Sleeping habits

Some people like to sleep on their side.

Others like to sleep on their tummies.


Still others like to curl up in a little ball to keep warm.

But some folks like to let it all hang out.

Until someone give you a belly tickle.

Then all bets are off.

Christmas decorating

It's almost Christmas. I know that a lot of people love holiday decorations, and love decorating their own homes, and enjoy holiday activities.

But me? It's hard for me to get excited about Christmas. Honestly, I think my career ruined it for me.

At one point in my theatrical career, I had a steady job at a large event facility for several years, and my department was responsible for decorating the place for Christmas. I guess you could say I was a professional Christmas decorator.

We started on Veterans' Day, and worked through the day before Thanksgiving, on the night shift. We hoisted 25-foot tall trees into place and strung lights from railings. We wore fall-arrest harnesses to ride up in telescoping personnel lifts, hanging snowflakes from the rafters and ornaments on the tree.

Our lift-baskets were stacked with boxes from China holding scores of identical plastic nutcrackers, gilt-plastic hunting horns, shiny red globes, styrofoam apples covered in bright red glazing, reindeer figures fashioned from bamboo splints, and glitter-sprinkled fake pointsettia blooms.

When you decorate on this scale, nothing is unique, special, or treasured. How's one plastic blue-coated nutcracker doll different from his red-coated counterpart? Or one glitter-spangled styrofoam ball special? Everything is crappy, everything is trash.

I did this every year for about eight years. By the time we held the great Lighting Ceremony on the day after Thanksgiving, I would be sick to death of Christmas.

[The Man I Love] is more Christmassy than I am. When I married, and Our Son was born, he got us a Christmas tree for our little bungalow. There was a hardware store down on Rainier Avenue called Chubby & Tubby where they sold trees for $5. We bought a few strings of lights and some glass globes. My contribution was a couple dozen cheap crappy Chinese ornaments, swiped from work, to flesh out our meager stock.

Decorating the tree at our house was always a little unsatisfying to me. I just felt irritated. [The Man I Love] was being inefficient, I thought; we weren't approaching it methodically, we were wasting time.

Finally one year, after another barely supressed sigh or impatient"tsk!" from me, he suddenly stopped what he was doing and stood straight up.

"Why don't you sit down over there," he said, pointing at the couch. He put a glass of wine in my hand. "You're treating this too much like Work. [Our Son] and I will decorate the tree. You just relax and watch, instead."

And so I did. I didn't think about any of it, just watched as the afternoon light faded, the last ornament was put in place, and the lights twinkled in the darkened room.

That was the best holiday gift I've had in a long time.

Thematic Photographic - Different

Each week Carmi at Written, Inc. has challenged readers with a theme for photographic inspiration. This week the photographic challenge continues with the theme DIFFERENT.


The wet winter of 2006 blew rain and storms through our canyon, and in the maelstrom this guy got blown off course and landed in our neighborhood.

He remained here for several weeks, perching on the rooftop of our neighbors down the street and eating dogfood from the dish they left outside.

One day he paid us a visit. He flew down from the road and landed on our roof. If you could call it flying - it was more like a controlled fall.

Do you know what it sounds like to have a peacock land on your roof?

It's different.

Pink Saturday - Childhood memories

Pink Saturday - Beverly, at the blog "How Sweet the Sound" hosts Pink Saturday. Let the color pink inspire you!

For the first three Pink Saturdays of December, she suggests posts in a holiday theme. For this Saturday, December 5, the theme is - "Tell us one of your childhood memories about a special holiday."

Christmas 1968, Cincinnati. My family had moved to a new town, I had a new school, new friends. I was in eighth grade - just entering my teens.

Christmas morning we began opening presents, Mom, Dad, my three brothers and me.

My brother B., Christmas 1970.

I don't remember my gifts except for two -

One, a stack of books, Dell Yearling paperback novels, from Mom and Dad. I was a voracious reader, and the only risk in giving me books was that I might have already read them.

