SOME of my favorite structures are churches. I love the way outside light fills their sanctuaries and how their arches stretch toward the heavens.

Several years ago, my neighbor, Roger Powers, was associate pastor at Montclair Presbyterian. I occasionally went there to hear his sermons, thinking the congregation was vibrant and energetic but the space in which they worshipped — not very inspiring.

That all changed when the Thornhill Drive church completed a major renovation and earthquake retrofit two weeks ago. It’s a stunning transformation, turning an old 1950s A-frame into an inviting sanctuary with soaring arches and sparkling skylights. “When we gather,” says the Rev. Karen Stokes, “there is a lot of laughter and joy in being together. We wanted our worship space to reflect that lightness.” The timing couldn’t have been better. The retrofit and remodel was completed just days before last month’s quake on the Hayward fault, with the epicenter at Joaquin Miller Park.

E-MAIL BAG: Reader Brenna Coker sends out a “thank you” for my recent piece on the mountain lion cubs that were spotted on Villanova Drive. “I was walking my dog this morning and heard a distinct growl coming from the bushes,” she writes, saying it was so alarming she immediately turned around and went home. “My back yard borders Huckleberry (Regional Preserve) and I have a new puppy that I take outside frequently. Thanks to your article I will be on the lookout and more careful.” He points out the section of Skyline (between Shepherd Canyon and Snake) which is “in desperate need of center stripes and reflectors. He sites the Montclair nature trail as another “accident waiting to happen. “On the bridge over Snake Road, there are vestigial poles (if the authorities are trying to keep out motor vehicles it makes no sense to put a barrier in the MIDDLE rather than at the entries to the path), but worse, there is a post hole studded with metal that is not visible from the bridge. Some day a biker, stroller or jogger is going to go flying with a very negative result.” In regards to my recent rant on parked cars along narrow hills streets, reader Bill Hogan says: “There are other areas of Montclair that present serious safety hazards.”

On the flip side, reader Chuck Harrison brings us some good news regarding the pitted and potholed stretch of sidewalk from Montclair Elementary School to the library. “After 30 years of woeful neglect,” he says, the walkway is being resurfaced.”This is a EUREKA event worthy of three column photographs in The Montclarion next Friday,” he enthusiastically declares. Sorry, Chuck, but sidewalk photos just don’t cut it with the Town Crier. I’ll assume this paragraph paints an adequate picture.

PROUD MOMENT: Montclair’s popular UPS driver, Jeff Acosta, had some priceless cargo in his truck the other day. He was delivering his son’s new children’s book to the Book Tree on La Salle Avenue. Jeffrey Acosta, 20, wrote and illustrated “Adventures in Colurland” with the help of four friends while attending Liberty High in Brentwood. “I’m very proud of him” says Jeff, who says his son had to overcame a form of autism to write the book and plans to study elementary education at UC Davis next fall.

ANIMAL TALES: Next time you take your hound on a trail walk, you may want to have a dolly handy. Phil Meads had to push and prod with all his might recently when his big dog collapsed near the Skyline gate of Redwood Regional Park. When he finally got his companion to the vet, they ran a battery of tests to the tune of $1,900. “We never did find out what was wrong,” says Meads, but his walks now include an exit plan.

STEP RIGHT UP and see a man twist himself into an aerial pretzel. It’s all under the “big top” at Trapeze Arts in Oakland. Stephan Gaudreau is the owner of this popular circus school and is himself a professional trapeze artist. In fact, he’s one of the only performers who can do a triple somersault high in the air on the flying trapeze. I had a chance to see his school in action the other day, and was duly impressed. Kids and teens were learning tricks on the trampoline, and there were trapeze bars and tight ropes and all kinds of other fun stuff in his indoor circus center at Ninth and Pine in West Oakland.

Trapeze Arts is coming to the Lawrence Hall of Science on Aug. 15 for a free show (with the price of admission). Catch their act and you might just catch the bug to be in the circus yourself one day.

E-MAIL BAG: A chorus of readers has chimed in on my recent column about parking problems in the hills. Laura Curtis says she notices how hard it is to get around congested streets on her way to Sibley Regional Park. She also worries about the impact the expansion of St. John’s Church might have on parking along Thornhill Drive.

