Return to Clareville

Posted on April 24, 2005 in College Travels - So Cal

Yesterday was my 25th college reunion, the big day when we’re all supposed to return to the alma mater and give generously from our wallets. For me, it was the day when my classmates could see what a failure I had become, so I decided to give it a bye. I stayed away from campus and listened to the rain falling outside.

Today, however, we went into Claremont to meet Lynn’s friend Jodie for brunch at Walters, a curious place that serves a combination of American and Afghan food. It was like that twenty five years ago when I ate there as a student. In those times, however, it was a classic rundown cafe. In the interim, the owners took over the building, knocked out a wall, installed some stained glass windows, wood floors, and better dining furniture. And it went on and on.

We didn’t dine on the patio because it had rained. Claremont has a strange feel to it that is decidedly not like most of the rest of Southern California. It’s the kind of town where people dare to put Art in their front yards. There are no homeowner associations that regulate your individuality out of bounds. The houses look different from each other, having been constructed in an era when people didn’t show up at a developer’s office and pick one of three or four canned models. You can walk from the houses to the business district.

We avoided going to Pomona, but took Jodie down to my favorite place on Yale, the Folk Music Center. Lynn and Jodie got into an intense discussion about liturgical music next to the tambourines. I walked around, playing with the drums and checking out the violins — the cheapest of which retailed for a mere $295. Intermittently, I would swing back to listen in on the conversation and throw in my two cents. Then I would wander back to look at the mandolins, autoharps, sitars, irish harps, and other curious string instruments hanging from the walls or check out the books where I found Cool Cardboard Instruments to Make & Play. It was tempting, ever so tempting to make Lynn a cardboard guitar and a cardboard fiddle for myself.

We released Jodie to her long drive back to Modesto and then went home ourselves by way of Orange. For whatever reason, I do not remember the last leg of our journey through Santiago Canyon even though I was driving. What was I thinking about? Certainly not the years that had passed and the ruins that dotted them. I just enjoyed the road coming at me, I suppose, and the rainy day.