Thematic Photographic - Round

This week at Thematic Photographic, Carmi asks us to explore the theme ROUND. What is round? So much of nature is spherical. Here's something that's Round -

and Floral!

Growing in the ruins of the Lower Topanga Community, by the side of the road, this is a specimen of Romneya coulteri, also called the Matilija poppy, a California native plant in the poppy family.

This drought tolerant herbaceous perennial is a survivor. It loves full sun, but needs little else - not much water, no fertilizer - it doesn't need much of anything. It goes completely dormant in winter.


Huge white flowers rise atop beautiful cut blue-green foliage - four delicate white crinkled petals like crepe paper surround a yolk-yellow central boss of stamens, round like a pompom of bright yarn. The size, shape and color of the flowers also lends it the common name "fried egg flower."

Oddly, for such a tough plant, the matilija poppy can be difficult to grow in gardens. Although it can survive in poor soil, becoming invasive in light sandy soils, it is difficult to get started. Even well-grow potted specimens often fail if planted in heavy clay soil. It's also hard to start from seed. It's said that the seeds will only germinate after surving a fire, so many gardeners put the seeds in fireplaces or burn small bunches of dry leaves with the seeds before planting. It's a plant that frustrates gardeners, because for some it's impossible to establish, while for others it's a rampant weed.


This one attracted a bee, who happily gathered pollen, ignoring me while I snapped away. The stamens are so thick with pollen his little legs are heavy with it.

I've failed with matilija poppy several times, no matter how diligent I am. But despire my chagrin and envy, it's great to see a well-grown plant in full bloom, here in the remains of Lower Topanga, where a community that once thrived has been bulldozed into powder, shards of splintered glass and concrete chunks littering the soil.

Sneak Preview

What is it? Where is it? This is a sneak preview. The answer will be revealed this weekend.

Thematic Photographic - Round

This week at Thematic Photographic, Carmi asks us to explore the theme ROUND. What is round? is it a circle, a sphere, a mound? Is it an open ring, an orbit, an arc?

Here's something I can't identify. I was walking down Main Street in Los Angeles' downtown. On top of a 19th century building at the corner of Main and 5th, I saw this.

I had to walk across the street, and move all around the intersection to get a good picture of it.

What is it? It looks like a windvane, or a sundial. It is mounted on the roof of an old building that used to be a market, but now houses a homeless services agency.

In Downtown Los Angeles, 5th Street east of Broadway has become known as "The Nickel" - partly for its number, but also because it was a place where you could get a nickel bag of anything.

Who created and placed this sundial here in The Nickel? I've searched for answers. There's nothing I can find, not on the city's Cultural Affairs site, not on the Conservancy site, not on any arts organization site.

But here it is - an orb, an open O, a sundial - ROUND - hidden in plain sight from all except those who look up to the sky.

If any of you Los Angeles folks know what this art piece is - tell me.

PROMPTuesday

Every Tuesday, Sandiegomomma gives writers a prompt to help inspire us and make writing fun! Today's prompt?

What is your craziest travel adventure?

We had a two-day trip from Fort Wayne to Des Moines, at the end of a series of three one night stands. We'd gone from a Friday/Saturday 3-show run in Erie, to Akron, then South Bend and Fort Wayne.

"The only thing good about Fort Wayne," said Steve, "is there's a great liquor store across the street from the theatre."

I'd been wanting to tour for a couple years, working as a local stagehand when the shows came to town. When I'd gotten a call for a job as Property Department Head on a bus and truck, I'd said, "Sure!" and there I was.

On the bus. The chartered Greyhound had been gutted of all seats except the first eight rows. The seats faced front and rear joined by tables, and behind them two tiers of plywood enclosures flanked the center aisle, fitted with foam pads and heavy curtains. Each crew member had a bunk. The toilet - called by all the Blue Lagoon - was in the back.

Mine was on the driver's side, top tier, second bunk down. A pillow and comforter; a shelf with my alarm clock and my cassette-radio playerwith earphones, all secured with bungee cords to stay put. A curtain drew across the window, to shut out the light or furl to watch the road go by.

