“Great, come for breakfast. We can sit on the deck and visit for a couple of hours.”
“I’ll be there.”
Lemuel spent the weekend relaxing, seeing old friends, swimming in the lake and even took a few swings on the long thick rope that hung from the giant oak on the island. Just like when he was young! Climb up a few feet to the first big branch, grab the rope, swing out over the water and do a one and a half into the lake. Being free of the space suit and the encumbering cabin made him feel like a kid again.
He swam over to McLaughlin’s dock and went for a sail with Dave Mac in his Malibou class tall mast sailboat. Dave invited him to race in the weekly three lap trip, down to the dam, back to the island then west around the buoy.
He was prepared for the weekly summer race on Sunday. It had been a long time since he’d raced and the light summer breeze barely coaxed the boats along. Thirteen boats were entered today. McLaughlin and Gulliver placed a mediocre seventh. Not like the old days when they usually won.
A neighborhood bar-b-que was held in his honor at the club. So many old friends and so little time to share with them. By 2 AM he had to head up the hill to the home his father had built in the 60s. What memories! He had lived there often during the summers while in high school and college, as well as during his early bachelor years. What a great retreat. After teaching and coaching during the school year and taking courses for his Ph.D is astrophysics at UCLA, then lifeguarding everywhere from Dockweiler to Zuma, he needed a place to unwind. With the tennis court next to the house, the Universal Gym downstairs and the lake a quarter mile away it had everything to keep his body fit to match his sound and active mind.
Nights were magic. Sitting on the expansive redwood deck he looked up at a heaven dotted with a million microscopic suns and the planets he had so recently visited. It was like being in the planetarium at the Griffith Observatory, his favorite place in LA.
Like his father before him, he was entranced by the sparkling quilt of lights that covered the sleeping city. On clear windy days he would cut his college classes and drive to the Griffith Observatory, on the south slope of Mt. Hollywood, to admire his city. From downtown to Santa Monica, from Glendale to the harbor, out past Hollywood over Palos Verdes to Catalina Island, what a view! Being up high, even though seeing only a small patch of the globe, invigorated his mind. Then at night he would eagerly await the planetarium show.
The planetarium was perched in the middle of the 75 foot diameter white plaster dome.
Then the lights dimmed to the strains of Beethoven and the blackened dome metamorphed into a crystal Sahara sky as the planetarium shot the images of 9000 stars overhead. Then came the planets and the moon. The clear celestial fantasy, an unknown phenomenon to those who live in lighted smoggy cities, brought gasps of wonder from the viewers in the circular theater. Probably only the Bedouins and Eskimos find this natural source of ecstasy in their daily lives.
Then came a famous planetarium show—‘The Constellations’. ‘A Trip to Mars’, ‘The Star of Bethlehem’ and probably a hundred more. Lemuel had used it as his favorite destination for his dates with girlfriends both in high school and college. It was not only inexpensive, but it charged his imagination. It charged it enough to push him into the pursuit
of a doctorate in astrophysics and astronaut training with NASA. And eventually to pursuing the passion of his dreams, the twenty-five year tour exploring the heavens.
Just like the carefree days before the voyage, he filled his days with friends, exercise, sleep and relaxation. Monday finally faded to Tuesday morning and there was Chet’s red Porsche pulling up outside his bedroom. He jumped into his blue UCLA shorts and hustled to the door. Chet grabbed his recorder and notepad and walked to the steps. He looked a bit different, having doffed his newsman’s uniform of coat and tie for a sporty golfer’s outfit—a short sleeved autumn tan and light green striped shirt with matching green Sans-a-Belt slacks. He had the biceps of a gymnast, something hidden from his TV audience by his mandatory ‘6 o’clock News’ suit coat and tie. As all anchormen, he was handsome. Mid-fifties, full head of graying brown hair and a smile that put everyone at ease, no wonder his program had been ranked number one for years. Even if he just sat and smiled he’d have all the women in the nation gawking. But he consistently got the inside stories that escaped his competition. Nine Emmy’s in a row for the best news program.
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“Well Chet, you made it to my hideaway, eh?”
“Yes commander, what a view!”
“Let me walk you around the deck and point out a few things. You know, this area was developed by some early film stars as a getaway in the 1920s. Clark Gable and C.B. deMille were among the original owners here. My dad almost bought Gable’s old hunting lodge. It’s on the other side of that ridge. But he bought this mountain top and built the house himself. Can you see that road beyond the white bridge on the far end of the lake?”
“Ya.”
“Up to the right of that you can see the intersection with Mulholland Drive. Just to the right is Ronald Reagan’s old ranch. He used to jump his horses right there. But he sold it to Twentieth Century Fox as part of their movie ranch. The ranch extends about four miles east to Malibu Canyon Road. Twentieth sold it to the state, so it is now the Malibu Creek State Park. Malibu Creek comes into the lake up there beyond that white bridge, then at the south end of the lake, that is below the house across the street, there is a dam that creates the lake. The overflow from the dam continues as Malibu Creek and it flows to the ocean south—in that direction.”
"And Gulliver Returns" Book 1 Reversing Overpopulation--The Planet's Doomsday Threat Page 3