Meditation, Fire, and the An Lac Mission/Ventura Buddhist Center

Everyone in Ventura has a fire story. Some aren't too bad, people inconvenienced by stores, schools and other businesses being closed. Others are really bad, waking up in the middle of the night, no power in their house and just enough time to quickly grab what they could and hop in the car to drive off into the night.

My story is in the middle. We were supposed to evacuate but didn't. We lost power and had to boil water, and we were close enough to the fires to watch and hear houses burn to the ground. But my house, though covered in ash, came out okay.

So, my fire story starts with a book called Buddhism for Dudes, by Gerry Stribling, that I picked up at a used book store in Arizona. I've felt that my mind has been a bit cluttered of late, and I thought that perhaps some meditation might help me clear it out. Buddhism for Dudes was short and cheap, and the first chapter is "Buddhism, No Bullshit." Written by an ex-marine, I knew it couldn't be too fru-fru, so I gave it a whirl.

It was a short read, and I'm probably going to read it again in the next few weeks. One of the things it said was that if you want to learn to meditate, most Buddhist temples offer meditation sessions a few times a week for free! The monks in the temple are more than happy to welcome beginners, and host a discussion after the session. The book suggested leaving a small donation, which seemed more than reasonable.

So, if you ever look at the other site I was working on, Pictures of Ventura Churches, you'll see a picture of the An Lac Mission. I checked their website, and sure enough, The Ventura Buddhist Center does offer meditation on Monday and Thursday evenings. So, I psyched myself up for a new experience, and on Monday, Dec. 4, I got into my car to drive to the east end of town.

While driving down Foothill, I noticed that the moon seemed huge-the effects of the 'Supermoon' of the night before. Then, Foothill curved toward Santa Paula, and as I approached Saticoy Ave., I could see a glow in the distance. I wasn't sure, but thought it could be a fire in Santa Paula. It was a warm evening, with the predicted Santa Ana winds starting to blow, but I wasn't overly concerned, and went into the temple to try meditation.

About a dozen of us were gathered in the temple, which was filled with incense and the sound of recorded chanting. I thought I'd try sitting on a pillow, though next time I think I'll be better off sitting in a chair. It was peaceful, but as I tried the basic meditation technique of focusing on my breathing and counting to ten, my mind would constantly wander off, and I'd have to start over again. The highest I got to was three, and even that I don't think I truly hit. Still, at the end of it all, I was calmer, and since then I've been able to focus a little better.

The monk, a very friendly and happy man, did gather us together after the session, and happily asked and answered the questions of those who stuck around. I left a $5 donation, and felt good about the whole experience.

It was around 8:30 PM when I stepped outside, and the wind had really picked up. It was very warm, unusually so for a December evening-I think I was in shorts and a sweatshirt. And when I looked toward Santa Paula, I could tell it was definitely a fire, and it had definitely grown. I could even smell the burning, meaning that the wind was blowing in my direction.

I drove up to Foothill, and on impulse, decided to drive a few minutes toward the fire. I got close enough to tell that it was big, and that I really didn't want to get any closer. I needed to walk my dog, anyway.

So I turned around and headed home. I got my dog, and we headed out. It was after 10, now, and still very warm, with the winds blowing very strong. We walked, and as I decided it was time for bed, the power went out. I was curious as to what the city looked like in the dark, so we walked up the hill behind my house, and then down one of the streets, looking out between the houses (houses that are no longer there), at the darkened city below us. A few spots were still lit, like the hospitals and a few random buildings, but for the most part the city was dark. It was fascinating.

It was also 11, and though interesting to see the city in the dark, I needed to get to bed. I started to walk down the street and down the hill. The wind was still blowing hard, and I could smell the fire, wherever it was. I continued toward home, but as I did so, I looked behind me and up the hill.

I could see the glow, and knew that the fire had gone from Santa Paula to the hills behind my house. The wind was blowing hard, and I realized that there was now a fast moving fire coming over the hill.

Twelve years ago, a fire burned the hills behind my house. It wasn't windy that time, and it happened during the day. I stayed home from work, watching the planes as they hit the deck and dropped fire retardant, and the bulldozer driver drive seemingly straight up the hill cutting fire lines. The neighbors said that the hill burnt every ten years or so, and had set up lawn chairs on their roof to watch.

So I expected the same thing to happen this time. It didn't, and I spent the night watching houses burn. Actually, watching wasn't the scary part, but listening-that was scary. I could hear the houses as they fell apart. Car alarms would randomly start as the garages the cars were in burned around them. I took pictures, but there are plenty of better ones out there.

