I want to start a movement to preserve all western motels built in the 50’s. They require protection as cultural historical monuments. It must have been a design that worked, because each motel is a perfect replica of the other. The main ingredient was cement. Everything was concrete, except for the little bit of grass that grew under the motel sign, the bright colored carpeting, the plastic tub, and the water in the pool.

Motel pools make me sad. Hotel pools seem happy. They have everything, landscaping, furniture, bars, lifeguards, and lighting. The motel pool never had more than one umbrella. Moms accumulated at the umbrella, which was usually placed in one corner near the fence.

The cement that is poured around motel pools is specially designed to torture young children. It can get hotter than any cement in the world. You can’t walk on it. Moms got the umbrella. Children get one small white towel to protect them from the cement and the sun. It was the only towel you got. It was yours to use at the pool and later for showering.

The only thing that smelled more of chlorine than your towel was the pool water. There must be a law that requires motel pools to be minimum 50% chlorine. The water was perfect for water fights. One hard splash into the eyes and your cousin, brother, sister whoever your family brought along on vacation was perfect payback for whatever they had done to you those long hours in the backseat. If you became blind you new you had to find your way to the umbrella and Mom.

The best motels came equipped with a diner. This is where I developed my secret love of vinyl, primary colors, and great cuisine. What is better than dry over cooked beef stacked on white bread, topped with coffee colored gravy dripping on watery unsalted, but heavily buttered mashed potatoes, and boiled green peas? Dessert was always chocolate ice cream served in a cold metal dish.

It was in these diners where I learned to understand flavors, and that there was one delicious flavor you could always count on, no matter where you went, Coca Cola. That is my first conscience memory that a flavor is something you could treasure.

A lot of time has passed. I know those motels are still there, waiting patiently for new guests to pull in. I just stopped going to them. The family vacations stopped. I turned 17 and summer vacation changed. I had my own car. Pools were out. They were replaced by beaches with exotic names like Newport, Malibu, and Venice. No more relatives, there were girls in bikinis now named Sue, Lila, and Nola. Water fights were replaced by really wonderful things like hickeys. But, even with all those changes I could always be sure of Coke.

Summer is my favorite time of the year. I still love the beach. I still love to hang out with girls even if they are no longer named Sue, Lila and Nola. But, some things have changed. I have to wear hats. My hair is no longer long. I drink Coke only occasionally now, and it has to be diet. Thing is, it does not really go with guacamole and chips, or fish tacos. I have begun to like other flavors as well. So, I drink Portuguese Verdehlo, the one that I make, my special blend, that I call Civello. Hey, at my age, a drink that comes with a cork is more exciting to me than one that comes with a straw.

Postscript April 2010
After what seems like a hundred years, while on a business trip in Southern California, I met Nola for lunch near the beach. It wasn’t summer, it was spring, and she didn’t let me give her a hicky. Still, it was fun seeing her.

If you would like to try Ricardo’s recipe for guacamole go to the civellowinery.com website.