• In other worlds

    by Judith Newton

    “Travel is more than the seeing of sights; it is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living.” – Miriam Beard

    That I ended up in a commune with a baby and three men owed much to my year in Laguna Beach and to the ways it struck me—after my long sojourn in the East—as “otherworldly.” This otherworldliness took many forms, which is the way it often is with places that seem radically different from your own. Seemingly disparate encounters with the “new” add up, changing you before you know you’re changing, giving you ideas about living that you never had.

    Laguna Beach

    That first summer in Laguna I went to dinner with a sociologist named Harrington, who liked to say that the relative looseness of family, community, and ethnic identities in Southern California had led to a prevalence of cults and mystical affiliations, and I thought he was right. Everywhere I went I stumbled onto someone who was linked to the otherworldly in some visionary, extraterrestrial, or ghostly form.

    On my flight to California in the spring, the stewardess, who turned out to be a parapsychology major at a state college, confided, “I dream about plane crashes before they happen, and I don’t get on a plane if it crashes in my dreams. This fight is safe.” I ordered another Chardonnay at the news. The mild-mannered engineer who lived next door to the house I’d rented in the Laguna Hills told me he received messages about new discoveries from a being on another planet. The thing is, my neighbor claimed to have seen this interplanetary traveler in person. I was surprised but not alarmed. I was in Laguna where unusual things were beginning to seem quite normal.

    In the fall, I gave a party for my students at which one confessed that she earned money telling cards. She read my aura. “There’s some unhappiness there,” she said. That might have been true, but when she told a male student “you have a spirit at your left shoulder” and he said “yes,” I nearly fell from my chair. “Once”, she said, “an evil spirit in my house tried to possess me, and I told him if you want to prove that you exist go do the dishes. He must have been a male spirit because he didn’t come back.”

    After the party I returned to my half-vacant rental to find it bursting with what seemed to be spiritual visitors trying to get through. “Leave me alone,” I said out loud. “I have enough to contend with.” This spectral activity had gotten too close up. Though, in the long run my brush with the transcendental would deepen my sense that there were more ways of being in the world than I had been capable of feeling in Philadelphia.

    Harrington also liked to say that Laguna was a place where people came to shed identities. And I believed him about this too. I’d only lived there for a month and I could feel my Eastern persona peeling away like a garden snake’s skin. If people did come to Laguna to shed identities, they found a supermarket of new selves and lifestyles from which to choose. It was another part of Laguna’s otherworldliness and charm that it offered you so many unlooked for ideas about who to be and what to do that people took on odd bits of interest, conviction, and taste that, anywhere else, might have felt incompatible with the tamer elements of their personalities.

    This was the case with Harrington. On the one hand, Harrington struck me as preppy and conservative. He was blonde and tall, wore a sports jacket when he took me to dinner, and drove an enormous car. And there was something odd about the way he combed his hair. He wasn’t balding, but his hair made him look like he had a comb over. On the other he revealed himself to be a serious leftist and spoke to me at length about his political interest in collective living. And the restaurant he chose for us to visit turned out to be famous for its anti-mainstream charm.

    From the outside, Dizz’s As Is looked like a 1920’s roadhouse, but on the inside you could make out rows of tiny tables covered in floral cloths. Curtains in a different floral were layered over lace, and the walls, papered in still another flowery pattern, were dotted with black and white photos of movie stars from long ago. Beaded lampshades winked in the rosy light, hats from another era tumbled above the bar, and Billie Holiday sang “Pennies From Heaven” in the background when you entered. Dizz’s was a world onto itself, suspended somewhere in another time.

    As I sat in the enchantment of the beaded lamps and flowery walls, listening to Harrington extol the virtues of collectivity and eating sweet bites of shrimp and linguine in an aromatic sauce of pesto with cream and cheese, collective living and its pleasures began to seem desirable and even plausible as goals. And that was another thing about Laguna. Its otherworldliness was often sensuous and inviting. It seduced you into contemplating choices that in the East might have seemed too much on the edge.

    Of course, just living in California was already to be standing on an edge, and even that was part of Laguna’s transforming power. “California reconciles you to change,” Harrington said to me, as I mopped up pesto sauce with a piece of bread, and “that’s what permits us to live with the earthquake.” And the year I was in Laguna I did experience a 6.7 which so unsettled me that I and a woman friend ran out into the street. The same year there was a large, arson-induced fire which turned the air golden for days; the sun and moon red. I was reading Joan Didion at the time: “The city burning is Los Angeles’s deepest image of itself.” In Southern California, perhaps, one did feel freer to take new paths because in an otherworldly place of apocalyptic earthquakes and hellish fires one never knew what lay ahead.

    In the end, I left Laguna, though it did not leave me, and my leaving would have nothing to do with fear of earthquakes or of the city burning. My leaving would have to do with the very imprint Laguna had left upon me. It would have to do with spirits, with talk of collective living, with restaurants suspended in time and space, with shrimp and pesto dreamily dispersed in cream and cheese. It would have to do with travel and with other worlds and with the new ideas of living they engendered. It would have to do with the baby.

