# Ojai



## Kevin (Apr 23, 2015)

… Ojai…

“She has a dot on her head.”

“What? “

“She had a dot on her forehead, Yoga-girl,” I said.

I’d seen her first, posing, up a ways, off to the side of the road, one hand and arm raised, stretched way up and behind her head; one leg raised, stretched up behind her, foot grasped by said hand, and also behind her head, balancing on the other leg—sort of a ‘C’ on a pedestal.

“Which way?” she had asked me, my wife that is, not Yoga-girl.

“Over there, drive over there—go right, yes.”

We drove up, the drive curving around a hilltop, excellent view of the surrounding countryside: trees, meadows, all in spring flourish, green everywhere. We were lost—sort of—on the right property—the signs had said so—looking for the ‘Library’, a shrine of some sort to a woman’s life. 

_“Nine things to see in Ojai (click, click, click)”, _I had read, days earlier—researching—the source of my hand written cliff notes on how to present an enjoyable better-than-satisfactory weekend-for-two, my scribbled on little paper now crinkled and smudged. 

And this was soon to be strike number three, day two of our two-day excursion…

“Oh look. There’s someone. I’ll ask…“ she had said, as the other _she_ had come into view.

I couldn’t say anything, but she was—stunning, early twenties, athletic (limber at least; very) a portion of her top half somewhat over-proportioned to rest of her—perhaps it was the posture, enhancing; thick hair, Caucasian; not Indian, but with a dot on her forehead, the red, Hindu-sign. I’d seen her posing, facing the south, the sun, and as we were sort of lost, not sure which way to go.

We’d seen the movie; though she was not _Jules_, nor ..._et Jim_, and neither of us could remember the plot exactly, love triangle presumably, pretty sure it was subtitled, and we liked that sort of thing, subtitled, but it was a reference none the less, to her, this person, something relevant, slightly familiar, giving us a reason.

I’d planned this trip on a Tuesday, not the plans, but the trip, so here we were looking for this ‘place of interest’ (one of several I’d hoped), an old woman’s “home”. I think of her as old, though her possibly-famous character had been young—assuming that she’d outlived those two men, friends, lovers—her home in the ‘after’-life, after Europe, turned into a memorial (part of a non-profit) to her later years as an artist, potter, ceramicist; person-that-works-with-clay what have you, and perhaps acknowledging her history: re-immigrant to America that had prior to that gone off to Europe and become the subject of literature; possibly. There is some confusion, as she reportedly denied that it was she in the literature; it was some other woman…

Whatever, it didn’t matter too much, the history, any of it. We were there to experience, something, anything, there on a two-day vacation.

The immediate matter was finding the place, the library, and even more immediate was that our vehicle was slowing down while my wife— power-rolling down the side window, my window—prepared to ask Miss Gorgeous-yoga-pose, her words about to travel across my person, to that –oh god, don’t let her see my eyes roving; eyes, please don’t rove—and please don’t let _her _see me trying not to let my eyes rove—person. 

And then we’re rolling closer—in the car—the two of us towards her in relation, as the Earth spun in relation—and she is innocently gazing back at us, inquiringly; as my wife is asking her (inquiringly), while I squirm, inside, facial muscles threatening to twitch or lock up, tongue threatening to misbehave if asked to speak. 

She focuses her gaze upon us, looking more like something, or someone akin to the White Witch of Oz, though with a certain appeal—yes, _that_ appeal—in a different sense; her niece maybe (the witch’s)—a difference of decades; granddaughter, great granddaughter, in all her radiance. Okay, an enlightened cousin then; not the poofy dress; no concealing fluff (modern spandex-Lycra blend; tight) half shirt, exposed mid-section.

A feminine exchange occurs, verbal and otherwise, utterly subtle as only females are capable of, while I look on, silently, as I am terrible at that language, trying not to look on _too_ intently, yet not averting either, as that too, would be impolite; a delicate balance feeling not so delicate in performance.

 I  let out no simian grunts, even manage a slight grimace, and then she has pointed us in the right direction, so we drive on. 

I remain silent in the imprinted afterglow. 

“Open Thursday through Sunday. Closed Mondays and Tuesdays” the sign says, my wife reading it aloud.

