Masma Roadtrip: To the coast

Before jumping into the details of the second day of our trip I should mention that Florence, aka Masma, was cremated, much like her husband Jim, aka Paspa, when he passed on nearly ten years ago. Seeing her remains as a mass of ashes really brought meaning to the scripture, "for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return."

All of the events of this day include Masma being with us.

The second day of our road-trip of rememberance began with a trip out to picturesque Donner Lake, where our Truckee based group of McAllister men gathered to remember Florence. Nate led us to a quiet spot close to the eastern shore of the lake. Memories and laughs were shared. The feeling was very light and enjoyable.

Nate remembered Masma's lemonade, and I talked about Masma's dedication to keeping her mind sharp - always completing the daily crossword in the newspaper. Brent offered a prayer while uncle Peter led us all in a buddhist chant.

The chant that Peter taught us said, "Nam myoho renge kyo." I don't remember what each word meant, but I remember that he mentioned that it had something to do with devotion.

After snapping some pictures and exchanging farewells, we let Nate get back to his workday while the rest of us descended the western slopes of the Sierras, on our way to the coast. We didn't take the most direct route to our destination. While passing through Sacramento we stopped off to see the temple that was built since the days I served there as a missionary.

Once we crossed the Bay Bridge into San Francisco we exited the Interstate and drove along the Embarcadero to see the city and the piers along the bay. We made our way through the north side of the city, up by the Golden Gate Bridge, and latched onto scenic Highway 1. This is a stretch of road that hugs the Pacific coast, and is considered one of the most beautiful drives in the world.

We started in Pacifica, just outside of San Francisco, and made our way south toward Pigeon Point. The fog overtook the Golden Gate bridge and covered our drive down the coast. It wasn't until we came to Pigeon Point, where we could see our destination at Franklin Point, that the sun brooke through. The timing was perfect as the sun lit the beach where we were heading and little else.

Bill and Peter were waiting for us at the head of the trail that led out to the point. Bill's older son Joe pulled up moments after our arrival. We trekked through the sand and dune grass out to the point where we had laid Paspa's ashes nearly a decade earlier. We shared a similar moment as that morning in Truckee with prayer and chanting before Peter - the youngest, and probably most nimble of the three brothers - scampered out onto the farthest rock point and laid his mother's ashes to rest in the sea.