S3x in the Canyon

 There's a little bistro in our canyon that [The Man I Love] and I sometimes like to go to sit out on the patio and enjoy a glass of wine at the end of the workday.

The other customers represent a cross-section of Topanga, which one could stereotype if one wanted - there's the young man with the laptop, poaching on the County Library's wi-fi; there's a couple of long-haired pony-tailed music industry guys; there's a young family taking their elderly Topanga-dwelling ex-hippie grandpa (or ma!) out to lunch, marveling at the idea of a Frenchified bistro rising up in Pine Tree Circle where the old rug shop used to be.

But today, we nibbled our ahi tartare and shared the patio with another Topanga phenomenon - the power-girl, yoga practicing, health-conscious young mom cohort. There were probably six of them; all late 20s. Obviously girlfriends from way back - college or school or work. Perhaps they'd all gone on a hike. Or decided to have a glass of wine after Pilates. Or maybe after Mommy-and-me.

They clustered round the table, cooed at I-phone photos of babies, and doted upon the one real baby who was there - now awake and gurgling, after having been nursed beneath a properly batik-ed sling carrier for the first fifteen minutes of the gathering. Oh, and a dog. With a bandana.

They talked about babies, herbal healing for asthma  preschools, web design and their husbands. And shoes. A lot about shoes.

It's like Sex in the City, only it's in the Canyon.

Anything can happen

Mexican calendar girl

Monday morning, a person that I don't usually think has my best interests at heart called me to alert me of a job opportunity I should check into.

So I did. Yes, it's for real. Another person - someone who does feel beneficial to me - is going to learn more and give me the scoop.

If it's real, I may be very lucky. But because I've been disappointed before, I'm trying to avoid counting my chickens.

But you know what? I'm leaving town this weekend, and I'm not going to think about it! Whatever is meant to happen will happen.

We are traveling to Mexico City for the weekend. [The Man I Love] is there for work, and I am just going along to explore! And share with you.

In bloom in my garden

Here are some roses from my garden, cut today.  The apricot-colored hybrid tea is "Abbaye de Cluny." It's one of several modern bred roses known as "Romantica" - intended to bring back fragrance to large-flowered hybrid teas. However, in my garden, it's fragrance is eclipsed by the other roses sharing its vase.

The two big pink roses and the darker red bud are "Star of the Nile" - this rose is not as vigorous as I'd wish it to be in my garden, but the blooms have the most amazing fragrance, which probably comes from its parent, the Austin rose called "The Yeoman." A strong and penetrating fragrance evoking the Oriental resin myrrh, this rose perfumes the entire room.

The yellow is a David Austin rose called "Happy Child" - its a low-growing version of his famous "Graham Stuart Thomas." Also fragrant, but in a kind of wholesome, apple-fruity way.

The light pink rose, nodding its head down, is another Austin, "Sharifa Asma." It also has a wonderful, intense fragrance.

What's in bloom in your garden?

Breakfast at Philippes

 

"The Italians had the Renaissance," says one of three old men clustered round the end of the long table in the front room at Philippes, 7:00 in the morning, talking about the world.

"Every modern invention we use now came from the Italians and the Jews." He's a handsome ruin, he is; straight nose, brown skin and noble brow, like an Aztec painted in a mural.

Across the table, a big Chinese man, tonsured like a fat old friar plants one massive hand on the red formica and shifts his bulk on the wooden stool. He'd come lurching down the stairs from Ord Street, cutting the breakfast line, but the counter lady in her prim blue uniform had waved him off. "No. Go on over there," she said, "you can't cut here."  Somehow, though, he snagged a cup of coffee; it steams before him.

Eggs over easy, corned beef hash and warm biscuits fill the cold void that comes with a too-early morning. Hot bitter coffee helps, too.

Later today the lines of customers will thread between the tables, shuffling their feet in the sawdust bellying up to the glass counters placing orders for french dip sandwiches, beers and plates of pickled beets, but now in the morning it's more relaxed, quiet, and you can park on the street outside.

Glasses tinkle in a plastic tub on the dish cart pushed by a woman wearing a folded paper hat, clearing trays and discarded plates, wiping spilled sugar. Two kids with knit caps elbow down over their chili bowls. A thin man, white-hair and glasses, winces like a cracked walnut over his Chinese language newspaper.

Over my shoulder, the old mens' voices contour up like cars cresting a hill then rolling down. "There's none of us getting the Nobel prize this year." 

Adventures galore

L.A.'s flower district, early morning - click to "embiggen"

 I've been very busy - suddenly, I'm not sure why! A lot of unconnected things have converged at the same time.

On Monday evening, I attended a dinner event at a posh Los Angeles iconic location. Although I adored the dinner conversation with a famous actor best known for his portrayal of an other-worldly character - very logical, I might add -  it took me 2.5 hours to drive there from my office, only 7.3 miles away! And I spent some of the time wondering if our dog Jack was OK with only a morning walk.

Then Tuesday I did my assignment of editing an arts newsletter - only to find on Wednesday that I left out an important story. I had to scramble to issue an addendum.

Next Monday there is an event that I have promised some creative input - I promised to design table centerpieces - and I've been putting it off. So today was the day I had to really get serious and work on it. This morning at 6:30 am, I went downtown to the Los Angeles Flower Market to buy the plants and containers I needed.

Tomorrow is Friday, and I will put the final touches on my centerpieces, but also in the afternoon I'll be attending a writing seminar. I'm looking forward to Saturday, and time to relax.

Every picture tells a story

Click to "embiggen"

 We're driving by 529 E. Washington Boulevard, Los Angeles. This is the ruin of the Church of Greater Works, a Sanctuary for the Homeless.  Begun in 2000 to minister to the homeless, the church occupied a historic church building that began in 1903 as St. Paul’s German Evangelical Church.

On August 11, 2010 around 7 pm, a fire broke out that was later determined to be arson.

Today, this is what you see when you drive by on Washington Boulevard.

How the other half...washes their hands

 Hotel Bel-Air ladies room. Cloth hand towels.

My other photos came out crappy, this is all I have.

Out and about in East Los Angeles

Click to "embiggen"

The Azteca Pet shop, on Whittier Boulevard at Sydney, just west of the 710 freeway.

Why we garden, why we wait

Back in the spring of 2010, I received a gift from a fellow gardener. Well - truth be told - it was a gift I solicited myself.

I had taken a garden tour and was entranced by a beautiful rose I'd seen. After a bit of thought, I decided to write a note to the gardener, thanking her for her hospitality, and asked if I could have a cutting off that rose. Clara graciously invited me to her garden, and by October of the same year, I had a tiny rooted slip.

This spring, it just bloomed for me for the first time.

My little slip has turned into a healthy, sprawling, climbing rose that is covered with clusters of buds opening to cool pink pompon-like flowers, with a delicate scent. Clara told me her mother had brought the rose from Colombia, and that it's name is "Silva Madre." I have never found a reference to it online.

Healthy rose on its own roots

So, now, in addition to Clara's vigorously blooming plant in her historic Hancock Park garden, there's one in  Topanga.

Flowers are just 1 1/2 inch across

And if you want one....you can have one too. Only you might have to wait a couple of years for the flowers. Just call me. This is how we save lost roses.