Reader Charles Bret blames the high homeowners’ insurance costs, in part, on “all the cars parked on our narrow streets while garages are full of junk or illegal in-laws.” He wishes Oakland would have the guts to do what they do in San Francisco and either ticket or tow cars if they are creating a hazard.

Chuck Harrison would like the Town Crier to keep a running log of reader complaints on this subject, including problem locations and even license plate and photo identification. Chuck — I don’t mind getting in the mud, but this sounds like quicksand to me.

CAT TRACKS: Living in the hills has its hazards. Kristi Hanelt says her son, Kristian, spotted two mountain lion cubs on Villanova Drive a couple of weeks ago. If that weren’t surprising enough, one of the kitties hissed and growled at him. “One cat was on the side of the road and the other was camouflaged in the grasses,” she says, adding they were pretty big for cubs, about 18 inches tall and between 20 and 30 pounds with lots of spots on their coats. While it’s a thrill to see these cats up close, the danger, of course, is that “mom” may be nearby. Kristian realized this, got back in his car, and contacted the the East Bay Regional Park District as fast as he could. They haven’t been spotted since.

FEATHERED FIASCO: Speaking of animal tales, Lynn Orloff Jones has been having some bad luck with her bird. She’s run over it twice with her rolling desk chair. The first time it happened, the little guy had to wear a cast on his leg. The second time, she flattened part of the wing, too. Apparently the bird still adores her, but now when he enters the study, it’s on a wing and a prayer.

HER COMPLEXION was as fresh as a Georgia peach. In fact, every girl seemed to have a pinkish hue in this college town of Athens, Ga. Maybe it was the weather — hot and humid and not unlike a steam bath at the local gym. But it didn’t deter my daughter, as this week we followed her dream to tour several Southern schools.

The University of Georgia was high on the list since she wanted a big Southern football school. My teen apparently had no problem with the image of 30,000 rabid fans barking for hours during a Georgia Bulldogs game.

Athens is a young, hip, college town built snugly around the UGA campus. It’s like Berkeley without hippies, but with the funky stores and tiny sandwich shops and countless venues for live music. In fact, Athens is known for its music scene, with bands such as REM and the B 52s calling it home.

The architecture in Athens is stately Southern, with old, ivy-covered brick buildings and proud colonial mansions. Even our hotel, the Foundry Park Inn, was reminiscent of a Southern plantation with its own renowned music venue, the Melting Point, in an old foundry on its lush grounds.

I was impressed with Athens and could see my teen fitting right in, despite growing up in a culture of California smugness. But I encouraged her to keep looking, incorporating some of my own favorite towns in the mix.

Chattanooga, Tennessee has a branch of the University of Tennessee that is well regarded.

“I know it doesn’t sound cool to say

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Chattanooga,” I told my daughter, “but this town has lots to offer.”

I proceeded to take her on a tour that would impress even the most skeptical teenager.

“It’s kitschy,” I said as we drove up the side of Lookout Mountain to Rock City. A slice of Americana, the Rock City gardens were advertised on barns across several states in the years leading to and following World War II. Rock City is 75 this year and one of those comforting attractions that reminds us we can still go back in time.

Lookout Mountain has another natural wonder — Ruby Falls. We switched on lanterns for a nighttime tour of the half-mile cave that led to a glorious underground waterfall. I shuddered when I thought of the man who discovered it — crawling on his belly through a narrow crack in the earth — following the sound of water to this impossibly beautiful place. There was no belly crawling on our tour, but it was just as exciting to take the elevator shaft down to the dark, dank tunnel with its ancient rock formations.

From the World War II duck boats, we took on the Tennessee River to the riverfront aquarium and the Wilderness Drive-in Theatre in a farmer’s field (a drive-in so popular it has the world’s largest outdoor screens), Chattanooga had it all, as far as I was concerned.

But was it all about me, and my college-town expectations? Or was I supposed to let go and let her decide? I felt a twinge of guilt every time I brought it up.

As we toured our last Southern campus, the University of North Carolina in Chapel Hill, my daughter said candidly: “Maybe I’ll just stay in California.”

