Santa Monica exists in at least three different forms: UCLA and its attendant cultural features; the beach and its hotel/condo appendages and the Pier, with all that goes in, under and around its overarching presence.
I came here, to the end of Rte. 66, the beginning of I-10, and another few stops on the Pacific Coast Highway, just as a most respectable conglomerate of human beings had settled in for a day’s excitement at Pacific Park.
Except for my jaunt over the pedestrian part of the bridge to downtown, however, I not once felt crowded. There seemed to be a fairly even distribution among the various parts of this particular land’s end.
As always in a coastal town, I started my visit on the beach.
It was nearly deserted on this end, but there would be a fair number sunning themselves, closer to the Pier. Still, the hotel/condo area, east of the beach, looked well-peopled.
Casa del Mar is a bit rich for my blood, yet, but like other venerable places, would be worth exploring its lobby and grounds at some point. Another feature of west LA that I’d like to spend a day on, is the canal system. Venice has more, in keeping with its eponymity to the grand Italian city, but this one in Santa Monica has a certain sweep to it.
After trekking across what seemed as desolate as the Sahara, I came upon- THE PIER! Looking at this horizontal edifice so often on NCIS, Los Angeles and Southland, I had to experience the end of Mid-America’s rainbow for real.
There were lots more people on the other side, as that is where the ticket booths for Pacific Park happen to be. Then, too, the rides were full.
I have been on quite a few roller coasters in my time, though only one or two Ferris wheels. When all is said and done, the waves and the water are what brings me contentment, in a place like this.
So, the Mother Road had to end somewhere, and the grand adventures that many seem to seek at Pacific Park dovetailed nicely with the end of this line from Chicago.
One could always just hop a boat and continue on to Santa Catalina, and some one of these days I will, but on that March 22 afternoon, I was content standing atop a mass of pilings.
It was after an hour or so, with LA’s core in mind, that I left the iconic pier and trudged over the bridge,
past the hotel of song and secrets,
and an inviting garden path,
to my trusty car, which was too dirty to photograph. Oh, and I did take a photo of the Santa Monica snake charmer, his boa and a brave, but petrified, college coed. In the interests of the sensibilities of some of my most loyal readers, I have left that one in my Flickr account.
I would find that the Page Museum, near LACMA, was closed when I got to Museum Row, and I was exhausted anyway, so it was on to El Monte, and a healthy Chinese meal at Ming Yuen Restaurant (“You no need white rice this time of day!”), followed by deep slumber at a Budget Inn.
NEXT: San Gabriel, Part 1: Mission Playhouse and Downtown
Whenever I happen upon a beach resort that is oriented towards the masses of American people, I am thrown back to my childhood- to beaches like: Lynn, Revere, Nantasket, Nahant, Crane’s, Plum Island and Wingaersheek, MA; Narragansett and Galilee, RI; Hampton and Rye, NH and Old Orchard, ME. Millions are also familiar with Long Island, the Jersey Shore, Eastern Shore of Maryland, the Delaware Coast, Myrtle Beach, Virginia Beach, Waveland, MS and Daytona Beach.
These places may remind some of theme parks, or WalMart, but they are essential to the well-being of lots and lots of good folk. I visited two such mass-oriented beaches, along the western edge of Los Angeles, on Saturday, March 22. It would have been my late father’s 87th birthday, and Dad loved these kinds of places, so I joined the throngs, and had a blast.
Venice, CA sits at the western tip of the City of Los Angeles, which operates the beach park that lies between upscale Marina del Rey and the bustling suburb of Santa Monica. There is plenty of kitsch to go around, and I enjoyed an all-beef sausage sandwich from Jody Maroney’s, for a quick, satisfying lunch.
I may be an adventurous diner, at times, but I am never too far from my roots.
The next order of business, though, was the beach. I was surprised that there were not that many people around the water. Most of the action remained along the Promenade and in the park, inland from the beach. I went into the water, just a bit, though. It was exhilarating!
In short order, though, I came to Venice Pier.
With a nod to the few surfers who were headed out to play in the ocean, I went up to see how the fishermen were doing.
People were a bit more even-tempered than those I encountered earlier, in Manhattan Beach. Maybe the fish were more accommodating here. An egret seemed to think so.
The water looked refreshing, from pierside, as well.
