I am staying at Pacific Beach, between La Jolla and San Diego, at the Pacific Terrace Hotel, looking out from the balcony at the lavender sea, palm trees, and five successions of white waves coming in, one on top of the other.  The surf is gentle.  A few surfers in wet suits are handling the small swells.  Shore birds are flying over with their “squeaks”, and two pigeons, gray, with small white bumps on their beaks, probably mates, share our balcony, sitting close together on the ledge, unafraid, looking at us benignly.

Looking out at the horizon and the blending of sky and sea in the distance, two slightly different shades of blue, I wonder if life and death are just different levels of specific gravity.  We live on one plane.  Perhaps, when we die, we simply merge to a new plane, like the blending of blues on the horizon, like the feeling in a near death situation where you float upward, looking down at your body as you float away.  Or, perhaps it is more like Faulkner’s entropy, which he describes in “The Bear,” where all life, all energy, continues on in new form.  We are all part of surrounding nature, and after we die, we merge with the clouds, soil, and vegetation.  My friend, Herb, from Helena, who is traveling with me, notes that all life seems to have a similar molecular makeup, plants and animals, and that we are closer, scientifically, than most people realize.  There is a common molecular structure.  He points to the similarity of humans and deer, and even bird internal organs, when dressing out animals.  Herb is a hunter, but lately can’t seem to pull the trigger on white tail deer in Montana during hunting season.   He is not religious and does not believe in life after death, but he is not afraid.  He thinks when you die, you live on in the memories of those who remember you.  There is nothing to worry about ahead, nothing to fear.  When we die, we die.  So what.  We should enjoy  being in our sixties and not think of the end.  We still have a lot of good years ahead of us.

I don’t know what got me thinking of life and death.  Perhaps it is because I am reading “The Snows of Kilimanjaro.”  Death always comes up in Hemingway, whose own soul floated away like a handkerchief slipping from his pocket before coming back during his close call in World War I.   In “Snows,” death is approaching the dying game hunter in Africa, appearing in his dreams as two men on bicycles or a hyena,  He dies on his cot, dreaming he is on a rescue plane to Arusha.  Beautiful and haunting.  No one beats Hemingway.

A pair of black crows are circling over the hotel, diving at the pigeons who left our balcony.   The pigeons are slower but more maneuverable, dodging the crows coming out of the sun.  The crows are patrolling.  I am trying to feed the pigeons, who have made it back to our balcony, where they have been joined by some sparrows, all getting along, sharing crumbs.  I love birds, and envy birders, going out with their guides and binoculars, traveling everywhere, jotting down birds seen, learning about them.  It’s like stamp collecting and astronomy clubs, you can learn a whole new world.

Herb and I called our wives back in Helena, then took off for a walk on the beach.  I had a rare treat, seeing two dolphins off shore, a bit out, swimming together, their backs arching in unison as they dove under then came up together.  They were dark, black, not the usual gray silver, and larger than most dolphins.  We went up to Torrey Pines State Park, high above the Pacific, on walking trails, high above La Jolla Shores.  We didn’t see any whales migrating, but we could see some spouts.  I have learned a lot from being around Herb on this vacation, namely that you don’t have to do a lot of running around.  You can just relax, and spend the morning having a healthy  bowl of cereal, then go out to the beach and journal, and make morning coffee, then take a hike at noon  at a nice place like Torrey Pines.  A bit of lunch at Rubio’s, an inexpensive but good Mexican grill, for fish tacos, and at some point drive over to the health foods store for some bread of barley and organic peanut butter and jelly, and salads for dinner.  Drink lots of water and eat healthy and decaf coffee again in the evening, getting on the Internet to see what is happening.  It is a lot different from my usual routine, running to museums and Cokes and pizza slices and bookstores.  But, I do get in my evening or night walk to the beach, no matter what– looking out at the ocean at night and the lights of small boats and towns in the distance along the coast.  California at night is still California of the 1940s.