Not wanting to put pressure on her, I said, “You have plenty of time to decide.”

Regardless of her decision, I feel good that I took time to show her schools in other parts of the country — places like Minnesota, the Dakotas, and the Bible Belt.

They are regions with cultures so different from that of the Bay Area.

Will she end up choosing a school so far away? Only time will tell.

But thinking back to that night at the country drive-in, when whole families got out of their cars to throw Frisbees under the Georgia moon, I know the trip was worth it.

MY DAD WAS driving down the highway, pumping his fists and singing “My Way” to an old Frank Sinatra tape. The champagne-brown Mercury Sable (premium edition, as he likes to point out) rolled merrily past the endless expanse of chin-high corn and long stalks of prairie grass dancing in the persistent Dakota breeze.

“Stop that crazy noise!” my mom piped up from the back seat, as she often did to get a rise out of dad. Then, turning to my teenage daughter, she added: “You’re lucky. You can tune it out with your iPod.”

“So can you,” quipped my dad. “Just turn down your hearing aids.” The idea, not a new one by any means, always got a laugh.

It was the annual summer road trip and reunion, with four intrepid travelers spanning three generations. This wasn’t for the fainthearted. In fact, my husband and son had opted out years ago. But my dad, mom and daughter found the strength, if not the joy, in continuing this American tradition.

Among the many highlights:

The revelation that two people in the car could be freezing while two others were sure they would die without the air conditioning cranked up too high.

“If you’re cold, put on a sweater,” I suggested with the best of motherly intentions. My teenager was wearing shorts and a tank top that could have been made from two dinner napkins.

“If you’re hot,” the voice from the back seat retorted, “take off something.”

“I can’t. I’m practically naked as it is,” I replied, mildly irritated at the suggestion I might be going through the midlife “change.””Eeeeewwwww!” said the teenager.

“That’s more information than I want to hear,” offered dad.

This kind of scintillating dialogue continued for days as we drove past the red barns and silos and occasional flock of pheasants eating road gravel to digest their food. At night, we took it up a notch.

“Everyone gets one towel,” announced my dad as we checked into our motel room in Jamestown, the home of western novelist Louie L’Amour. This was the Wild West, and Dad was taking charge like the new sheriff in town. He laid down the law about bedtime, too.

“Mom and I are hitting the sack right after the news,” he said firmly. That meant lights out for the teen and the “tweener.”

My daughter resisted, but I reminded her that traveling with the folks was like crossing several time zones, and we’d better try to adapt.

Another revelation: 6 a.m. comes around fast when you’re up half the night reading by flashlight. We had ignored the warning to turn in early the night before and stayed up until midnight. Now we were paying the price as mom turned on the coffee pot just inches from my left ear. Blip … gurgle … drip. It was an ancient water torture mom used to get the family moving and on schedule.

Bismarck by 10 a.m. That was her plan, and there was no wiggle room. My daughter and I shuffled down to breakfast and returned for our predetermined shifts in the bathroom. Dad packed the car with the precision of a puzzlemaker, placing each roller bag in just the right spot in the trunk. It was truly a work of art.

So was the manner in which he drove down the highway to our family reunion in Bismarck, and a second gathering in Aberdeen. Each time he stopped for gas, he calculated the mileage.

“We’re getting 31 miles to the gallon,” he would announce with the pride of a traveling salesman.

It was comments like these that used to slip past me. I’d spend much of my time reading or sleeping on the Dakota road trips of my youth.

But now, I’m keenly aware of time fading away. Each year, it gets harder for my parents to make the trip. Relatives are growing old, and towns like Eureka, my birthplace, are struggling to survive.

“This could be our last trip out here,” Dad said, matter-of-factly. I wonder if it’s true. Then I realize the laughter and the lessons we’ve learned about family love and patience will never die. The memories of these Dakota road trips will stay with us long after my dad’s Mercury Sable logs its last mile.

THE TOWN CRIER has a bone to pick about parking. It’s a meaty topic as a growing number of hills dwellers park their cars on the street.