After about a half hour along the beach, I gradually made my way up to greener pastures.
There were many colours in evidence on the People’s Wall.
Venice’s downtown also is riot of shades and hues- building-wise.
A snake charmer was doing a fine job of handling his serpentine friend, on one of these corners. I decided not to take his photo, lest I capture something unfortunate. He ended up doing his act just fine, though, so I gave him a small tip.
“In the end, only kindness matters.”- Jewel I will carry this message with me as well, from a bric-a-brac merchant in said Sidewalk Market:
You’d have had a great time here, Dad. I was glad to have had the chance to make the trip, in your stead.
Manhattan Beach is a curious name for a place of sand and surf, smack in the southwest corner of Los Angeles County, yet the naming has a logical source: The town’s developer, Stewart Merrill, was a proud son of the Big Apple. There is another parallel: This capital of Beach Volleyball is one of the most expensive parts of LA, even outpacing Beverly Hills in the Big Bucks department.
No one turned their nose up at yours truly, though, when I rolled on up from Lomita, on March 22. After a good night’s sleep at Lomita Motel and decent breakfast at Hot n’ Tot Family Restaurant, I was ready for the completion of one trifecta- the South Bay Beach cities (having visited Redondo and Hermosa Beaches two years ago) and making Manhattan Beach the first of three stops on that lovely Saturday (followed by Venice/Marina del Rey and Santa Monica Pier).
The morning started briskly enough, walking downhill to the water’s edge.
The famous Beach Volleyball Tournament was getting started, as I walked down towards the pier.
There is a nice beginning of a community garden, along Manhattan Beach Strand.
After looking at this for a bit, with a curious Filipino boy and his mother, I set my sights on the main focus of the morning, Manhattan Beach Pier, and its aquarium.
Of course, the walk along the pier afforded some fine sights, of beach and surf.
The aquarium was being cleaned by a patrol of Girl Scouts, under the watchful eyes of their Scoutmistresses. It was a good thing, as within earshot of the girls were a trio of foul-mouthed fishermen, who only shut up when the old Mexican snack bar vendor went out and told them “Tienes respeto por las ninas”.
In the donations-only facility, there are several small tanks, featuring both marine invertebrates and small ocean fish. There are a few skulls of marine mammals, such as these porpoises.
The Great White Shark would require two of this size facility.
The little critters seem quite content, though, especially with the girls cleaning the outside window panes of their tanks.
The South Bay still has much which I will explore later, including its Botanical Garden, near Redondo Beach, as well as San Pedro, Seal Beach and the looming presence of Long Beach. Awaiting me next on that day, however, was Marina del Rey.
I had plenty of time, after my friend Janet left, to take in Doheny Beach and the south jetty of Dana Point Harbor, before my evening visit to San Clemente.
The titular line is from an old song, “Surfer Joe”, by the Surfaris: “Down in Doheny where the surfers all go / There’s a big, bleached blondie named Surfer Joe / He has a green surfboard with a woody to match.” Joe’s successors were not in Doheny in abundance on the delightful afternoon of Friday, March 21, but there were about five families, a lone kite flyer and two middle-schoolers, who appeared to be brother and sister.
As is my wont, I covered various aspects of the beach park, starting with San Juan Creek. This brackish channel is the focus of a potential desalination project- quite important in an Orange County that has faced prolonged drought.
Of course, my attention turned to the ocean, in short order.
This time around, I had my surf shoes on, so it was easy to walk about the fairly-deserted sand, and take in Doheny’s small stone jetty, and service area.
I always have an urge to see things through to the end, so I walked over to Dana Point’s stone jetty, the dividing line between the two beaches, and walked to its western terminus. Boulder scrambling is a good way to focus one’s heart and mind. Along the way, I encountered a couple of families fishing, one human, the other avian. The cormorants didn’t mind being photographed.
Here is what I found at the end of the jetty.
To and from the end, I got different views of Dana Point’s beach front.
Doheny’s “dry side’ was a place of respite for some picnicking families,
and a lone kite flyer.
There are nesting herons and egrets here, as well. The Nesting Tree, a melaleuca, is a Doheny Beach staple.
The Butterfly Garden is the icing on Doheny’s cake. It had only a few monarchs on March 21, but there were several birds’ nests in the eucalyptuses along the trail.