But most nights, when we got on the bus at the end of the load-out, we were too hyped up to go to sleep right away. Each travel day it was someone's turn to clean out the ice cooler and stock it with snacks and beer.

If it was a good theatre, we could shower before pulling out. Some theatres even had laundry facilities - for a tip the wardrobe mistress would wash and fold your clothes. But the bad theatres, the shitholes and dumps, were too disgusting to take a shower in. The actors waited until they got back to the hotel to wash. The crew didn't have that option. When we finished the load-out, we had to get on the bus for the next town, sleep and wake up at eight the next morning to go to work. You got used to the smell of your coworkers' stinky feet and morning mouth in the closeness of the bus aisles. You learned how to brush your teeth with water from the cooler, spitting the scum out on the pavement outside the bus, before going inside to start the load-in.

And that's what this trip was like. It had been South Bend before Fort Wayne; a dump of a theatre, in a moribund downtown, dead and deserted. The load-in was particularly bad - all the wardrobe crates and orchestra boxes had to be winched down to the basement through a trapdoor in the floor just inside the loading doors - which meant that everything else had to stop while that went on. Since orchestra and wardrobe were my responsibility, it meant that Jake, the electrician, acted like it was my fault - like I'd traveled back in time to 1921 and designed the damn building personally just to fuck him up.

This was the eighties. This was the age of sex, drugs, and rock and roll. Bus and truck legit touring theatre was just as rigorous as rock and roll, only without the stars and glamor. We had the same long hours, though, and we actually had better money than rockers did, because we were union.

Every workday started at 8 a.m. and ended at 2 a.m. You did what it took to keep going and then drank enough beer to put yourself to sleep, bouncing and rocking through the night on the interstate, then pull on a dirty pair of jeans and walk into another theatre the next morning.

After South Bend - no shower and no food, and on the bus as late as 2 a.m. - we'd gone to Fort Wayne. Fort Wayne wasn't as bad; the bathrooms were old but clean, and the showerheads spit out enough lukewarm water at 1 a.m. to give a feeling of well-being.

And Steve had laid in six bottles of French wine, from that surprisingly well-stocked liquor store across the street.

"Hey, my man - My Man Stee', " said Roberto, our bus driver. He flexed his arms, and worked the kinks out of his shoulders. He wore a blue uniform shirt with a patch on the breast, embroidered with his name, "Roberto." He always wore a black leather vest over the shirt when he drove. He had a round dark face, a goatee, and oily kinked hair in a combover across his wide domed skull. "You got some a them black beers in that cooler?"

The cooler was stashed in the foot-well of the first row right behind the driver's seat. I had become accustomed to sitting right on the lid of the cooler, with my feet out in the aisle. Steve sat in the first passenger seat. Our soundman, Bill, for some reason, liked to stand in the stairwell in front of the divider panel before the seats, one foot up and one foot down a step, looking out the wide curved front window as Roberto steered the bus down the interstate.

"They're in the cooler," murmured Steve, sounding drowsy. He'd smoked a joint outside in the street after loading the carpenter truck, and he was mellowing out for the ride.

"Hey, Skinny Bitch," said Roberto, although he pronounced it "Beech." That's what he called me. All the women were Beeches, all the men were My Man. "Can you get me onea those black beers?"

I stood up, flipped open the cooler and dug around in the ice for a Beck's Dark. Roberto had developed a taste for Beck's Dark. Whenever we could find it - and that was not always easy in these towns - we'd get a half-rack for him. I popped the cap, and leaned over and put the tall green bottle in his cup holder.

"Gracias," he said, and he took a big swig from the bottle. "You treat me right, Skinny Beech."

Then he reached into the little curved pocket made by one of the gauges on the dashboard, opened a paper bindle and, with a long nail on his little finger, hoovered up a snort for the road.

