Saturday in Santa Monica . . .

You won't see scenes of the ocean on this blog entry though that's the first thing one thinks of when hearing the name Santa Monica.

Today, I'm starting out with ice skating! and then moving on to some scenes around the lively Third Street Promenade that ends in an airy out door mall that just opened a few months ago.

Kittens ready for adoption

The food court is on the highest level. Looking out over its glass railing you can see the Ferris wheel on Santa Monica Pier and, yes, the ocean! From another spot on the top tier of the mall you can look down the entire length of the Promenade and see the mountains which didn't quite make it into my shot. Maybe if you click on it to make it larger, you might just see a faint mountain range. Winter in LA finds people in flip flops and heavy duty quilted down coats. The cool temperatures invite as many layers as you'd like. One of the motivators to bring me to Santa Monica today was a craving for blintzes and I knew of one huge deli at the end of the Promenade but when I got there, it was closed! That's when I kept walking and discovered Santa Monica Place.

Fearless or Foolish?

In our risk averse lifestyles we look at each other silently assessing. Some risk in business. Some risk in relationships. Some risk by staying locked in to "secure" jobs to avoid the risks that others see as opportunities. It's all very subjective and each of us has his/her own risk threshold. When I was out walking at Eaton Canyon right after our deluge, I saw this dad—two babes in arms—balancing his way across the rapids. I was astounded at what to me was a terrible risk. I could see the toddler heads already smashed pumpkins against the rocks when his foot could so easily slip, or so I thought as I held my breath until he made it to the other side. In my opinion, it was irresponsible foolishness to try such a feat. To him it was whatever it was, not scary. And so we take our steps day after day, never quite knowing if we are being fearless or foolish. And those are words spoken in silence by those who watch. The challenge: is to name the risk, define it—and only each one of us can do that. No one can do it for us. And then, just take the next step!

Simple lines, so sublime . . .

The sun is finally back in the phrase "sunny California."

Out walking today around the Rose Bowl I saw the simple, sensual lines of this tree that stopped me in my tracks. Like the crease of flesh at the elbow, behind the knee, between the legs, this form had all the sculptural and sensual completeness of a human form with roots.

Other lines of these simple, painted planks of wood that closed off all the streets around the parade grounds in Pasadena are lying inert waiting to be retrieved and stored for the next parade.

Last night at John Lithgow's opening performance of "Stories by Heart" at the Mark Taper Forum I was reminded of how we never outgrow our hunger for stories. This is what the stage looked like before he entered to take us on a trip into the magic of the stories that played a major part in his life. Stories he knows by heart. Being in LA, the center of a storytelling culture, reminded me, too, of how we are all storytellers even if we don't realize it.

Some scenes outside the Taber.

No rain on this parade! . . .

A chilly but sunny day welcomed close to two hours of floats and bands and crowds and horse poop scoopers who decked all in white overalls ran after the stallions so that the subsequent marchers didn't have to look down. I got to the end of Allen Ave and Colorado around 9:30, having missed the first moments of the parade but I soon scrunched my way into the crowd from where I took some of these pictures. Even though I don't generally gravitate towards crowds and these kinds of events, I felt that my blog followers deserved at least a couple of images of this event that kept me standing still on that corner for close to an hour and a half.

You can't always get what you want . . .

But if you try real hard, you get what you need! In a cloud of inexperience I walked up to the volunteer coordinators today at various Float Decorating sign-in tents only to find that they were overflowing with recruits who had signed up on line, many of them months ahead. Walk-ins weren't getting in. Not wanting to walk away without having seen anything, I paid $10 for a ticket which enabled me to travel along a catwalk high above all the float making activity so that I could see what all the other volunteers were doing. I actually saw a whole lot more grazing over the activity than I would have had I been assigned to only one float. Next year, if I do a second snow bird stay in LA, I'll be sure to sign up early enough if I want some hands-on connection to the flower blossoms, seed, vegetation and all things natural that are attached meticulously to the floats by the river of volunteers who are making these giant objects (average cost per float: $300K) come alive for New Year's Day Parade in Pasadena.

Here are some scenes from my overview. Enjoy!

After seven days! The rain finally stopped and x-mas appeared. Scenes of LA/Orange County at the holiday

Settling in for the LA winter, everything here looks new to me.

When the rain finally stopped in Pasadena, huge wind-torn palm fronds splayed themselves along the streets.
Pasadena front yard in full display

Even though it was raining in Orange County Christmas night,
it arrived after a two day reprieve so we could bear it.

Walking along the boardwalk at Balboa Island/Newport CA on Christmas Day

My fantasy boat

Eucalyptus tree? Bark like concrete

So LA!

Pacing myself into Pasadena . . .

After a mammoth effort to close down my large Somerville studio and to vacate my Boston condo in search of my snow bird Pasadena wings, I'm finding myself with an empty iCal. And it feels uncomfortable/good and uncomfortable/bad. Sleeping has been at the top of the list to recharge the batteries: physical, mental, and spiritual. A yoga studio is barely a mile away, and all the usual haunts—Trader Joe's, Whole Foods, Target—not much farther. Yes, I've traveled 3K miles from home but it's not a foreign country.


Yesterday I attempted to hike the little-known Bailey Canyon in Sierra Madre, with views over the San Gabriel Valley at Bailey Canyon Wilderness Park. I got about a quarter of the way up this 3000 foot climb and turned around knowing it's best to start small and work my way up to the top. Maybe by March I'll be able to make the top but for now I'm easing in.

In any case, I felt I earned a breakfast at the local Sierra Madre coffee shop where we were serenaded by students out x-mas caroling.

Getting a library card was a lot easier and I even found—through the help of a local Altadena friend—a book group I can join. We're reading a little known Steinbeck novel, To a God Unknown which is so far reading like a biblical text.