Three strikes (is there some significance?), as this is ‘interesting place to see’ number three on my scribbled list, the other two having been also-closed on Mondays and Tuesdays. The first attempt, afternoon of the day before, was to visit a shrine to the organic growing, production, and selling of fairly expensive olive oil. We made it only to the locked gates; the second, an actual outdoor “shrine”, of what exactly, I didn’t know, but the description had said it was oriental inspired, and took a ‘short hike’ to reach with the pay-off some sort of view; free, and just up our alley, eh… ‘budget-wise’.  

Which is why we here on a Tuesday: our work schedules, incomes, and of course, our related, combined budgets… 

“I wish I were more evolved,” I let out, my retinas still suffering (basking, perhaps) from the vision behind us, _Wow! _being about the most my proto-intelligent processes could express. 

And then after initial retinal fade: _Yoga, dot, and beauty-posing on a Tuesday work-week morning…  how does one sustain such? What funding source might there be…_ And yet here _we_ were on a Tuesday, with no extraordinary cause. 

“You could be, if you wanted,” she interjected, as we drove around the rest of the hilltop, Her Glowing-ness to the rear (_her rear, oh dear… shush!_), past the library, back down and out, across the pastoral setting, a large expanse of meadow or former farm not uncommon to area, then past the exclusive private school on the property, to the left of us (as if position matters), which had been founded by (among others) one J. Krishnamurti, a now passed, existing-on-some-other-plane, but formerly advanced-human-being and onetime officially announced as ‘World Teacher’, who had migrated, or been called to California in the early 1920’s.

 These facts as I recite them may be inexact. Close enough… 

“The school offers 62 advanced courses, and surfing, employing the principles of the Socratic method”, all of which, though I like to pretend at by invoking, are way beyond me I dare say (_shit, English-English… maybe I did receive something) _all for the annual higher than the average-household-income of most…_ahem… _need I say more? 

Coincidently (or not), we had spent the night at Mr. Jiddu K.’s former digs, rooms now available to the public for a reasonable fee (and quite charming I must say), located approximately 3 miles north of the school, something like that, as the crow flies, over one row of beautiful ridges, lush with oak, and layered beneath by ocean-fed, moisturized-air-nourished chaparral, and then a portion of actual valley, not just ‘designated-as’ (a ridge is not a valley), Valley of the Ojai, both of which are absolutely gorgeous, really, one, of Nature (the ridge), the other, pleasantly formed, Man-made (relative to the typical, ugly ‘sprawl’). 

 We had slept where Huxley or other notables of theosophical interest may have slept (though I received no subconscious messages, _dammit_). The brochure claimed they’d been there on the property. The sheets have been washed many times since, but there still may be some ectoplasmic-_ick_ about. I hadn’t noticed a thing, though I did wake up with the words ‘_delta… epsilon…_’ echoing silently. No idea what that was about.

Getting back: “You could be, if you wanted,” she had said to me.

“No, I don’t think so,” I had replied, which then immediately sent me contemplating and then almost immediately giving up on, how I might communicate to her the theoretical concepts of Darwinism, vis-a-vis the absolute finality of the fully-formed born-being versus the pre-natal, mutated-gene, ’jump’ forward (though not technically forward, just different). _I don’t think so _I alternately grunted, scratched, and hand-signaled to myself—inside (and becoming distracted). Which led again to the question of being: animal _versus_ human; denial of the physical, the question of libido… which again—you see I’d heard all this before, not the exact wording; same discussion—had, this time, brought up the term _kundalini _and the almost instant retort: _oh, bullshit… you wouldn’t know a kundalini if one un-sprung and bit you on the tailbone…_ 

Whatever… I AM what I am, just pass me a banana…    

And finally, speaking of food: “Well then… isn’t it about getting towards lunch-time?”

“Yes, I could eat,” she had replied, having been spared all of that.

I, myself, feeling saved by the lunch-bell (at least there was that)… and then my stomach had begun gurgling. So… there is that inter-connectedness, I will grant. The rest? _Poppycock…interminable poppycock…_

Lunch, by the way, would be a success, 

As had been our previous evening’s repast.
( a different thing here…) 

We had found, although direct dead center of tourist row, a tapas bar (targeted for the tourists, yes, I know…) with passable product, barely, but with a more-than-passable pianist—in fact quite agreeable—who played the standards (going back to the twenties; coincidences, hmm?) and who had engaged us in some pleasant conversation between performances. 