Two, a green plastic berry basket, like the ones at the grocery, except instead of strawberries it was filled with dark pink and deep purple berry candies, wrapped in cellophane and tied with a ribbon. Each berry was a gumdrop coated with small round nonpareils. Although this was presented as a "Santa" gift, I am sure my mother chose this for me.

They're a gummi candy made by Haribo, called "German Raspberries" - although they are common today, at the age of 12 I had never seen such a thing before. I was enchanted by them, and by the cleverness of the presentation, as if they were real berries.

The Christmases of my childhood have blended and merged into one big memory of wrapping paper and pajamas and seeing my mother's handwriting on gift labels and warm breakfasts.


But this is one memory that has stayed with me as vividly as if it had happened today. I remember curling up on the couch reading "The Wolves of Willoughby Chase" and slowly eating those berries, holding them in my mouth, feeling the crunch between my teeth of the dissolving nonpareils, tasting the sweet bloom of flavor as I bit down into the soft jellied center. The rest of the room and indeed, the rest of my family disappears as I immerse myself in the adventures at Willoughby Hall with Bonnie Green and her delicate cousin Sylvia, as they try to foil the evil Miss Slighcarp and her schemes. All the while the snow blankets old England and the wolves range outside.

I don't eat many gumdrops these days, but during the Christmas season I sometimes get a craving for those German raspberries.

The amazing Chicken Boy

One of the most beloved landmarks in Los Angeles' Highland Park neighborhood is the famous Chicken Boy on Figueroa, atop the La Fuente No. 6 restaurant.

1973 Photo from Los Angeles Public Library

Chicken Boy is a 22 foot tall fiberglass statue that once graced a fried chicken restaurant in downtown L.A., on Broadway between 4th and 5th, across from the Grand Central Market.

He's well-built, likely influenced by the emphasis on health and glamor prevalent in Hollywood. His head is nicely coifed and his comb and wattle are neatly trimmed. He's holding a bucket that promises a tasty fried chicken dinner.

The look in his eyes has changed since 1981, though. He seems mellower, less confrontational. Is it because he's matured, with all his travels?

After being saved from demolition when his downtown restaurant closed, Chicken Boy spent many years in storage, while his fans searched for a new home for him. He had a brush with celebrity as the star of his own movie, a PBS documentary, and a guest appearance on a comedy radio show. Neverthless, he was still homeless. Finally, in October of 2007, a home was found for him, in Highland Park. You can read all about it here.

Los Angeles Public Library photo

Here he is at the height of his glory, on Broadway in 1981.

The look in his eyes has changed since 1981, though. He seems mellower, less confrontational. Is it because he's matured, with all his travels?

No longer homeless - Chicken Boy.

Thematic Photographic - Buildings

Each week Carmi at Written, Inc. has challenged readers with a theme for photographic inspiration. This week the photographic challenge continues with the theme BUILDINGS.


This complex of desolate brick buildings, graffiti-smeared, with forbidding razor-wire gates and clouded windows, is in the Lincoln Heights section of Los Angeles, north of downtown. Rusted barrels and splintered pallets are piled on the loading dock. A faded pentimento of painted letters are unreadable down the building's flank.


It feels abandoned, alone, moribund. But things aren't always as they appear in L.A., where creating illusions is a local industry.


In the parking lot, a fleet of modern cars indicate the building is occupied. A sign on the front tells us this complex is a film studio.

Al's and an early moon

Al's Cocktails in San Gabriel, California. And an early rising moon.

Autumn image

Seen at the Huntington Gardens - a Camellia sasanqua past the full flush of its bloom, blossoms shattered and petals strewing the ground beneath the shrub.

Camellia sasanqua is the Winter Camellia, sometimes called the Christmas Camellia because it blooms in early winter. In Seattle mine bloomed in December and January. Here in Southern California, its bloom is already spent by the end of November.

Car shopping

Do you like to shop for cars? Or do you hate it?