Herb’s  life in California is the same as in Montana, but with more warmth and sun, which is his real reason for coming to San Diego.   He tracks weather forecasts carefully.   It is useful to watch how Herb can be frugal and how he takes care of his health.  I also notice how useful the Internet can be, the wealth of articles, and I watch how Herb is friendly with everyone, talking to strangers.  He has an inquisitive nature.  It is a good thing, being outgoing.  He strikes up conversations with everyone, store owners, hotel staff, a couple from Connecticut across the street from the Contemporary Arts Museum, people who turned out to be art historians.  Herb has good insights.  When talking how much we miss our wives, he observed the importance of couples building a life together, creating a shared history together that is bonding.  This shared history is the most important thing in a relationship, places you’ve been together, things you like, pets you have, relatives in common, your children, and their families.  Couples have reference points together.  This is what is important in a marriage.

Another thing I learned from Herb was to observe the California attitude, be positive and not affected by all the negative in the world.  Remain optimistic, healthy, and young.  Everyone here seems cheerful and says “hello” to others, including the girl in the health foods store who commented on our picking the right cereal, the desk clerks in the hotel who will do anything for you, and the state park employee at Torrey Pines who was a bit “new age,” philosophic,  just doing her job, laid back, no rush, enjoy the park.  California is almost unique in this: “have a nice day,” “surf’s up,” “dude,” “stoked,” “rad.”   You get good vibes here from the sun.  Good Karma, as Herb jokes, but respects.  No one is suspicious.  All are open with visitors, offering names of friends who do real estate, and have vacation rentals on the side, etc.  Herb feels he doesn’t need to do altruistic or humanitarian things, although he is active for the community at home.  It is enough to be friendly and kind to others along the way, to give people a hearing, respect.  Just be nice to everyone, make their day a little bit better.  If someone is not nice to you, just shrug it off, say to yourself “I’ve been treated worse.”  Don’t dwell on negatives, which only raise your blood pressure.

After Herb flies back to Helena, I start my own routines and projects, falling back into old habits, spending the day photographing architect Irving Gill’s houses and buildings.  I start in La Jolla with the Ellen Scripps House, now the Museum of Contemporary Art, and three Gill buildings adjacent to it:  the Bishop’s School and Scripps Hall; the La Jolla Recreation Center; and the La Jolla Women’s Club, all with arcaded fronts and rectangular, smooth-surfaced volumes, and square, wood-framed windows.  The plaster on the outside is very slightly tinted in each case, with a hint of mauve, pink, and blue mixed into the white respectively.  In addition, there is the Kautz House, now a bed and breakfast, next to the Women’s Club.  These are all classic Gill phase, 1907-12 works, a combination of Mission Style and modernism.  While in La Jolla, I saw two Gill residential works as well.  The first was Gill’s early period, less modernistic, 1894, “Windermere” house, a shingle covered cottage with hipped roofs, modest and rustic.  Gill once worked for Wright in Chicago, and this house reminds me of Wright’s pre-Prairie Style houses in Oak Park.  The other house was the 1907 Bailey House on Princess Avenue near La Jolla Shores.   Although altered, you can see the smooth-surfaced exteriors with arched windows for decoration, and with a unique sliding barn door entry adding a rustic, picturesque touch, plus an attached vine-covered pergola with wooden columns in the front garden.

Driving into San Diego, above Lindberg Field on Laurel Avenue, there is Gill’s Christian Science Church No. 2, with art glass windows and beautiful wrought ironwork fences included in the grammar.  From there, I enter the Balboa Park area, focusing on Gill’s more modest designs, modern white cubes, unadorned except for the occasional Gill trademark checkerboard pattern under a window, with windows and doors being cut into flat surfaces, like the early Adolph Loos houses in Vienna.  There are a few of Gill’s earlier 1890s houses, with craftsman or Tudor touches, and also the large, brick and cream, gabled Marston Mansion at Balboa Park, with sloping shingled roofs and some shingled siding, and lots of connected vegetation.  The third category of Gill houses, the one I admire most, consists of three 1907 houses across the street from the Marston Mansion.  Each is geometric, composed of modern cubes of smooth plaster, but with stained wood bands separating the floors, and touches of decoration added.   One is a dark brown wood and white plaster combination, with teal-colored window mullions.  Another is gray and tan, with oval and arched windows in addition to the square casements.  These are like the more elegant of Loos’ houses, reminding me also of Otto Wagner’s Villa No. 2, or Gropius’ Dessau Master’s Houses, or Olbrich at Darmstadt.  Gill is also classically inspired.  His later houses, in Los Angeles, are large, but simpler and unadorned, relying on the integrated cubes and rectangles, no arches, no colonnades, no art windows, no vined pergolas attached.

