Where does the time go?

It's been eighteen and a half years since I moved to Los Angeles.  I remember most of what happened down there like it was yesterday and I moved back to Northern CA nine and a half years ago.  Granted, life up here is a lot quieter, more slowly paced and definately not as exciting; but come on... almost ten years!  I still miss a lot about SoCal.  There was ALWAYS something to do.  Even at midnight on a weeknight you could find something going on within an hour's driving distance.  Parties, casual gatherings, plays (or rehearsals for same), movies, dinners at diners or if you were in a contemplative (read: romantic) mood - there was always a walk on the beach.  

 Of course, I wasn't usually out at midnight.  I stayed busy enough during the daytime.  

I wonder now how I survived.  Life as a speeding bullet; yeah, that's the way to live!!  I guess I'm getting old: now just give me a quiet morning walk in a green meadow along a brook lined with spring flowers.  I'll gladly substitute birdsong for honking horns and screaming sirens any day!

Rockin' Around the Merry-go-'Round

Remember the little one frame cartoons from the seventies; lil' naked girl and lil' naked boy explaining what "Love Is..."? I have a memory from my life in Los Angeles that sums it up really well.

I hadn't been in L.A. very long when I expressed a burning desire to see the ocean. I am passionate about the ocean. My gentleman-friend offered to take me to the almost famous pier at Santa Monica beach and I was a happy puppy!

Well, by the time we ate lunch and found a place to park it was getting late in the afternoon. I had to walk on the beach barefoot ! - mandatory for oceanic enjoyment - and of course I wanted to ride the Merry-Go-'Round. And yes, I was a full grown adult at the time- but who wants to ACT like one?? My squeeze says to me; "Let's see the rest of the pier and we'll catch that on the way back to the car." Oh, okay. There is a lot to see and do at the Santa Monica Pier.

When we meandered back to the Merry-Go-'Round and walked up to the ticket lady, she announced that she was closing the gate. We had just missed the last ride of the day. I suppose my disappointment was written all over my face. "Oh well" I said, "we'll catch it another time." Me, trying to be a grown-up. The machines started moving the brightly painted and gilded animals and a lovely waltz plays while children smile and wave to the adults on the sidelines.

But this wonderful man would have none of it. Suddenly, I'm caught up in dance position and we're off! He waltzed me around the floor, nearly as fast as the Merry-Go-'Round itself. Around, and around, and around. I was laughing, he was laughing, the people standing were clapping, the kids were squealing with delight.

I fell in Love.

And, well into the New Year

Where I live now, it's raining. We've had more snow than we have had in the past 8 years. The creeks are high, the hills are green and at this point in mid-February the trees are starting to bud.

Where I used to live, in L.A., it is also raining. And raining. And raining. The Los Angeles river may actually have some water in it - that's a rarity. If any creeks are high, the people who live at their edges are frantically stacking sandbags. You see, rain - in a desert - usually leads to something dramatic. Like flash flooding. Normally, that's because the soil/sand/dirt is packed so tight the water can't penetrate quickly and so it runs off. In L.A., the concrete and asphalt that covers what used to be soil/sand/dirt is packed way tighter than the earth could ever be. What's more, there are houses everywhere, so the water that would just naturally run to the sea is forced to take with it whatever isn't on poles, or anchored down. People for some reason, don't seem to understand the nature of things down there. They keep building on the sandy hills of Malibu, that every year are dowsed ever seaward. They tier more and more homes on water-logged man-made hills in the inland empire which despite the large black plastic sheeting landscape decor, tumble every year on top of one another.

The saddest calamity of all are the poor humans themselves which find running water so unique they insist on a close-up view of it as it rampages through the concrete drainage aquaducts. Inevitably, each year they step too close, bend over too far and end up plummeting down the way, trying to keep their head above water long enough for some under-paid, over-worked water rescue team to save their logic-impaired life.

Where I live now, the water all runs down hill, through natural creekbeds and rivers to the Delta where nobody tries to stop it. Nobody builds so close to the water that their homes and lifestyles are threatened by normal or even heavy rainfall. And I have NEVER heard of some idiot getting so close to the edge of a raging river that they lost their life to their stupidity. I think we grow our genes smarter in the hills.

I hope nobody dies this year from flooding or mudslides in Los Angeles.

Oh, Christmas Palm, Oh, Christmas Palm...

Where I live now, it is supposed to be cold in the month of December. Last weekend I was driving into town with the stupid AIR CONDITIONER on! Tell me that the seasons/weather patterns aren't changing, go ahead. It reminds me of Christmas in the desert.