Many folks feel it’s their right to park in front of their own home. Perhaps they’ve converted their garage into a living space or it’s simply full of stuff — too valuable to toss but not good enough to bring in the house. Is it fair, though, to block a lane of traffic with their vehicle?

On many hills streets, it’s a dangerous indulgence — a seemingly selfish act that forces motorists to go around parked cars on narrow, blind curves. It increases the rate of accidents and the blood pressure of drivers who have to maneuver around obstacles just to get home. It’s also the source of a lot of chatter, right now, on Montclair’s Yahoo listserv (you can sign up at http://www.montclairsic.org).

While many residents are clearly frustrated (especially on Florence Terrace where a number of the old homes were built without garages), it’s not an easy problem to address. How do you legislate street parking?

As the mother of a young driver told me recently, it’s a matter of safety. Her daughter’s car was hit, recently, by a motorist who was forced out of his lane by a car parked on a blind curve.

The neighbor who owned the parked vehicle felt terrible and moved the car immediately. Let’s hope it doesn’t take an accident to spur action in your neighborhood.

ON THE TOWN: The joke was on me the other night at Alameda’s Altarena Playhouse. I had invited two girlfriends (one was a new godmother to the other’s infant twins) to the opening of “Oh My Godmother!” –billed as a Cinderella story with a San Francisco twist.

“Twist” was right. Cinderella was a guy and his “godmother” was the flamboyant male owner of a costume shop. During the intermission, I spotted an older couple I knew, and asked them how they liked the show. They admitted they were as surprised as we were about the storyline. Still, they laughed heartily at the slapstick bits and hilarious dialogue. The acting, we agreed, was superb and the live orchestra added much to the enjoyment of the show. Live theatre is always a lot of fun. In this case, it was also an adventure.

DINNER WITH STRINGS: It’s always a treat to have live music with dinner, but when the instrument is a harp, it’s just heavenly. Angel Simmons (yes, that’s her real name) plays the harp two Friday nights a month at Terzetto’s Restaurant in Moraga. There’s something about soft music that makes you savor your food and drink. It lends itself to warm conversation and may even help with digestion. That’s probably why it’s striking a chord in this bedroom community.

SIPPING AND DIPPING: I discovered a whole new way to be a wine snob the other evening. A friend at the Montclair Bistro poured a fine French wine into a Vinturi aerator, which allowed it to breathe almost instantly. In the time it took to gurgle through the clear acrylic device, the wine opened up with a delightful bouquet and smooth finish. I felt so hip as I sipped my aerated wine and nibbled on an incredible antipasta plate with lightly marinated vegetables and other goodies. The Vinturi aerator — $34.95. The antipasta plate — $10.

The coolness factor — priceless.

On the surface, it seems like a busy Oakland salon — customers getting haircuts and highlights and nail treatments and such. But underground, there’s a secret subterranean spa where some of the city’s best skin work and massages are being done.

James Daviees and Amanda Miller have worked magic with a space that once served as storage for Dina’s Coiffures, 4201 Park Blvd. They’ve designed two perfectly appointed studios in which they do deep, restorative work.

For a longtime customer like me, the spa is an amazing transformation. The calming colors, the soft music, the warm welcome you get when you descend the stairs. And Daviees and Miller are experts in body work.

Daviees’ touch transcends that of the normal massage. It’s as if you can feel the energy leaving his fingertips and charging your cells. His gentle manner let’s you know he’s not just there to work out the kinks in your muscles, but to lighten your mood and lift your spirits.

Miller’s expertise is facials. As a graduate of women’s studies at Duke University, she’s made it her mission to help woman have healthy, glowing skin. Over a cup of healing tea, she shares tips about diet and fitness — then goes to work nurturing your face with a special blend of hydrating, organic products.

Thinking about what Daviees and Miller have done with Dina’s Salon, I’m reminded of all kinds of metaphors. But simply put, here in this underground grotto are two very cool people.

FACE LIFT: It’s a bit of an eyesore now, but Montclair’s Pacific National Bank should be a real beauty by fall. The building is being remodeled into a state-of-the-art banking center, complete with an Internet café where customers can do online banking while they enjoy a free cup of coffee. You’ll also see a name change, as it becomes California Savings Bank when the dust settles.