As a side note, if your house phone is bundled with your cable, like mine, when the power goes out you lose your telephone. We got a mandatory evacuation call, but since we didn't have power, we didn't get it until the next day when the power came on again.

So as a result, I haven't been back to the Buddhist Center for meditation. I don't believe the fires and my first meditation session are related, but...

With this practice of dhamma may I be free from birth, decay, disease, and death.

Tommy's

Tuesday Night Crowd

There isn't a lot to say about Tommy's that hasn't been said. An LA institution, serving up sloppy chili burgers for over 70 years, I've personally been hitting Tommy's since the early 80's, when my girlfriend and I thought it was the height of cool to have a Tommy's burger and then head to the Cheesecake Factory in Beverly Hills for a piece of cheesecake and two drinks-they didn't card.

Since that time, I've never needed much of an excuse to go to the original location at Beverly and Rampart. They were fast in those days, with burgers hitting the counter before you finished ordering, the counter manned by a couple of old guys at the register, and a bunch of young Mexican guys at the grill. There were no fries-you had chips. Also, no fountain drinks-you got a can from the many coolers. The lot was crowded, and I would always stake out a spot next to the paper towel/napkin dispenser because I used 10,000 or so. I had a girlfriend who once asked why I stood there, and I said to specifically have as many napkins as  I wanted.

At the time that I started going to Tommy's, there were two others that I knew about, one on Roscoe in Van Nuys (not there anymore), and one in Fountain Valley between Warner and Magnolia. They were both good.

While attending Cerritos College, we'd often race to either the Fountain Valley or the Original location, power down two double cheeses, and then make it back to Water Polo practice. In those days I could put away some food and I was still skinny. I had a friend who would say she could eat a Tommy Burger and not make a mess, and use only one napkin. She often did, and somehow never messed her make-up, a feat I appreciate far more now than I did then.

A True American Classic!

At UCLA, we would sometimes head to the one that used to be located across from the Anheuser-Busch plant on Roscoe in Van Nuys, but sometimes after a hard night of drinking the smell from the brewery would strike me as unpleasant, so we usually ended up at the Original.

A Tommy's opened here in Ventura a few years back, and unlike many of the Tommy's in the chain, the food is consistently good. I've eaten at the ones in Ontario, Hollywood and Eagle Rock, and I wasn't impressed. In fact, when the Ventura location first opened, they were also so fast that my food hit the counter before I finished paying. They're still fast, but not that fast.

So, Tommy's Ventura is good, but there's something about standing at Beverly and Rampart, as I have for some 35 years and having a burger. It's a single, now instead of the double, only one, and now with fries and a fountain drink, but it's still good, and I think of the many friends I've dined with there over the years.

Like I alluded to up above, it used to be all men behind the counter. On this trip, it was all women. The food used to hit the counter before I was done paying, and this time I got a number and had to wait-not long, but I waited.

But I'd still eat there. It was still good.

1963 Silvertone 165 Guitar Repair

Started taking the strings off
before I took the picture

Note painted on fret markers

I like these old Silvertones. Don't got me wrong, however. If you've got a 50's era Gibson  J-45, or an old vintage Martin laying around and want to send it to me, I'd happily take it in exchange for this Silvertone, swapping straight across. Or, if you want to swap me the Taylor 210e, (sunburst, of course) that I play every time I'm in Guitar Center, that'd be good.

But until that time comes, this old Silvertone is a good player. 

I think I bought this one last summer. It's a Harmony-made guitar, the H615, which is a full size folk guitar, and it was made in 1963, a year that holds a special place to me. It sounded okay, but the tuning machines were hard to turn, and the frets were rough on the sides of the neck. The neck is straight, and not quite as thick as many of the Harmonys from that era, but with the sharp frets, it was uncomfortable to play.

We have something in common

I bought some files from Harbor Freight, and an emory board from the 99 Cent Store, and figured that I'd tape it off and file the frets down. I also bought a set of tuning machines from StewMac in January, which I was going to use to replace the originals. All of these things I purchased over the last year, thinking that I'd get to the guitar in short order, but never did. I had some Martin Strings that I bought from a music store that went out of business a decade ago. The only thing I didn't have was a couple of hours to devote to this project.

Today, I had some time. No one needed to be driven anywhere, and the only important project I had planned was replacing a headlight on my car, which turned out to be incredibly easy. I had a couple of hours to spare, so while preparing and then slowly barbecuing tri-tip, I brought the guitar back into playing condition.