Me, I like shopping for cars, and when I am looking for a new car I take my time. I do a lot of research, both online and in person. I have to test drive the cars I'm considering, and I never plan to buy a car on the same day I walk onto the lot.

Doesn't it make sense that if you're going to make a purchase of something that costs tens of thousands of dollars, you should take your time and make the right decision?

I think so, but apparently that is something that most car dealerships actively discourage.

As I may have mentioned before, I am thinking of buying a new car in a few months. Today [The Man I Love] and I went out to test-drive some of the cars I'm thinking about.

We went to a Honda dealer, and test drove a new 2010 Honda Fit. [The Man I Love] had a pleasant conversation with the salesman, who was from the South American nation of Guyana. He was laid back and didn't pressure us after we told him we were just starting out shopping comparison. We said we'd chosen his dealership because they handled both Honda and Toyota, and we wanted to compare the Fit with the Toyota Matrix, and also with a slightly cheaper model, the Toyota Yaris hatchback. We finished the test drive, shook hands and took his business card.

Then we went to the Toyota lot. Our salesman was Jose, who rode with us as we test-drove a dark maroon colored Yaris. He was from Honduras, and talked a bit more than I expected about his religion. Nevertheless, once we introduced ourselves and told him that we were still researching and comparing, he didn't pressure us. When we asked to test-drive two other cars - a Matrix and a Prius - he turned us over to another salesman, an older guy, big and blustery, and - I hate to say it - kind of a stereotypical Car Salesman.

The first thing Mr. Car Salesman did was exclusively address [The Man I Love], who quickly set him straight by telling him that I was the person buying the car.

I explained that I was looking for an economic commuter car, and that I was exploring two price ranges - one quite inexpensive, and one just a little notch higher in price but hybrid. I told him I was comparing Honda models and Toyota models, and that I had just come from his dealership's other lot. I also told him that my target purchase date was several months later.

It was surprising how fast the man's manner changed. He seemed to have two simultaneous reactions - One, to argue me into buying a car today, and Two - to let me know that I was wasting his precious time by demanding such an outrageous thing as to test-drive a car I didn't plan to buy today.

I thought about asking him if he'd prefer I go inconvenience a different dealer.

Mr. Car Salesman pulled the Matrix out of the tight display formation so he could show us its features. Then he suggested I "take it around the block." It was pretty obvious that he wanted to spend the least amount of time on what he considered a poor prospect. As we drove, [The Man I Love] chatted with him, and the fellow seemed to warm up a little to us, but as far as I was concerned, he'd blown it. There was no way I'd give him my business. Although we'd planned to ask to drive a Prius, too, we decided not to. I'll do it another afternoon. Somewhere else.

[The Man I Love] and I talked it over at lunch. He'd been struck by the blatant gender bias - the fact that the salesman had assumed he was "the customer" and didn't take me seriously. Was it because I was a woman?

I think that may have had something to do with it. But for me, my main annoyance wasn't the sexism, it was the fact that he seemed to be withholding access to the car. It was as if he wasn't going to let me see it, look inside it, or drive it unless I was willing to buy it today.

Nordstrom lets me pick a garment off the rack, take it into a dressing room and try it on without question. I can put it back on the rack and go home, think about it and come back later if I want it.

I can try as many shoes on as I want before deciding on the ones to buy - or not.

I can browse in home improvement stores and look at display model dishwashers, stoves, refrigerators, and compare them to models at other stores. I can browse in a bookstore, even read excerpts of a book, without buying it.

But a car - Why do they act as if it's too much trouble for them to let you test it out, and take your time to consider it? It's a major purchase!

When I bought my last new car, back in 2001, I was trying to decide between three different makes and models. I took about two months of serious shopping - online research plus test-driving. As it turned out, the salesman who helped me test-drive the model I finally chose was the one I eventually bought it from. It took two months for me to decide on that car, but once I did I rewarded the salesman for his effort, good manners, and professional attitude.

Mr. Car Salesman today just ensured that if I end up deciding that the Toyota Matrix is the car I want, I'm going to buy it from someone else.