I am sitting at my computer terminal feeling rested and satisfyingly full after raiding the largesse that Gerry had sent me today. It is midnight and I cannot return to sleep just yet. I had called Rich yesterday to confirm our plan to ride the “train” into Los Angeles and eat lunch at Philippe’s. Gerry, Rich’s wife, answered and after the usual pleasantries, she asked me if I would like her to send me a “care package” of leftovers from their Christmas meal. I quickly said yes and that accounts for my feeling of fullness at this late hour. Rich and I, plus several others of my model railroad club friends, met at my house this morning with the mutual intention of going to Los Angeles for lunch. Bill gave us a rundown on how we were going to travel to Los Angeles. His plan was for us to board the “blueline” trolley ( a train?) at the Willow Street Station in Long Beach, go to Union Station via the”red line”, and from there walk the short (?) distance to Philippe’s and have lunch. We left my house and were having pastrami sandwiches and pickled eggs for lunch as planned in less than two hours. That we were able to do this in this short time may seem ordinary to those of you who are “young”, but is not so for those of us who grew up in Southern California in the 1940’s. We remember the endless stoplights that slowed traffic to a crawl. ( I can still hear the “ding” sound as the blades of the stoplight changed position. I also remember wondering about how it was possible for anyone, including me, to make any sense of the complicated world I was seeing out of the car window. I still wonder.) The sandwich was as I remembered and we returned to my house without any drama enroute and I was exhausted. We said our goodbyes and I quickly went into my house and crashed. I slept well, waking only to keep up with my pill schedule. I did not have any great difficulty with the walking required of me. I kept up with the group as I could stop and rest at will. But this is not the most amazing part of today’s adventures.
Because of the encouragement offered me to write about my memories of the thirty five year long adventure as a worker in the post WII aerospace industry, I have been writing about the story using as fodder whatever my memory allows. What is amazing to me is experiencing the process of remembering as it slowly is happening to me as I write. For instance, I have started to write about a part of a gyro that I had worked on in the 1960 era. At first my memory of the part seemed fuzzy and incomplete but as I thought and wrote more on the subject, the the image of the part in my memory became more clear. Not more a more “true to the way it really happened” memory, I am sure of that, but one clearer as to the details I remember about the “gyro module”. Today my thoughts turned to the “module” from time to time as we travelled to Los Angeles and as they did so, my mental image of it began to reveal more and more detail. It is though I am watching a picture of the module as it is being slowly painted. It is an amazing experience for me and I intend to continue. My age alone assures me I will not run out of raw material any time soon. I think I will write about “fuzz buttons” next as I cannot help but remember them and the problems they brought me.