Memory

      Memory is such a funny, random experience. Sitting in my recliner in the OFH I can see the bus stop across the street. It's a busy stop with people taking and alighting from the bus regularly. The afternoon/evening chef at the OFH commutes by bus. He times his departure from the kitchen in time to catch a particular bus. The stop is on a busy street; West 7th Street which is also MN 5. 

   Looking at the bus stop brought back memories of riding the bus in California. For a year and half I was stationed at Camp Pendleton in southern California. My cousin, Marjorie (Negstad) Dahl lived with her family, Jasper, Carol and Betty, in Lakewood, CA., which is between Long Beach and Los Angles. Marjorie's father and my uncle, Sam Negstad, lived with his wife Josie, in nearby Bellflower. Many weekends while stationed at Camp Pendleton I spent with these relatives.

   To get from the base to their home I travelled by bus, actually three buses. The first bus took me from my barracks, which were inland several miles, to Oceanside. At Oceanside I rode a bus up Coast Highway 101 to Long Beach. Then I transferred to a city bus to get to my relatives.

   Here's the funny part about memory. I have clear memories of the bus ride. What I can't remember is how I initially figured out the route. Nothing in my boyhood on the farm prepared me for navigating bus schedules. 

   Those family connections were a treasured part of that time in the Marines. The Marine Corp also allowed me to visit another cousin who was missionary in Japan. That's a story for another time.

Takk for alt,

Al

   This is what Camp Pendleton looked like from our barracks.