There is also something magical about California coastal palms, as out of place as some find them. They are a sign of “endless summer”, even when it’s a tad cool out.
Satisfied with this day at the beach, I took in a celebration of the Divine Springtime, Naw-Ruz, at San Clemente’s Baha’i Center.
The following two days would also be jam-packed, with visits to three Los Angeles County beach towns, then San Gabriel and its mission, and downtown Redlands. So, after a couple of hours with my OC Baha’i friends, I headed up a surprisingly empty I-405, to Torrance, then over to Lomita, and the comfortable little motel where I stayed on my last visit to west LA.
Each time I have visited my son in San Diego, I stop in Orange County before heading home. The beaches, missions and gardens in the home of Disneyland and Knott’s Berry Farm have given me a far greater appreciation for all that Southern California has going for it- beyond the traffic and smog, which weren’t bad this time around, and which are only the small price we pay to enjoy the O.C’s many sublime beauties.
I have been to Dana Point twice before. The town, named for Richard Henry Dana, whose statue adorns the town’s harbourside park, has a lovely promontory, to its north. I have climbed the trail to the summit of that striking overlook, and walked the harbourside path, once before, as well. This time, March 21, accompanied by my O.C. friend, Janet, I saw and heard things from a bird’s perspective, specifically that of a heron. There are two species of heron in Dana Point and neighbouring Doheny Beach. Janet and I witnessed a raucous chorale of nesting Blue Herons, as we walked along the harbourside park.
As is customary with our visits, we enjoyed lunch first- this time at Harpoon Henry’s, on the east end of the harbour area. It’s hard to not get a good seafood meal in an OC beach town, and mine was fabulous. Henry’s gave Janet a good chicken lunch as well- not every maritime-themed place does landlubber fare well, so this was a plus.
Here is a refresher of what Dana Point Harbor looks like.
Here, again, is the harbourside park.
The above photo shows a eucalyptus tree, which, along with the melaleuca (tea tree), serves as a nesting place for both the Blue Herons and their cousins, the Night Herons.
Here are some shots of blue herons and their nests. Look carefully, and you can see the heads of one or two birds in each nest.
One of our avian friends decided to go for a food run.
Meanwhile, back on the ground, a blond squirrel was competing with his grey California ground squirrel relatives, for the generosity of California park goers.
On the beach rocks, an oyster catcher was finding its prey.
After Janet left, I lingered a bit at the south edge of the park, taking in the raucous commotion of the Night Herons, whose call sounds like a cross between someone gargling and Chewbacca the Wookie, from Star Wars.
One Night Heron obliged me by sauntering in the nearby rocks.
I was fascinated for the two-and-a half hours spent watching and listening to these awesome creatures. The afternoon gave a new meaning to “Stop and smell the roses”. There were more wisteria than any other plant, but that’s another story.
The second half of my March 20 visit to San Diego’s Balboa Park was devoted entirely to nature, and Man’s interpretation of it. Space and air are meant to be explored, now that we have a handle on virtually all of our planet’s land areas. We must remember, though, that each of us remains free to explore this world, on a personal level.
I have been to Japanese-style gardens before. This was my first visit, though, to the Japanese-American Friendship Garden, a work in progress that is an outgrowth of the Sister City relationship between San Diego and Yokohama. I passed through the Ceremonial Gate, into an environment far more serene than even the relatively calm streets of Balboa Park.
Upon entering, the first sight is of San-Kei-En Entrance Stone. San-Kei-En is the name of a famous garden in Yokohama. It means “Three Scene Garden”. The three scenes are Water, Pastoral and Mountain.
The water scene is exemplified by the koi ponds, and by two tools used by rural Japanese.
The first tool I came upon was shishi-odoshi, used for scaring off deer, which come into the gardens in search of food.
The second tool is tsukubai, used by visitors to a temple to purify themselves, before entering the temple.
Koi ponds always fascinate me, and the fish in this pond were curious and friendly.
Water is the key to the serenity of any garden.
The pastoral element is furnished by the cherry and other lowland blossoms, including chrysanthemum, which gave its name to the very throne of Japan’s emperors.
The mountain scene is exemplified by bonsai, the miniature versions of pine trees, by the Exhibit House, reminiscent of a rural Japanese inn and by the stone lanterns: Oribe-doro and Light of Friendship.
