Wanting Malibu

I read a book a long time ago about dolphins that I’ve never forgotten.

Meanwhile, though, even though I’ll never forget this book, I don’t remember much about it, either (laugh), except this one outstanding idea that was couched in the belief that dolphins are advanced beings who communicate in non-ordinary ways.

And the big idea the writer proposed was that these magnificent mammals engrave information they want to record or communicate on the surface of sand dollars in squiggles and fractal forms.

I’m thinking about this guy’s idea because I’m on vacation in Los Angeles where I used to live. It was years ago that I had a Pacific Coast Highway address in Malibu and then one in Topanga Canyon where I spent my days in a glass house built with reclaimed boards from a repair to the Santa Monica Pier.

This vast, sprawling city is both great and terrible: There are many parts to it and some are sad and broken and others so crazy rich they’re confounding.

But beneath the passing show of modern times, the greater L.A. area is a magnificent land at the edge of the pounding Pacific with several small mountains ranges surrounding and dividing its neighborhoods. And I’ve always been in love with it.

On many trips over the years, I set out and visit the places I used to know.

More than once, I’ve driven down PCH and pulled over in front of my old apartment and snuck down to the beach through an outdoor staircase that descends to the sand. It always looks the same and the familiar landscape ignites long dormant thoughts. The big boulders — two of them — are still there and the grey weather beaten wooden steps are almost too broken to use. Once there was a piece of tar paper flapping on the roof but on my next visit, it was gone.

It’s disorienting to stand there, on the beach I used to toss cookies into every nite (so I wouldn’t eat them all) and have no inside to go to. I feel like I could almost will my old apartment to be there, with its oriental carpet and all my cloths. But, where is my key?

I look at my old deck and remember the dog I had back then: how I was young and so foolish as to let her run free on the beach when I mistakenly judged her mature enough to come back: She never did.

The Malibu Country Mart, the Fernwood Market, the Malibu Feed Bin, Mimosa Cafe, Cosentino’s garden shop — all these places ping my mind into releasing ideas I had back then, memories of events, and feelings.

This is why I’m reminded of the idea that dolphins store information on sand dollars: Maybe all the places and people we’ve loved store parts of us that we can “read” throughout time.

No: I don’t live inside that glass house anymore but I imprinted something in its timbers that will always speak to me and, in some ways, will always be mine.