"Okay, my friends," he said, and he grinned. "This is the Crazy Cubano talking to you." This is what he said every night when we hit the road. "You done your jobs, now I gotta do mine. I got to get the People to the Place! Here's what we gonna do. "

By this time, we all knew to say the last bit in unison with him. "We gonna sneesse tha sheet and get the fuck on down the road!"

Closing the book

The other day at my lunch break I decided I wanted to buy a book, so I went up to Santa Monica's Third Street Promenade - it was a short walk, and it was a beautiful day.

There's only one bookstore on the Promenade today. It's the big national chain starting with "B."

As I walked from Broadway to Wilshire Boulevard, I saw something I had never noticed before, though I've been coming down here for over ten years.

The buildings on the Promenade are an eclectic mixture. Some are new and architecturally edgy. Some are old, dating from the early 20th century, and nicely restored. Others are brand new buildings with brand new applied decor that pretends to be old.

This building appears to be old, faced with the tan bricks common to local retail buildings of the 1920s. I just happened to look up at the facade

and saw this. A band of carved stone decoration, running across the front of the building. But instead of being classical motifs or a floral garland, it was a shelf of books.

And then I remembered. This building used to be the home of Midnight Special Bookstore, which moved to the Promenade in the 1970's. An independent bookstore, vocally left-wing, politically active, but also fully stocked with all kinds of literature, fiction, and childrens' books. It was always busy, full of browsers. It was open late at night, too. They'd often host readings by authors. In 2003 Midnight Special closed. The landlord had raised the rent. High-demand locations like the Promenade were demanding rents that major corporate chain stores were happy to pay, but small independent businesses couldn't.

The owners tried to find another location nearby, but it was the end. They never reopened.

I remember when you could choose to buy a book from at least five booksellers on the 3rd Street Promenade. In addition to the big national chain starting with a "B," there was Midnight Special; also Rizzoli Books, where you could browse beautiful and expensive art books; also an architectural bookstore.

Oh, yes, and there was that other big national chain starting with a "B," too - it just closed this winter.

On the Third Street Promenade you can find anything you can find in any other shopping mall anywhere else in the country. There's Victoria's Secret, Pottery Barn, Gap, Abercrombie & Fitch, Banana Republic, J.Crew, Old Navy, Urban Outfitters, Guess, Restoration Hardware, Esprit.

But if you want to browse for a good novel or a mystery, you have only one choice.


Here's what moved into the site of the old Midnight Special Bookstore. I can't believe I never noticed the frieze of books before. I wonder how many other people notice it now, and wonder why it's there.

Mariposa Lily

Calochortus catalinae are spring-blooming bulbs native to Southern California near the coast - they are named after Catalina Island, where they are plentiful, though threatened by development. They grow here in the Santa Monica Mountains of Topanga and Malibu, and they're in bloom right now.


The name calochortus is from the Greek and means "beautiful grass," because their habitat is grassy meadows. California has 28 Calochortus species that are native to the state. The blooms are in colors ranging from white to yellow to pink. Their common name is Mariposa Lily.


I photographed these flowers this past weekend, while hiking the Backbone Trail up the west side of Old Topanga Canyon. The Backbone Trail is a series of connecting trails that go all the way through the Santa Monica Mountains from Will Rogers State Park to Point Mugu. This section of it starts by crossing the creek along Old Topanga Road, and then a narrow trail rises steeply through grasslands.

Along the sides of the trail, tall yellow stalks of mustard are blooming. Mustard is a non-native weed, but it has naturalized here. It's funny how it grows alongside the trail - I imagine that hikers spread the seeds which cling to our clothes as we walk.

Another flower that's blooming now in grassy meadows are blue-eyed grass, Sisyrinchium bellum, and Lupines - California's version of the Texas Bluebonnet.

The trail dips into cool oak groves, skirting massive tumbled rocks, climbs even more steeply, and then comes upon a vast grassy hill.

Atop this hill, you can see across the canyon. And up here, dotting the grass, calochortus blossoms sway in the breeze.