Here is the Exhibit House, where Japanese ceramics and other cultural staples are on display.
Stained rocks lead one along a curved path, to the bonsai collection.
The stone lanterns are intended to light the traveler’s way, in peace and harmony.
A farewell of sorts is offered by the Light of Friendship. Then again, it also serves as a greeting, depending on which direction one follows.
As I was headed towards Florida Canyon, I saw that there is much room for expansion of this magnificent garden. I am sure to return when this area is cultivated, in the name of friendship.
Having felt the love of one of my favourite cities, it was nonetheless time to move on, and I did, to a fabulous meal and sweet live music at Carlsbad’s Mediterranean Cafe, followed by a rest at EconoLodge, my customary overnight stop in Carlsbad, unless it’s warm enough to sleep at the beach.
March 20, 2014- Once Aram and the ship had departed, I had a game plan for the rest of the day. First and foremost, I replaced the low beam headlight bulb, on the passenger’s side of my Kia. Next, was a stop at Old Town San Diego, where I hope to restock my stash of exotic jerky. It must be only a seasonal thing, as only ordinary jerky was available at the General Store. I did sit for a few minutes, though, and watch three actors in a theater troupe rehearse a scene from “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”.
This is one of my favourite whimsical plays, but after a few minutes, the troupe started discussing their craft, so I decided to head for Balboa Park. One place I had never visited there is the San Diego Air and Space Museum, which presents as complete a picture of manned flight as any place west of the Mississippi. It is one of two museums there that were initiated by the industrialist and aviator, Ruben H. Fleet, whose name adorns the Science Center nearby.
I spent about 2 1/2 hours in this unique institution, absorbing what I could of the story of one of Man’s greatest dreams come true- from the sketches of Leonardo da Vinci to the most recent G-force experiments. This museum presents the story of flight in objective fashion- including the achievements of America’s friends and enemies alike.
Among the first replicas one encounters is that of The Spirit of St. Louis, just inside the entry way.
Close by Lindbergh’s epic plane is a replica of an Apollo spacecraft.
There is, as the sign suggests, a display called Ripley’s Believe It or Not, but it was enough for me to take in the main exhibits.
The combat exhibits are comprehensive, with Messerschmitts and Zeros taking their places alongside Allied warplanes. One of the first exhibits tells the story of General Claire Chennault’s Flying Tigers, who impeded the Japanese occupation of south China and Burma, probably shortening World War II.
Yet, World War I, and the exploits of all concerned, were fully covered as well. Here is a shot of the first synchronized gear mechanism on a fighter plane.
Here is a replica of Manfred von Richtofen’s Red Fokker Dr. 1 Triplane.
A Sopwith Camel is shown in the same area of the facility.
In the Forties section are a Piper Cub
and a Messerschmitt Bf 109G-14
In the Edwin D. McKellar Pavilion of Flight,
a full range of air and space craft is shown.
Just before I exited, a father and son were inside a Zero Gravity simulation machine, experiencing astronaut life, in a safe manner.
There is no doubt in my mind that this amazing collection will continue to grow, as our treasury of air and space craft continues to evolve.
After taking in this dizzying collection of vehicles, I was ready for some peace and calm, so the Japanese-American Friendship Garden beckoned.
A week ago, on March 20, my only child set out on his longest and most challenging rite of passage. I can’t tell anyone where his ship is headed, or how long the vessel and crew will be in any one place. I only know that they are in good hands: One another’s, and the Creator’s.
I set out for San Diego, on the evening of March 18, having just had the bounty of a Baha’i study circle on working with adolescents. Young sailors aren’t middle-schoolers, though, like any other group of unattached people who are looking for answers, they do have their moments. I got as far as the small Colorado Desert city of Blythe, just over the river from Arizona, on that still, starry night. Relax Inn is a spare, but comfortable place, staffed by a shy Tamil man from south India and his exuberant, chatty wife, who seems to be more likely from the north of the subcontinent.
Blythe has a few more decent eateries than one might expect. Steaks and Cakes is near the motel, and serves up modest, but well-prepared breakfast fare. The waitresses are all lovely, which speaks well of the clean desert air.
