Travelin’ light, is the only way to fly
Travelin’ light, just you and I
One-way ticket to ecstasy
Way on down, follow me.
Travelin’ light, we can go beyond

Travelin’ light, we can catch the wind
Travelin’ light, let your mind pretend
We can go to paradise
Maybe once, maybe twice
Travelin’ light, is the only way to fly.
(Travelin’ Light: J.J. Cale – 1976)

Kathleen Mavourneen always likes to say that she and I travel well together. People who’ve known me for a long time, might consider that a strange thing to say, since I don’t really like traveling. By that I mean that I despise cruises, and I can rarely justify the expense of journeying to far off places in the world. Other people mistakenly assume that since I’ve retired from education, with a lot of free time on my hands, I must also be doing a lot of traveling. I don’t. I generally find traveling, and especially flying, to be a nuisance, troublesome, and expensive. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’ll go to new cities and even a foreign country or two for a good reason – but those reasons needs to be personally compelling. Weddings, graduations, or anniversaries of family members or good friends are valid reasons to travel, as are funerals. I’ve traveled to see a bishop commissioned, and the opening of college-level, and Broadway-bound musical shows. Those reasons have taken Kathy and me to Washington D.C., Chicago, San Francisco, Savannah, Charleston, and New York – to name a few places. It was while visiting these locales over the course of our 36-year marriage that Kathy reached the conclusion that “we travel well together”. I’ve always agreed with the sentiment, but the words took on new meaning as I considered what to write about for Valentine’s Day, 2012. Suddenly the phrase seemed a fitting metaphor for our life together.

I discovered very early in my courtship of Kathy that she loved to travel – especially by car. When I first met her in 1973 she was driving all over the city (and state) in a bright orange Volkswagen Beetle. That was the last year she lived at home, just before moving into a Van Nuys apartment with her roommate Doris, a friend from college. She would drive from Sherman Oaks to graduate classes at Mount St. Mary’s College in Brentwood, then to Louis Pasteur Junior and Hamilton High School in West Los Angeles to do practice teaching, and then drop-in at the apartment convent of the Sisters of St. Joseph of Carondelet to visit Sisters Carol and Marilyn. However, it was only when I started dating Kathleen that I discovered how really important people, and traveling to see them, were to her. I found this out on the occasions I’d call to ask her out for a Friday night date, and then questioned her about what else she was doing that weekend. Kathy always volunteered too much information, but in those early days of our love affair I depended upon that naïve proclivity to spend more time with her. Innocently, she would tell me who she was visiting in different parts of the city that weekend, and where she was driving.
“I’d love to go along with you, if you’d like company?” I’d declare and implore in the same sentence. Thank God, more often than not, Kathy replied, “That’d be great!”
In that way I got to spend wonderful hours in close proximity to Kathy as we drove to see Jill and her parents in San Pedro, Nora and her parents in Los Feliz, or Frosty and her parents in Newport.







Another ploy I used to see more of Kathy on weekends would be to call and invite her for a morning or afternoon date someplace in the city, and then ask her what else she wanted to do that day. Kathy always came up with a place or person she wanted to see and visit. Sometimes she would play the “let’s drop-in and visit” game – which she still reprises today. No matter where we were in the city, I could always count on Kathy knowing a friend or relative who lived nearby.
“Jerry and Linda live near Echo Park, don’t they?” She’d ask as we drove along the 101 Freeway. “Let’s drop-in and say hello.” Or while driving through Inglewood, she might announce, “Sister Carol’s sister, Judy lives nearby, let’s drop-in and say hello.”
I’d always say, “sure”, and went along for the ride. I wasn’t lying or pretending. I truly enjoyed meeting Kathy’s friends and acquaintances because it let me discover more about this girl I was in love with, and also revealed more of myself to her and her friends. I think these excursions around the city were the beginning of our “traveling well”. The process was mutually enjoyable for both of us, and mutually revealing to each of us.

I suppose our first real trips together were our honeymoon to Carmel, and our one-year wedding anniversary to San Francisco. Those were the trips we spent exclusively together and they were fabulous. In many ways they were simply extensions of our dating conversations and our driving dates around Los Angeles. We would decide on the tours and activities of the day as we went along. Those trips were our first attempts at improvisational travel and spontaneous sightseeing. I loved constructing a day in a new city with Kathy. We’d usually start with a brainstorming session the night before, or during breakfast, spouting out the different places and things we’d like to see or do – including the activities we’d like doing alone. I don’t remember when the inclusion of those solitary breaks first occurred, because it seemed like they were always mentioned. They were our private times to sit and read, times to do crossword puzzles, or times to walk alone, thinking, while gazing out at the beach or scenery. I think our ability to be good traveling companions, as well as lovers, took root in those first two years of marriage and travel. I have passionate and wistful memories of both places.