Los Angeles is a desert. Underneath several billion tons of concrete, asphalt and metal is a land once arid. Christmas in such a place (as it was in Phoenix, AZ; but that's another blog) is hard to make believable to a country girl who saw her fair share of White Christmases as a child. The people do their very best, some of the most extravagant lighting techniques outside of Hollywood are outside the houses in Beverly Hills. I think the folks in L.A. feel they have something to prove. So they swirl tall desert palm trees in white lights, pretending it's snow, I suppose. In fact, many things are draped in white lights. It's pretty. In it's own way. But when the temperature never gets below 50 degrees, it makes believing it's Christmas really difficult!

Then, of course, is the Los Angeles version of the Holiday Spirit: "BUY, BUY, BUY! Buy, Buy, Buy! Christmas will be here. Don't let all these bargains pass, spend like you did last year. OH... (sung to Jingle Bells, of course). "Oh, let's go hear " The Christmas Story" at the Crystal Cathedral!" "Can't" "Why?" "The tickets cost too much!" TICKETS !??! The stores are all open late, the traffic swells to the point that gridlock has you down to .12mph., Christmas music of every conceivable genre screams 24/7. You have more shootings, more theft and more suicides than any other time of the year! Well, to be fair, that kind of attitude is endemic across the country. Can't blame it on L.A. alone.

I would (even without a gift in hand) rather just stand in an absolutely silent clearing in a forest of towering pine trees cloaked in the pristine white of snow and watch the sparkle that is reflected from the starry night and bright moon while I contemplate the miracle that is Love.

Happy Holidays Everyone!

A big city with a small town heart.

I had heard so many ugly rumours about Los Angeles that I was actually terrified of moving there. The saving grace was the fact that I wasn't going to live actually IN L.A.. I had a cozy little nest reserved for me up near the "mountains". (Heh, heh, heh... yeah, mountains. Listen, I grew up in the Sierra Nevada's and they are just foothills to the Rockies. I know from mountains and these weren't. But I digress...)
Yes, I started my adventure in the Big City actually in the hiccup in the Interstate called Gorman. And not even IN Gorman. Out behind the ATV park; seven miles from town. I had actually gone backwards in time to a life of no electricity, no running water and no (you got it) flush toilets. It was months before I even saw the "City".
When that time came though, I was astonished. I don't think even San Francisco, Dallas or Denver had prepared me for that many people, or automobiles, or lights. I remember one of my first thoughts was; "How can humanitarianism survive all these humans?" I thought it would be impossible to find anyone who even knew anyone else, much less care about them. I figured they had to all be strangers to each other.
Then I attended a Holiday party. The folks were all smiling, and polite! At one point in the evening an announcement was made regarding a fellow that was known to the group and his unfortunate accident that had landed him in the hospital. His situation was such that every day away from his job put his family at risk of losing their home.
Without waiting for the announcement to conclude, one gentleman reached for his wallet... then another, and another.
Humanitarianism is alive and well in the "Big City".

The day the pidgeon died.

I still hadn't gotten used to driving in So.CA. Oh, I'd pretty much gotten over the nightmares of thousands of cars all coming straight toward me; all bigger, heavier, with more horsepower and me in my very tiny tin can. It was the the challenge of finding the right street/freeway exit/page in the Thomas Bros. mapbook that was holding me up.
That's why on this particular day, I was feeling pretty good about things - well, okay - about myself. I'd found the establishment that I was looking for without any trouble. The other idiots... oops, I mean drivers on the roads were keeping a respectful distance. The sun was shining and the sky, for once, was actually blue! Life was good.
Then, just as I drove under a railroad overpass, something large and dark grey and airborne slammed like a RPG into my windshield! The glass didn't break, thank you Fate! Then I saw the "Rat with Wings" bounce off the window and roll off the hood of my car.
I'd killed a pidgeon.
Like an idiot, I swerved trying not to run over my hapless victim. The dead one. And in the same instant realized that I was going to ruin my good driving record for the day be causing a major accident. The tears of fear and shock were filling my eyes; I knew I had to get off the road.
Once I was stopped in the parking lot of the Western Bagels store, I gave in to the shudders and sobs. My significant other inquired innocently why I was reacting the way I was. After all, it was just a pidgeon.
"But I killed it!" I cried. (I love animals... hurting an animal is an anathema to me, much less to kill one.)
"No you didn't" he said calmly. "You see, it's all a part of pidgeon evolution. Man builds artificial nesting sites - like a concrete overpass - and the pidgeons feel it is their duty to protect their nests. So, they dive-bomb the cars that continue to invade their nesting area. You didn't hit the bird. He hit you!"

Suicidal Pidgeons, who knew?