I rolled into San Diego about 11:30 on March 19. As I was traveling longer that day, the Baha’i Fast, just about finished anyway, was suspended for me. So, I met Aram and a couple of his crewmates at his apartment, set my bag down by the couch where I would sleep that night, and three of us went over to Sushiya, in the Point Loma area. This was my third time there, and the same young lady who served us the last time was our waitress again. She was in a much better mood than last Easter, so the meal was likewise more pleasant.
Being the day before departure, the guys mostly wanted to kick back. We went over to the Nex (Navy Exchange) and everyone ,including me, picked up last-minute necessities. Mine was an eight-pack of shaving cartridges. The sailors stocked up on necessaries that would be more expensive in the ports to which they are headed first. We then had supper in the Nex Food Court.
Sleep came early, and so did the morning rise-and-shine of Departure Day. I drove the three sailors to their dock area, parked and joined everyone onboard ship, for a few hours. At 8 AM sharp, family and friends bid farewell to their men and women in uniform, and we stood vigil for about an hour, dockside, until the access ramps, guy ropes and tethers were lifted, the Base Commander and his entourage left ship and the vessel set sail- for Coronado, where there would be more prep for the long journey. From there, it was for the captain and crew to know, and for us to find out later, as to where they were headed.
Here is the view of San Diego, from Aram’s apartment (9th floor).
It’s a bit fuzzier at night.
Still, not much fazes my boy.
Here is the ship, as it was getting underway.
Then, it was off, across the Bay.
A journey of many thousands of miles had begun, with a single push. No parent has ever been prouder, and I know his mother is watching and helping.
March 6- saw me abruptly pause in my preparations for this local act of closure- my move out of the family’s last property in Prescott, to a more centrally-located apartment. More on that later. I drove to Phoenix, parked my vehicle in the airport economy lot, and caught a shuttle, Light Rail train and a local bus to the U-Haul lot on 19th and Hatcher. There, I placed my weekend bag and a parcel containing Blue Agave in the cab of the truck I had rented, and headed over to the home where the rest of my cargo awaited.
I knew Beverly for 32 years. As a friend of both Penny and me, she had encouraged us both in our spiritual quest and kept us in a practical mode, as best she knew how. When she passed on, last year, I set my heart on doing whatever was needed for her family to get closure, whenever they were ready. That time came two weeks ago.
I picked up a couch, with a rollaway bed, an English garden bench and some cushions, at Beverly’s grandchild’s house, after a few rounds in the dark, in the ‘burbs of north Glendale, AZ. Dinner came a bit later, at the Chili’s on Carefree Highway. I was burned-out, after a day of traveling while fasting- so burned-out that the waitresses probably were glad to see my backside head out the door. There were two of them: One very gracious, the other, rather brusque and inattentive. The meal was good, though, and I felt rejuvenated afterward, so I made it to Winslow, and the Delta Motel, around 11:30 PM.
March 7- I had a small, but satisfying breakfast at the Delta, after a beautiful sleep in the Arizona Room. Last time I visited Winslow, in July, 2012, I experienced the Delta’s Elvis Room. There were no AZ musicians, like Marty Robbins, Stevie Nicks or Michelle Branch, to be seen in the room where I stayed last night. It was cacti, Gila monsters and the Grand Canyon which were celebrated.
Heading east, I was back in territory very familiar to me: Dinetah, the land of the Navajo. The people of Manuelito, the first community off I-40 in New Mexico’s western edge, have a fine Visitor’s Center under their belt now.
This is a fine testament to the gorgeous Red Rock country, on either side of Gallup, a vastly underrated gateway to the Land of Enchantment. I have many friends in this area. All of them were busy Friday morning, but then again, so was I; miles to go, before I would sleep.
Here’s another view of the area around Manuelito, which is named for one of the Navajos’ more robust chiefs, during the 19th Century.
Tooling along, past Bluewater Lake, Continental Divide, Grants (with its awesome lava beds), otherwordly Acoma and Laguna, and on to Albuquerque, the memories came flooding back. Each of these will be the subject of a visit and a post, or three, in the next couple of years. Yet, even Albuquerque, the magical Duke City, could not slow me down. Gas and a snack at Bernalillo, ten miles north, on I-25, was my pit stop. Yes, I had lunch today- Baha’is are not required to fast while traveling more than 8 hours.
At this rest stop, outside Santa Fe, three wise women are celebrated. I offer this testimony to two of them here. All are, of course, in my Flickr pages.