I take a side trip to Carlsbad.  There is something to be said for living to appreciate beauty.  San Diego’s North County is just that:  the best beaches, warm and friendly at night, waves coming in slowly and calmly, families around bonfires, strolling, beautiful lavender seas, parking on cliffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean.

My last stop is the San Diego Art Museum at Balboa Park.   They have a great American Impressionism permanent exhibit.   I am impressed by their Archipenko’s sculpture, “Twisting Torso,” of black marble and a Joao Miro’s sculpture, a large, low and horizontal “Solar Bird.”   I spent most of the time upstairs, at a special exhibit, an inspired Gluck family post-impressionist collection, carefully selected over the years.  This included George Braque’s “Still Life,” 1927, with unusual Vuillard-like colors, dark grays and dark greens; another Braque, called “The Corn Poppies,” 1946, in red; Raoul Dufy’s “The Seine in Paris,” 1904; and Modigliani’s “Blue Eyed Boy,” 1916, in red suit, blond hair.   I made some new discoveries: Kees Van Dongen, a Fauvist, with his  “Femme de Commerce du Revue,” 1908, mainly in dark blue cobalt and white, post-impressionistic, of a French woman of the night.   And there was Maximilian Luce, whose “Notre Dame,”  1900, was reminiscent of Monet’s Westminster series; Emile Bonnard’s “Breton Women in Fishing Boat,” 1889, reminiscent of Gauguin;  Vuillard’s “Madame Sossel in the Boudoir, Rue do Naples,” 1938; Maurice de Vlaminck’s “Village with a Church,” angular, Dutch Expressionism; and William Hartnett’s still life, ”Meganser,” 1883, of a hanging goose.  There was a Corot, “River Scene with Poplars and Houses,” 1850; Fitz Hugh Lane, “Coastline Harbor and Town,”  1865, of square masts and flat sea, grays; an Anthony van Dyke, Flemish, “Portrait of Mary Villiers,” 1636;  Diego’ Rivera’s greenish “Aqueduct,” 1948, a rounded form of Cubism; and George Innes’ farm landscape, dusky brown like Corot, entitled “Cattle in Pasture,” 1883.   There was also Thomas Eakins’ “Portrait of James Carroll Beckwith,” 1904, a large black canvas; and his “Elizabeth with a Dog,” 1871, the subject in red.  One of my favorites was Goya’s “Duke du la Roca,” 1875, white-suited nobility, gray background.  And there was Sorolia, another new discovery.  His “Maria de la Granga,” in white was Sargent-like.  The narrative said Sorolia was the best of the Spanish expats in Paris at the time.  The Museum also had a nice Italian Renaissance room, with a great Tintoretto, “Portrait of a Venetian,” 1550, in black; a Canaletto, “Grand Canal;” Veronese’s “Apollo and Daphne,” 1560; and a Giorgione, a new discovery, “Portrait of a Man,” 1509, more modern looking.  San Diego seems to relate to the Venetians.

I always have a hard choice between Santa Barbara and San Diego.  As I drive home, I do my sums.  The greatest impressions left are always of animals encountered, in San Diego it was a the three-legged shepherd with his owners on Pacific Beach, running out in the surf, not letting his disability slow him down, enjoying the beach.  What spirit dogs have.  And, there were the two pigeons at the hotel, clucking, walking into our room from the balcony, or sitting together on the ledge, or flying out, one drawing away the large crows diving at them.  Then there was Irving Gill and his 1907-12 California modernism, a touch of classical and a touch of Frank Lloyd Wright, his former boss who sent his son to apprentice with Gill in Los Angeles in the 1920s.  I loved driving around San Diego– Balboa Park, north County, Point Loma, and Mission Point– looking at the beautiful hilly areas,  lush vegetation, Eucalyptus, Palm, and Mimosa, and the expansive ocean views. It is still a bit of old California, with Wallace Neff Spanish Colonials and small bungalows and palms everywhere.  Paradise.