The place was not full, but there were a few customers: other couples, groups of four, and very soon, by observing the pianist’s conversation with them, we saw that we were among locals (it being a Monday, I supposed). We are capable of blending, as we have _done_ on other trips, and my wife is very charming, almost  invariably, instantly well liked, even if I am more of the ‘dud’. 

I say this, the blending,  because the piano player (pianist, is that too formal?) asked of us our origins, somehow mistaking us for locals. Perhaps this was just flattery. This is California, mind you, and no one is original, but I still thought this odd, in any case… she went on to relate that a ‘new breed (demographic)’ of younger, wealthier, as opposed to the prior, typical, retirement-age migrant/settler, was becoming prevalent. My wife dresses well, if not wealthy, and Ojai is not cheap. We shared in our wonderment at how they, said newcomers, could afford it at such an early age.  

She shared some of her previous life: born in Brooklyn (or was it Queens?), moved to the West Coast in the early seventies; marriage, career, family, empty nest, and then widowhood. 

Retired, she had come to Ojai, where she had rediscovered the piano in her seventies, and started playing the local spots, going from one to another as they went in and out of business. “Happy times; friendly people…” And we were entertained.

I was, at least, and I am proud of this, able to compliment her once—some slight reciprocation—and this despite my own near total ignorance, and complete lack of ability with regards to music, by asking about the arrangement of one particular piece. It was a popular tune that I happened to have memorized the words of, in my youth, the album having been played in such repetition by an older sibling as to become imprinted, every note and word. Somehow, the appropriate word and my mouth had come together, and at the proper time no less, when I said to her that I had found the arrangement “brilliant”. It was Elton John, and she had re-arranged and layered piano in place Sir Elton’s vocals over Sir Elton’s piano: Brilliant. She had a whole notebook of them, her rearrangements… 

Somehow, I was thinking of time, and how, in just a matter of hours all of it would be over, the trip, experience that is, time for us to go back to our _mundane, known  world,_ but first we said our goodbyes, thanked her profusely for a pleasant evening, retiring to our room at the Peppertree nee Krishnamurti, Retreat, some ten minute’s drive away.  

The following day I had offered to drive and she had accepted; a sure sign of fatigue on her part.  “This was good, and we should come back,” she said. At least we could say we had done it, our little trip to Ojai.

 “Yes, Darling, we should…”


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## LeeC (Apr 23, 2015)

Hmmm ... to me, you make the mundane visual, and kept me reading though I was nodding off before I started. Partly the strangeness of the mundane (is that oxymoronic) in not recognizing the setting. Also an interesting mix (to my mind) of personal recital and stream of consciousness, and enough there for my mind's eye to get a feel for the personalities and interaction. 


Not up to detailed critique, as I'm late for my nap, but I enjoyed the lightness of it.


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## Plasticweld (Apr 23, 2015)

I too wish I were more evolved!   

Great piece of work Kevin, I loved your dialog and your pace, the insights and reflections you offered worked really well.  You managed as a writer to combine the story, the dialog and the inner thoughts with such ease that the story flowed and really kept my attention.  I did not see a single thing that caught my attention as far as nits, I was too busy enjoying the story. 

My favorite line "_A feminine exchange occurs, verbal and otherwise, utterly subtle as only females are capable of, while I look on, silently, as I am terrible at that language, trying not to look on too intently, yet not averting either, as that too, would be impolite; a delicate balance feeling not so delicate in performance."_


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## NathanBrazil (Apr 24, 2015)

For me, this has such an odd pace to it; a stuttering, stumbling pace.  A three wheeler with one of the wheels not cooperating with the other two.  It has such an unusual, circular manner of unveiling the story.   A ball of string unwinding coming back, close to the same point, revealing another thread.  Both the pace and the manner of story telling became addictive - pulling me right through the story.



> (as if position matters)


Among quite a few interesting and humorous asides.