    Shrimp and Pesto
    (This luscious dish recalls, but cannot duplicate, the original)

    1 lb linguine pasta
    1/2 c butter
    2 c heavy cream
    1/2 tsp ground black pepper
    1 c grated Parmesan cheese
    7 oz. pesto
    1 lb large shrimp, peeled and deveined
    2 T chopped Italian parsley
    1. Bring a large pot of lightly salted water to a boil. Add linguine and cook for 8 minutes, or until just al dente. Reserve one cup of pasta water and then drain.
    2. In the same large pot, melt 1 T butter over medium heat. Add shrimp for 1-2 minutes and then set shrimp aside.
    3. Melt the rest of the butter in the same pot and stir in the cream. Cook 6 to 8 minutes, stirring constantly.
    4. Stir Parmesan cheese into cream sauce, stirring until thoroughly mixed. Blend in the pesto, and cook for 3 to 5 minutes, until thickened.
    5. Stir shrimp and linguine into the sauce and cook for 3-5 minutes, using tongs to toss linguine and shrimp in sauce. Add pasta water if the mix is too thick.
    6. Use tongs to plate shrimp and linguine and sprinkle with Italian parsley.
    ______________________________________________________________________________
    Picture of Dizz’s As Is by permission of the restaurant.



    • I love Laguna’s beachs-some of the most gorgeous in the world. Also, Eiler’s Inn and The Penguin for food 50’s style. I don’t see spirits but inside me my life does ebb and flow with the energy around me. Great story.


      • BRAD

      • August 3, 2011 at 2:13 pm
      • Reply

      The stunning natural beauty of Laguna Beach, together with its long cultural history and support for artists, bohemians, gays, movie stars and LSD gurus, provides a perfect backdrop for your personal transformation and conversion to communal living. Unfortunately, since then, the forces of gentrification and commercialization have put pressure on the quirky, kitschy, bohemian enclave that we all knew and loved in the 60s and 70s to cash out and convert itself into a Southern California tourist theme park.



    • Completely alien world to me; have never been there, don’t really get Southern California and will probably always think of myself as a New Yorker, but thanks for peeking inside and writing about it so well.


      • Pam ertel

      • August 3, 2011 at 7:02 pm
      • Reply

      Laguna beach changed my life in many ways,as a young teen,some changes were good,some well,i wish i could undue.Moving there from very conservitive san clemente 1968 proved to be adventurous to say the least! Launa Canyon drug parties,mystic arts hippie hangout to name a few.I remember timothy leary’s telling us that LSD was not only safe to injest,but it in no way would harm an unborn child.Even tho i was quite young,thank goodness i didn’t buy that line,for not too much later after that i found myself unmarried and pregnant with my first child! My boyfriend at that time and i got married and had a very healthy little girl,and and am so thankful not to have believed the “guru”! I remember the couple that lived downstairs from us at about the time our daughter was six months old,and they loved their little girl too.Unfortunately,she was severly deformed due to the parents following the lifestyle of Laguna Beach.So very sad.well,i have a beautiful daughter from that era,who herself has a beautiful daughter,which makes it all good!Our second child,a son was born at home in South Laguna on a water bed,with a madras Tree of Life bedspred draped behind it. Farout!


      • Glenna Matthews

      • August 4, 2011 at 6:12 am
      • Reply

      Since I was raised in Laguna and live here now, I was bemused by much of the commentary. It’s not a tourist theme park now, that’s a cliche–though we have lots of tourists. But we still have our artists. I know almost as many lefties here as I did when I lived in Berkeley, and my UU church is committed to various kinds of social action. We frequently have public forums on important issues such as health care reform, immigration, the ACLU and homelessness, etc. Main Beach is one of the most democratic public spaces I know of, integrated by race, class, age, and language group. Yes, housing is expensive and that has dampened the bohemianism, but that same dynamic has affected charming bohemian enclaves all over the country. How many starving artists can currently afford Greenwich Village? Thanks for getting my juices flowing!


      • Judy

      • August 4, 2011 at 9:37 am
      • Reply

      Pam I loved your story about Laguna and Leary and the Tree of Life Bedspread! And Glenna, it was great to hear about politics and life in the present. My juices still flow when I go down for a visit.

      Yes, Madge, Eiler’s Inn though I haven’t been to the Penguin. I like to get a room right over the beach at a place I can’t remember the name of right now.

      Brad, thank you for your good words about the essay. I don’t find it a theme park, though.

      Ruth, it was the times too as well as the place. I was ready for Laguna.


      • Shannon McGarry

      • August 6, 2011 at 1:36 pm
      • Reply

      Thank you Pam Ertel (mom) for not being swayed in the ways of the LSD guru. And thank you Judy for sharing your Laguna story, your such a brilliant writer. The Laguna I remember is the sawdust festival where my dad sold his metal sculptures its the beach and sunburns and hanging out with my grandpa in the tiki lounge in his back garden watching him mix up any kind of drink you like and all the crazy magnets he collected filling up the entire face of his refrigerator. Its eating at the Roayal Hawaiian> with its battered shrimp and huge blue drinks. Meeting all my grandparents crazy artist gay and straight friends at their unique little art filled houses. The beautiful smell of seaweed and salt from the beach. I drove into Laguna Beach a month a go to see my grandparents and it never changes all that much which i love. I carry a piece of it wish me when I leave. It gave me a gift of being a free spirit who loves making glass art and pottery and a person who is drawn to the bohemians and artisans and the different because in Laguna no one fits into one mold, its just crazy shape loaves all over the place. Where you can just be.


      • Mardi

      • August 7, 2011 at 11:26 am
      • Reply

      Judy, delightful. I like the way to describe California, poking fun without making fun and redeem the flavors that are so easy to satirize. Mardi


      • Judy

      • August 7, 2011 at 11:41 am
      • Reply

      Shannon, what a wonderful Laguna story! It’s so evocative. You should write this up. When I think of you I think “free spirit,” but now I’ll also think blue drinks and the smell of salt and sea weed. Very nice.


      • Judy

      • August 7, 2011 at 11:42 am
      • Reply

      Mardi, your readings always make it better than before!



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