E-MAIL BAG: With wildfires raging around the state, reader Mike Spencer reminds us to keep our eyes open for suspicious activity in the tinder-dry hills. He says he spotted and reported a brush fire recently while walking his dog along Dimond Canyon trail.

“The fire department arrived pretty quickly,” he wrote, “and got the trail gate unlocked to go put out the fire.”

What concerned Spencer was the fact that he’d just seen a group of kids in the area.

“Those kids either started the fire or saw the fire starting as they came up from the trail,” he wrote.

He gave the description of the kids to the fire captain, but doesn’t know if the youths were questioned.

Regardless, it was Spencer’s quick thinking that prevented the fire from burning out of control.

Let’s all be “heads up” this fire season.

IN THE LIMELIGHT: It’s a bird, it’s a plane . . . it’s a former Bishop O’Dowd High School student dressed as a comic book super hero. Aja DeCoudreaux is one of the contestants this season on the Sci Fi network’s reality show “Who Wants to be a Superhero.” A talented fashion designer, Aja made her costume entirely out of junk: old bike inner tubes, wire, fabric and other throwaways. Her superhero is th

IMAGINE A RACE where your brain rates as high as your body. The sport of orienteering pairs speed with navigational skills, and the man who brought it to the Bay Area lives right here in Montclair.

Joe Scarborough has always been an outdoorsman. As a marathon runner, he discovered orienteering in Scandinavia, where it’s so popular today that races are often televised.

“It’s the thinking man’s sport,” he says, since it combines compass and map-reading skills with speed and agility.

Years ago, Scarborough set up a course in the redwood forest of Joaquin Miller Park. It’s got all kinds of navigational challenges, including steep grades, streams and areas so rugged, they’re impassable. Along the route, there are checkpoints (called control features) that let you know you’re on the right track, and a map of the course is available on Scarborough’s Web site, http://www.orienteer.com.

If this kind of adventure racing sounds like fun to you, check out the BAOC’s next race in Joaquin Miller Park on July 21st. You can get more information on their Web site, http://www.baoc.org.

PICKY THIEVES: With the rise in auto theft in Oakland, it seems nothing can be left in your vehicle these days. Not true. Reader Wanda Hennig says when her stolen car was recovered recently, the thieves had taken an eclectic mix of her favorite CD’s. (Macy Gray and others).

They left, untouched, her collection of Polish music CD’s.

GOOD BUZZ: I ran into a group of ranchers at the Alameda County Fair the other day. Their livestock was bees — working hard to make honey in a glass-enclosed hive. Apiarys in Oakland? Apparently so — and the buzz on their nectar is good. With a hint of eucalyptus, the honey is refreshing and sweet and the perfect compliment for your morning muffin and tea. You can find out more about Alameda beekeepers on the Web at honeybee.com/beeclubs.

ART SCENE: When it comes to painting, the Oakland hills offer plenty of inspiration. So it’s no wonder that local artist Laura Siegel loves to paint the undulating terrain around Mount Diablo.

Her work is being featured at Montclair Gallery (1986 Mountain) this month, along with colorful images of two other favorite sites — Kauai and Bellagio, Italy. Laura draws much of her inspiration from her dad, who passed away a few years back. An avid photographer, his work was once featured with Laura’s at a father/daughter show at the Metropolitan Transportation Commission Gallery. Today, Laura teaches painting at several locations, including Piedmont Adult School.

GREAT NIGHT OUT: San Francisco has Pearls, Oakland has Yoshi’s and now Orinda has its own classy jazz venue. The Orinda House (just down from the Orinda Theatre) is bringing in some great musicians — guys who’ve played with big names like Tommy Dorsey, Glenn Miller and Lou Rawls. The music director, Bob Belanski packed the house last Saturday night when he brought in London cabaret singer Holly Penfield (an Orinda native). Playful, petite and a powerful singer, Penfield lit up the restaurant and bar like a fireworks display. This place offers something we don’t have in the Montclair — a venue with live jazz and R&B bands Thursday through Sunday. It’s worth the short drive.