> We’d seen the movie; though she was not _Jules, nor ...et Jim, and neither of us could remember the plot exactly, love triangle presumably, pretty sure it was subtitled, and we liked that sort of thing, subtitled, but it was a reference none the less, to her, this person, something relevant, slightly familiar, giving us a reason._


Interesting admission - the plot not being as important as subtitles.



> She focuses her gaze upon us, looking more like something, or someone akin to the White Witch of Oz, though with a certain appeal—yes, that appeal—in a different sense; her niece maybe (the witch’s)—a difference of decades; granddaughter, great granddaughter, in all her radiance. Okay, an enlightened cousin then; not the poofy dress; no concealing fluff (modern spandex-Lycra blend; tight) half shirt, exposed mid-section.


My favorite para.  The mind threading this unusual image of the White Witch of Oz with the yoga-lady.



> lush with oak, and layered beneath by ocean-fed, moisturized-air-nourished chaparral


Really liked the sound and the flow of these words.


A few nits.  Though with the stream of conscious delivery, they may be intentional.



> proportioned to rest of her


Missing a _the_.



> with passable product


Missing an _a_.



> in place Sir Elton's vocals


Should be "in place _of_".


Really enjoyed this.  The second read was better than the first.  Obviously you're quite a masterful of storyteller.


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## Kevin (Apr 24, 2015)

LeeC- thank you for the read. Didn't bore you. Says a lot. Good. thank you! 
Plastic- That passage is a whopper. I'm still looking at it wondering if I need to remove the 2nd 'as', change some of the connection marks. I started with a lot of em-dashes but they seem to frowned upon. 
NathanB-  I started in the middle and worked my way out, both ways, as it came to me. I thought, Why not? ...throw some 'hads' in there and try and talk your way out of it. If you're good enough you won't get arrested... 'the'- yes, missing. 
 'a' (at passable). Q: If I had said 'passable fare' instead of 'product', what do you think? How about 'adequate fare' (without using 'an')? For some reason_ I think_ that when it is a generalized adjective, as opposed to a specific, singular item, you don't use, or, you may dispense with the use of... I'm not a 100%.  What do you think? Wonder if this is something that has a 'rule' or is described in the grammar books? 

'in place of' -yes, thank you.


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## NathanBrazil (Apr 24, 2015)

You're prolly more of an expert than I.  It suffers in comparison though with this - "but with _a_ more-than-passable pianist".  Unfortunately I left my grammarian in my other pants' pocket.


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## cassie30 (Apr 24, 2015)

It's interesting story but I was confused from start to finish.


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## Plasticweld (Apr 24, 2015)

Kevin I loved the use of dashes and how they really place and emphasis on what you were saying. As a public speaker those pauses are the magic that holds it all together. Mozart said that it is not the notes but the spaces in between that make the music.  I think the same is true with writing, the proper pause is what adds so much to the pace and dramatic effect.   I am accused of using way to  many commas, if I used more dashes I could get away with it.


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## Kevin (Apr 25, 2015)

NB- I wonder if you use 'sounding' for grammar questions like I do. It's not infallible though. 
Cassie!- It's great to hear from you. Yes, it is a not a very linear piece. I tried to make sense of it. 
Plastic- there are those who highly frown on the em-dash.


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## EmmaSohan (Apr 25, 2015)

Kevin said:


> Plastic- there  are those who highly frown on the em-dash.



The  em-dash can be singular or paired, so it gets confusing if you try to do two of those in one sentence. So, simple rule, just do one (single or paired) per sentence. If you don't want to use the em-dash, the only problem is that you lose everything the em-dash is good for.

To me, when you start the story with the yoga-girl, you kind of establish her as the topic. Which she isn't, but I think I am just understanding that now. I was handicapped by not knowing what ojai was.

I enjoyed reading your story. It was interesting, and I thought you brought that out well. Thanks.


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## tinacrabapple (Jul 17, 2015)

This was entertaining and well crafted. I laughed a few times at the reaction to yoga girl.  The wife had to know you had a _____-on.  She was torturing you by talking to her.  Who knows, but its as great piece!


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## Kevin (Jul 18, 2015)

Thank you t.c. If she was torturing me that is hilarious...  and at the time I think I was too anxiety-ridden to be sporting 'actual-'... haha


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