I took off the old strings, which came with the guitar. The guitar itself came in an old chipboard case, and appeared to be reasonably well cared for. It wasn't particularly dusty, implying that it's spent most of the last 50 years in a case. The frets were the issue. Reading up on old guitars, many articles stated that sometimes the fret board will shrink with age, causing the frets to protrude beyond the edges of the neck. This seemed to be the case, and it was enough to cause pain after about 20 minutes of playing.

The new and the old

The Finished Frets

I taped off the fret board, as all the YouTube videos advised, and used Harbor Freight files to dress my frets, and buffed out everything with the foot-shaped emory board in the picture. I spent about 20 minutes filing and shaping, until I got it all reasonably smooth. I also used some fine sandpaper for a stubborn section.

I went back and forth on changing the tuning machines. They were stiff, but they worked. Still, I had a StewMac set, and finally just decided to change them. It took just a few minutes, and the holes, for the most part, lined up, so it wasn't difficult.

After that, I used my Martin Guitar Polish and Cleaner on the body and neck, and then used some Old English Furniture polish on the fret board. I thought about painting it like I did my other Silvertone but remembered it was the painting that caused me to break the neck, so I decided not to. It still might get my initials at some point in the future, though, and it might be fun to change the color of the painted on fret markers.

I pulled out the new old stock Martin strings, and strung her up. It tuned up nicely, and held the tuning-I made the video a day later, and it only needed a touch of fine tuning.

Here you go!

June 6, 2017

I've taken the guitar out of the case a few times in the last week, and the tuning is holding up nicely, the frets work, and I'm thinking about adding an acoustic guitar pick-up so I can go electric. It really does have a nice ringing tone when I play.

More Crown Guitars

May 19, 2017

I was in Little Tokyo last week trying some ramen at Men oh Tokushima, and came across this Crown Acoustic in a store of trinkets and other things.

I should have asked to play it, but I didn't. I tapped it a bit to see what it sounded like, and the wood was certainly resonant. It's a 70's era guitar, made in Japan, and I've read that guitars from Japan during that time frame were using old woods and so have very good sound quality.

I actually played a couple of the ukuleles that they had in the store instead, and though they were no names, they looked nice, and played reasonably well for their price.

I should have written down the name of the store, but I didn't. Let's just say it's the type of store you expect to find in a Chinatown or a Little Tokyo. Lots of Asian trinkets, flags, Buddhas and things. I liked the Godzilla bank, where Godzilla would rise out of a box and grab the coin, and the headbands, one of which I bought. The symbol on it is supposed to be 'Victory,' but how would I know one way or the other.

About ramen. I don't know what good ramen tastes like as opposed to bad ramen. But my son likes ramen, and the place had good Yelp reviews, so we tried it.

I've intentionally had ramen three times in the last 6 months, and this was the best one, but I'm going to have to try more. 

I wouldn't make a special trip for the ramen, but if I was in the area and someone suggested it, I'd eat there again.

Where Have I Been

No place special, actually.

There was a point when I was posting every week. It was good writing practice, and I enjoyed it. Then, for a variety of reasons, I missed a week.

And then another.

And another.

And after a while, I just didn't have anything to say. But someone asked a question about buying a Crown Guitar, and I thought I'd better answer.

So, maybe it's time to start blogging again. Ventura is experiencing a growth of micro-breweries, and I'd like to chime in a bit on that. I've also been trying coffee places all over California lately, and I'd like to talk about that, too.

Thanks for stopping by-I'll have more up soon.

Tatiana's Coffee & Tea, Ventura

Tatiana's Coffee and Tea

2470 E. Main Street

Ventura  CA 93003

My son came home a few weeks ago talking about a coffee house that he and his friends put up a poster for a robotics competition, and he was saying how nice they were. He described the location, and I knew he was talking about Tatiana's Coffee and Tea, and he said he wanted to go back because they were so nice.

Tatiana's has been there for about six months, and I'd been in once before. That time Tatiana was off but her husband was in, and he was nice enough. There were a couple of reasons that I never went back, though. First, the hours weren't very agreeable with my schedule, they being open only 7:30 to 5, and, second, they serve Santa Barbara Roast.

I find Santa Barbara Roast coffee to be a bit bitter for me, and I prefer Beacon or Starbucks. Still, Tatiana was nice to my son, and I did say we can go, so after a morning run we swung in for a coffee, hot chocolate and as an afterthought, an empanada.

The empanada was a great choice. Prepared by Chef Galo of the late Cafe Bariloche, it was excellent. A light, flaky pie crust surrounding a seasoned meat filling, it was excellent, and made me long for the flavorful South American food that I had the few times I was in Cafe Bariloche.

But the coffee...

