place. Then I remembered that two cups of black coffee had cost six dollars and change. That wouldn’t have been so bad, except I gave Angel a twenty and she took a deep breath and looked up from the register with those big, dark, expressive eyes. I told her to keep the change.
Jim McLaughlin
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| Hearst Castle |
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