Showing how other people are unpredictable, and we, apparently, are not so.

There's no guessing about what kind of people you will see from one moment to the next. I've tried it, and it's impossible. Today at the Pannikin Coffee Shop in Leucadia, I never could have guessed to see the large, sparklingly dressed, expensively sun-glassed, possibly Persian family ordering food like it was their last meal. The men did the ordering, the women told the nanny what to do and what not to do to the baby, the children were replicas of their parents, and the nanny smiled, nodded, and spoke Spanish. How they possibly ordered anything amidst their own chaos is an illogical mystery. The Salads! The soups! The sandwiches! The eggs done this way and that! The breads with whole wheat please, not toasted too much, you know what I mean! Ah the espressos and juices all around! Oh! and when the food came to the table, what passings of plates, what cries of joy, what sharings of spoons, what reachings-for, tuggings-at, and switchings-around of meals! Such perfected ado about nothing was never before seen. Here was a family that loved being itself. That evening we drove up to San Clemente and camped at the State Park on the beach. A long pier shot out to sea, at the end of which a man had just hauled in a stingray and was quartering it. The stinger looked like a stretched Indian arrow head made of the sleekest metal. A woman nearby was coaxing a live starfish to stretch its feet, and some dolphins were leaping high above the water surface nearby. At the other end of the pier, the Fisherman's Restaurant was swarming with people waiting nearly two and a half hours for a table. They'd miss the sunset by that time. One of the lucky few, who'd already eaten and was forcing her way out of the crowds, was a wispy-haired old woman who didn't care that her dinner party had left her behind. "Look at you two" she grabbed our cheeks. "You're just a couple of kids, and now you're married!" She had reason to belittle us... she and her husband were about to celebrate their 67th wedding anniversary. "And only sometimes did we have 'arguments' or should I say 'discussions' in which we raised our voices only a shade above what I'm using now." Her joyful eyes looked at us laughingly. She was probably thinking "You're young. You don't know anything yet." We were probably thinking "You're old. You don't know anything anymore." And we would both be wrong. Casson asked where else might be a good place to eat without such a wait, and the little lady rattled off a few restaurants that didn't sound appealing. A man in dark sunglasses was leaning against the wall nearby and was listening to our conversation. He took the opportunity to suggest the White Horses, just across the road, where they served French-ish food. It looked quaint enough, so we walked and waddled on over. We only had to wait a half-hour for a table on the balcony, and the owner took down our phone number to call us when it was ready. In the meantime we sat down on a lovely bench before some grass patches, and some picnic tables where some young skaters were congregating. After sitting a while, we decided to walk down the pier for a moment, and we were approached by a tired-eyed skater who held a mini-bible in his hand. "I have a verse for you guys" he said awkwardly but not nervously. He then read us something from Matthew that discouraged divorce. "And for your little one," he motioned to my belly and I smiled the kind of smile you give when you feel a little embarrassed for someone else. He flipped a few pages and read the verses about it being better to have a millstone hung about our necks and be flung into the sea (our imaginations were not needed, here) rather than lead one of these little ones astray. Casson and I tried to talk to him, ask him where he was from and such, but he seemed to not feel comfortable just talking. "I don't even know if you're Christians" he stammered. "We are," we told him. His manner showed that he didn't seem to believe us for some reason. "Have a good good Friday," we said as we headed off. I think he may have stared after us for some time, but I'm not sure. Dinner was great and rest was better. The next day we rode our bikes from San Clemente to San Juan Capistrano, along the Pacific Coast Highway and beach trails, and East along the San Juan Creek Trail. In San Juan Capistrano we saw the old Mission and Basilica (the first winery in California was started there, they say). On the ride back to San Clemente I had to stop off at a cafe to get a drink and rest. Casson went for the truck while I waited. That's when I called my folks, and they've already heard all of this. We then drove north along the route where we had ridden. We stayed the night in San Juan Capistrano at a not-so-cheap cheap motel, but we were glad to have a shower and a soft bed (the hard ground doesn't treat my joints well these days). Then deja-vu happened "all over again." We turned on the TV and ended up watching Lethal Weapon-4 from a point about 20 minutes into the story, until about 20 minutes from the end, when we decided that we were so tired, and that it really didn't matter that we see the ending, again. I'd be surprised if you made it to the end of this. I hope you had a happy Easter!