On our honeymoon, we stayed in a luxurious cabin that was part of the Quail Lodge complex in Carmel Valley. The wooden ceiling soared upward, and a patio glass doorway overlooked the lush fairways and gardens of the golf club. There we lounged around in monogrammed bathrobes discussing where to go, what to see, and what to do in all the nearby areas. We never planned or predicted where our united lives would lead, but simply trusted in our new partnership. We took languid walks, hand-in-hand through Old Carmel, peering through windows and shopping in the cottage-like stores and boutiques that lined the cypress-shaded streets. It was while strolling on the white beaches of Carmel by the Sea that I confessed to Kathy that the Quail Lodge had not been my first choice for our honeymoon residence. I’d wanted to reserve a room at the famous Del Monte Lodge in Pebble Beach, but found the cost too prohibitive. Kathy smiled at my desire to impress her with such a luxurious hotel, and countered that we didn’t need to register to enjoy the accommodations and view. She proposed that during our 17-mile drive through Pacific Grove, we stop at the Del Monte Lodge for drinks or lunch. And that’s what we did. Lounging in elegant white deck chairs we surveyed the marvelous vista of the golf course and the Pacific Ocean, imagining that we were part of the Bing Crosby Clambake waiting to hear of the tournament’s results. The following year in San Francisco we stayed at the St. Frances Hotel in Union Square. There again we did a lot of walking, visiting Fisherman’s Wharf, exploring Chinatown, and wandering through the North Beach area. San Francisco would always remain my number one idea for a December birthday gift for Kathy. However, as the years progressed, and Toñito and Prisa joined the family, we spent more time holding our children’s hands than each other’s. But Kathy and I always made time every year for some kind of a weekend getaway – a weekend to Santa Barbara, San Diego, or San Luis Obispo, or just an overnight stay in Hollywood or downtown L.A. There we’d practice our improvisational skills all over again and explore the local cities as if they were exotic ports-of-call.

I think we first really took note of our spontaneous traveling style during our trip to Chicago in 2003. Toñito and Prisa had graduated from college by then and were pursuing independent careers. Kathy and I were just coming to grips with a life without children at home. She had received word that her nephew Jeff was performing in the Broadway-bound production of Stephen Sondheim’s Bounce at the Goodman Theatre. Although the musical would never reach the Broadway stage, the multitude of benefits such a trip offered were simply too good to pass up. We could explore the many sights of Chicago, see Jeff in a brand new Sondheim musical, and visit his wife Lynne and their two girls, Grace and Constance, at Northwestern University. I think Kathy first coined the phrase that we traveled well together during that trip. We stayed at the Chicago Renaissance Hotel in The Loop because it was close to the Goodman and all the great tourist locations. While only in the city for three nights we packed in an incredible amount of serendipitous sightseeing and travel. Starting on the afternoon we arrived, we walked along the riverfront’s Wacker Drive to Lake Shore Drive, and happened upon Grant Park just as it was hosting the Taste of Chicago festival. It seemed everywhere we turned there was something new and wonderful to see and visit, and since Prisa accompanied us on this trip, her company allowed more flexibility of movement. Together we all took the Navy Pier boat ride to see the Chicago skyline from the darkness and serenity of Lake Michigan. One day Prisa and I paired off to photograph Buddy Guy’s Legends while Kathy spent time alone, and on another day, she and Prisa climbed to the Sear’s Tower, while I wandered The Loop alone. We simply ran out of time to do everything we wanted.

However, the one trip that really set the benchmark for traveling well together was New York City. I’ve documented that serendipitous 2009 trip in this blog (see NYC 1: A Hellva Town and NYC 2: Start Spreading the News), and it still remains the most magical trip we’ve taken together. Everything just fell into place in Manhattan, and everything we did was perfect.

As I conclude this Valentine essay, I should confess that I started it filled with trepidation. A Valentine’s Day card is supposed to be about LOVE, and I’ve spent this whole time writing about travel and improvisation. My four previous blogging efforts (see tag: Valentine) have concentrated on that one word, love. Those essays focused on the early years of our relationship when we were so passionately and ardently in love that it almost hurt to experience it. But children changed that. The love that was so exclusively reserved for each other was slowly spread to include one, then two more people. In some ways those middle years made our life comfortable and predictable. For 10 years Kathy was a stay-at-home mom, volunteering at the children’s school and carting the kids to the homes of friends, or to practices of soccer, swimming, and children’s theatre. I pursued a career in education and administration, making time to share and participate in all the children’s activities and performances. Later, Kathy returned to teaching, eventually becoming principal of the same school. Over time, the white heat of passion that consumed those first three years of marriage settled into the constant flame and warmth of family life. It was as though the amorous desires that erupted when we dated and honeymooned, had settled into a glowing and comfortable campfire that still shot off spontaneous sparks as we journeyed through life. We experienced those flashes on all our trips – especially in the moments we adlibbed. Improvisation has always been a hallmark of our relationship and our love for each other. We practiced it when we dated, when we traveled, and throughout our marriage. Yet, I decided to call this essay Traveling Light. I chose the title after recording and listening to a song from one of my brother-in-law Greg’s vinyl albums, called Troubadour by J.J. Cale. The lyrics seemed to fit what is happening to us. With Toñito and Prisa leading separate lives and our own career goals met, Kathy and I are experiencing some adjustments in our style of living and traveling. If this life is a journey, then we are surely traveling light into the days that follow, because there are only the two of us on that road again.

On this Valentine’s Day of 2012, I just want to say, “I love you Kathleen Mavourneen, as much today as on the first day I loved you.”