Come and see!!

Sunset over the park

 This evening in our office, we all bent to our computer monitors, sending emails, working on reports, calculating formulae in Excel. Now that it's no longer daylight savings time, it starts to get dark earlier in the evening, and the park outside our windows darkened and the glass only gave back reflections to us.

"Come outside and look at the sunset, you guys!"

It was Erin, whose window opened on the west side of the building.  She skipped down the row of cubicles, past the push-gate at the front counter, and out the door.

"I could see it through my window! It's gorgeous! Come and see!"

We all came out of our offices and went outside. I brought my phone and took a picture. Someone else went back in to get her phone.

We looked up at the sky and let the warm rosy light play on our upturned faces. Then we went back in and finished whatever it was we were working on, but felt better for it.

The world needs more people in it like Erin.

Discipline

Cozy Jack

I'm trying hard to hold out until 12:00 noon before eating the lunch I packed to work. That's just how disciplined I am!

And bored....

Return to the scene

 

We went here again. Yes, it's the same place in the photo above. It's a little hazier today than on that clear day earlier this year, in January. There are two plastic lounge chairs there, now, at the edge of the cliff, overlooking the sea.

We climbed up there and we sat for a little while, feeling the sun hot on the black hat I wore. Jack the dog curled beneath [The Man I Love]'s chair, in his shadow.

We sat in the sun and then the wind began to blow onshore - bringing coolness from the ocean up the slopes of the hills, touching us. The curve of the bay stretched out before us.

Anti-theft device

Hot sauce anti-theft device.

Miracle of the fishes

I was exploring Los Angeles' Koreatown - that busy, bustling neighborhood infused with multiple layers of the city's history. Once LA's most exclusive address, it went from show-biz glamor to run-down slum, to besieged and burnt out during the '93 unrest. And all the while since the 1960s, the Korean immigrant community thrived and grew here, transforming fusty old hotel dining rooms into hip young anju bars, karaoke clubs, and upscale shopping malls.

Dining with billionaires

Stock photo from clip-art

Leave the car with the valet at the entry to the mega-mansion high above Bel-Air. Have a glass of champagne, and may I offer you some hors d'oeuvres? Do try the little blinis with caviar, they are scrumptious!

Walk around, enjoy the city views from the terrace, check out the home theatre on the lower level, and best of all - an automated commode in the guest powder room!

Control panel

It's been a busy week - and it's only Wednesday!

LA traffic

Evening rush hour traffic is a nightmare on LA's west side, but fortunately I had a full hour to go from my workplace to meet up at a fine restaurant; a dinner related to [The Man I Love]'s work - a three mile trip.

So of course it only took me twenty minutes. I am here in a supermarket parking lot  cooling my heels, cause there's no way I'm going to arrive at the valet earlier than five minutes!

That's LA traffic. If I'd only had a half hour, it would have taken me forty-five minutes!

Eating too much in Koreatown

Dan Sung Sa

We could hear the shouting from the drunk sitting outside Dan Sung Sa when we got out of the car. On a bright autumn Saturday, we found a meter outside this Korean pub known for its bar food like skewered chicken gizzards and kimchee pancakes.

Now, two o'clock in the afternoon, the bar was shuttered, and the drunk sat, a 40 ounce in a crumpled bag on the pavement beside him, yelling at passersby.

"Hey, mister! You're a writer, huh?" he shouted when he saw us crossing the lot. "I can tell by looking at you, you're a writer."

"You nailed it, brother," [The Man I Love] replied. "You got me."

We quickly skirted the corner and headed west on 6th Street, taking in a whiff from the garbage dumpster behind Dan Sung Sa as the street dipped gently down.

All Saints Day

Today is All Saints Day, the second of three holidays celebrated by Catholics and known in Mexico and Mexican immigrant communities as Dia de Los Muertos, or Day of the Dead.

Though skulls and skeletons are symbols of the holiday, it's not gruesome or scary at all, but rather a time for families to gather and remember their lost loved ones, to honor them at special altars created for the day, and to tend and decorate the graves of the dead.

Each year if I can, I like to go to a tiny Oaxacan bakery called Antequera Panaderia y Pasteleria on Santa Monica's Ocean Park Boulevard, and buy a loaf of pan de muerte, a sweet yeast-raised bread made for Dia de Los Muertos celebrations.

There are many bakeries in Los Angeles that make pan de muerte, but I think the one made here is particularly unique and charming. The golden brown crust of the loaf is decorated with arabesques and spirals of piped white icing and colored sprinkles. A little wax saint's head is embedded in the end, as if the saint herself were baked into the loaf.

Visiting this shop on a holiday like Dia de Los Muertos is a magical yet humbling experience for someone like me who doesn't really know the culture as well as I should, and who doesn't speak Spanish. The tiny room is crowded with families picking up their pre-ordered baked goods, or peering into the glass case at pastries.

The interior of the shop is decorated all over with pictures of saints and crosses, calendars with rustic pastoral scenes, posters for concerts and sports, garlands of Halloween decorations, flowers, candles and bundles of cinnamon sticks; and the pretty pierced tissue-paper known as papel picados.

Even the basic Spanish I know always evaporates from my brain when I step up to the counter, and the short, middle-aged aproned lady behind the counter doesn't speak English. I pointed and smiled until another customer kindly translated for me.

The senora disappeared into the back room, where you could see unadorned racks of bread waiting for icing; moments later she returned, deftly ripping a piece of white butcher paper from a roll nearby. She laid my loaf down on top of it, and smiled at me.

According to Antequera's price list, my loaf is a chico, which is $10. You can get smaller loaves, and you can also get a huge grande like the one displayed in the window altar, along with fruits, candles, and sprays of marigold flowers, which are traditional for the holiday.

Even if you don't celebrate Day of the Dead, this is a good weekend to take a moment and remember those who are gone with such beautiful symbols of abundance, sustenance, and mortality.