The other aspect of this rest stop, though, showed me what I was to face, in the hours ahead. In Santa Fe, it was raining. The Spanish Peaks of Colorado, though, would serve up snow- and and lots of it.
I stopped in Walsenburg, CO, and had a lovely visit with some relatives of one of my Prescott neighbours, whilst dropping off the Blue Agave, safe and sound. After a nice cup of hot green tea and some cookies, I gassed up and headed into the Colorado greeting. Snow started in earnest, just three miles north of Walsenburg.
About ten of us snaked through the steadily deepening snow, until we reached the first motel available- a Days Inn, in Colorado City, twenty-eight miles south of Pueblo. We were all graciously received by both the hotelier, Bob Patel, and the proprietors of Los Cuervos Mexican Grill, across the snow-packed road, which was fun for me to cross, feeling like a kid again. Los Cuervos provided a roaring fireplace, which added awesomely to the mood- as did the many convivial patrons. We had all survived the ten miles in one hour pace. Sleep, needless to say, came easy tonight- for me, for the forty others who joined me in leaving the road, and for the menagerie of six dogs, two cats and four birds, who were welcomed by the Patels.
March 8- I love my family, both the biological members and the members in faith. It was an easy ride to Westminster, CO on this clearing and warm Saturday. Of course, Colorado being what it is, there were snowscapes aplenty in Colorado City.
From Pueblo on north, though, the snow was visible only from a distance. This suited me fine. I greeted K and E, my hosts for the weekend, dropped off my bag at their condo and the furniture at K’s office, turned in the U-Haul at a facility on the edge of Northglenn, where my Colorado family members live, and turned my attention to matters of Faith.
Here is Northglenn Senior Center, where the local Baha’is hosted a superb potluck supper, attended by many local friends, to break the Fast this evening.
The facility has a few items of sculpture, and the park across the street features a Peace Pole, made of wood and inscribed in several languages, with a Braille inscription as well.
The resident Canadian geese survived being harassed by an adolescent girl and her siblings, and resumed their own peaceful gathering on the park’s pond.
Back in the hall, we ate splendidly and enjoyed real camaraderie.
The joy would be repeated the next morning, just before sunrise, at a Village Inn on the other side of Westminster.
March 9- No trip to Colorado is complete without a visit to my in-laws, the Kosaks. We had a delightful get-together, of course shopping at their favourite WalMart, then catching up on the six months since my last visit. Dinner was delectable, as always- this time with lean pork chops and kale salad. After a few hours of British TV mysteries, I headed back to K & E’s, and turned in early.
March 10- Daylight Savings Time had arrived yesterday, so my wake-up time of 2 AM was actually 1 AM to my body. Arizona does not, outside of the Navajo Nation, observe the Spring Forward. I made it to the airport, thanks to Denver’s marvelous transport system, and by 6:15, Arizona Standard Time (Pacific Daylight, to most people), I was back in Phoenix. At 7 AM, I wandered into Park Central Deli and had a bracing, hot breakfast burrito, with fine chorizo. After a short nap at Sunset Point Rest Area, en route, I made it safely home. The task had been completed, with much help from my spirit friends and family.
Once upon a time, those who lived in the Sonoran Desert, between 200 BC- 1400 AD, were called Hohokam. This term, like so many that were used to refer to the ancient Americans, was derogatory. It is now being gradually cast aside, and in its place, the far more accurate term “Ancient Sonorans” is being used, along with the rather unwieldy “Ancient Sonoran Desert People”.
Last Sunday, I spent about 90 minutes or so walking about Casa Grande Ruins National Monument, on the north side of Coolidge, AZ. These Ancient Sonoran ruins represent a village and community gathering place, the latter called Casa Grande (“Great House”) by Father Eusebio Kino, when he first saw the place in 1694. President Benjamin Harrison extended Federal protection to this area in 1892, and President Woodrow Wilson set it aside as a national monument, in 1918. Frederick Law Olmsted, the architect of Boston Common, built a ramada to protect Casa Grande ruin, in 1932.
Here are some views of the Great House and its surroundings.
The Ancient Sonorans were the ancestors of today’s Akimel O’odham (“Pima”), Tohono O’odham (“Papago”), Hopi and Zuni peoples. These nations consider this area, and other preserved ruin sites, as sacred. If visiting, please approach the sites in that frame of mind.