Tatiana was in on this visit, and she's very nice, and because of her I hope the coffee house succeeds. The prices were in line with other places, the walls were filled with local artwork, all of which is for sale, the chairs were comfy, and so everything seems in order. Tatiana herself struck the right balance between friendly conversation, and backing away so that my son and I could talk, and she seems genuinely proud of her space.

The empanada and Tatiana's pleasant demeanor means I'll be back. They also have Wifi, so it'll be good when I need the internet, but also need to get out of the house.

Attending Spanish Mass, Mission San Buenaventura

Mission San Buenaventura

211 E. Main Street

Ventura CA 93001

Bloody Jesus

I attended St. Rose of Lima Catholic School in Maywood, CA, from first through eighth grade. At the end of eighth grade, my family moved to Downey, and gave me a choice of attending Pious X, St. John Bosco, or Downey High, and I quickly decided it was time to go public, picking Downey.

Still, the Sisters of Notre Dame, who ran the Catholic School did instill some level of Catholicism in me, and I'm often surprised at how much I remember. And in that Catholicism, I try to observe the 40+ days of Lent.

As part of my Lenten Sacrifice, for the last 20 years I've attended Mass every Sunday of Lent. It doesn't seem like much, and I know that many people attend Sunday Services without fail. But when I was single, it was the only time of year that I attended Mass, and now, with my kids all going off in various directions and a wife who can be hit and miss about Mass attendance, it becomes a bit more of a challenge. And it has meant that I've attended Mass out of my comfort zone. 

Faux Marble Surrounding Alter

Many Catholic Churches have a Saturday night mass to make up for Sunday, which can be very helpful for when Sunday happens to be busy. Tonight I needed to attend Mass because of my daughter's all-day water polo tournament in La Palma tomorrow, and she was at a party this afternoon, so we attended the 7:30 Spanish Mass at the Mission. We don't speak Spanish, but since it was the only Mass available, it's the one we went to. For the most part, I have the mass memorized anyway, so I always have a pretty good idea of what's happening. 

Narrow Nave

I have very mixed feelings about Junipero Serra and his treatment of the Native Americans that surrounded the Missions, and Mission San Buanaventura is the last mission that was founded by him. Parts of the Church go back over 200 years, and that appeals to the historian in me. I don't attend services at the Mission often, and find it to be an adventure whenever I do. I enjoy the old, creaking pews, the thick walls and narrow nave, and the old style statues, (featuring a bloody Jesus).

I've attended Spanish Mass during Lent before, when a girlfriend I had and I were driving through Baja California. We made it as far as Bahia Palmas in Baja California Sur, driving my Honda Civic, and it was an eye opening trip for me. We were someplace in the interior, I'm guessing San Ignacio, but I don't really remember and would have to dig up my notes from 20 years ago to find out for sure. It was Palm Sunday, and everyone from the neighboring country-side was attending Mass in their Sunday best, all Stetson straw hats, polyester western pants and shirts and polished boots. I know there were women, too, but strangely only the men come back to my memory-possibly because they were all staring at my Arkansas bred, blonde haired, blue-eyed very petite girlfriend. She was the only blonde in the church, and if I stood out, being clearly an American of Mexican descent, she really had no business whatsoever in that church.

What I remember most was the volleyball game that started up after the service, with about 20 men on a side in their Sunday finery hitting the ball over the net.

In 2009, my son had a state project, and I told him that we could go to the state if it wasn't too far away. His teacher assigned him Utah, and that's how we ended up at St. Gertrude's in Panguitch, UT. Being from So. Cal, I'm used to huge Catholic congregations, so though I was familiar with the idea of the priest traveling from place to place and covering a great deal of ground, this was the first time I'd seen it in action. St. Gertrude's is a bit bigger than my classroom, and it still being winter, my son and I definitely stood out. Mass started with only 9 people, and got up to 16, including my son and me. Like I've had to do in Protestant Churches, I was asked to introduce ourselves,which I had anticipated by the way that everyone in the room was greeting one another. Though the priest delivered one of the more confusing sermons I've heard, and headed off to another service as soon as this one was over, we stayed after to talk to the congregates over some cake and punch. They were very friendly.

Possibly the prettiest Catholic Church I've ever been to was on my honeymoon just about 17 years ago, when my wife and I attended our first mass together as husband and wife on a Palm Sunday in Lahaina, Maui. Maria Lanakila Catholic Church is a small, all white interior Catholic church, and with the windows open, the building was filled with the smells of Hawai'ian flowers.

Fulfilling my Lenten of Mass attendance can be challenging, but the result is always interesting on some level.