Calochortus catalinae are rare flowers that are in danger of disappearing. They are included in the California Native Plant Society's list of endangered plants. It is threatened by both residential and agricultural development. The plants that grow here in Topanga are on lands protected by the Santa Monica Mountains Conservancy.

For those who want to see Mariposa Lilies blooming but aren't up for a strenuous hike, you can also find them in Red Rock Canyon Park. The side trail named after a local Boy Scout that crosses the creek climbs gently through grasslands full of the blossoms.

There is something so amazing about finding such a beautiful and rare plant in its natural habitat. We can only hope that they will continue to bloom in our mountains.

Pink Saturday - Blame it on the Pink Drink

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

Well, I was going to work on my Pink Saturday post Friday night, but instead I went out for Happy Hour. They were repaving the streets around my workplace, and at rush hour traffic was a nightmare. My co-worker came into my office at about 5:45 and said - "I don't know what you'd think about this, but....traffic is awful. Would you like to go somewhere for a Happy Hour drink?"

Just a short walk from where we work is a beach front hotel. Although it's a "luxury" hotel, the economy is hitting them hard - so they recently started a Happy Hour with $5 drinks and nibblies from 5 pm to 7 pm.

We headed down there and enjoyed a window seat looking out at the beach. We had fried calamari and peel-and-eat shrimp and a couple of drinks. Pink drinks.

We sipped and we nibbled and we giggled and we gossiped and we watched the sunset. Then we called for the check, paid, and went to the ladies' room.


Can you believe this is how they present the toilet paper? What a classy joint!


Then we went out onto the ocean walk. Here is what it looks like when the sun is setting on a bright April evening. We headed back up the hill to our employee parking lot. It was 7:00 p.m. The traffic had died down, some.

"We ought to do this next week!" we said to each other, and headed for home.

And that's why I don't have a good Pink Saturday post.

Thematic Photographic - Floral

This week at Thematic Photographic, Carmi asks us to explore the theme FLORAL. So share some flowers with us - real ones, and maybe some that are less literal, expanding our horizons.


We were cleaning out my mother's house to put it on sale, and I was emptying the cabinets in her bathroom. There were a lot of cabinets, and they were all full of stuff. I found some packages wrapped in brown paper. They clanked a little, so I was gentle when I unwrapped them.

What I found turned out to be this extraordinary construction - four ruffled trumpet-shaped glass vessels, and a strange flat dish with an odd pedestal in the center. The glass horns fit into it, and looked like uplifted flowers.

Fresh out of the dishwasher, all cleaned up. An odd, awkward yet magnificent piece. What the heck was it?

Well, I learned that it is something called an epergne - A late Victorian vessel for displaying elaborate floral arrangements. They would also be used to display fruits and sometimes sweetmeats for festive occasions. Some epergnes have little trays and baskets to hold tidbits. This one appears to be more geared for flower arrangements.

The tradition began in England and France during the eighteenth century, when they were often made of silver. During the Victorian era, the tradition was revived, and epergnes were often made of art glass. The Fenton Art Glass Company from West Virginia, made elaborate epergnes from milk glass, carnival glass, opalescent glass, and hobnail glass. The online photos at eBay of Fenton epergnes look an awful lot like this one, so I wonder if perhaps it's a Fenton piece.

I have to admit, when I got it assembled, it was so ridiculous-looking it made me want to laugh.

Where did it come from? It was certainly not anything I remembered from childhood. My parents' home had became the repository of things - both junk and treasure - from the estates of my father's mother and his four aunts. As I looked at this bizarre thing, I knew it must have come from one of them.

Only two of my great aunts led lives that would include such elaborate entertainment. One married a wealthy real estate developer. The other was the second wife of a former Texas Senator and Judge. It must have belonged to one of them. It's given me something else to be curious about my oddball family, something else to research.

The piece itself will be included in a sale at my mother's house. Intriguing though it is, I do NOT want it in my house.

Stress is the mother of invention

In Los Angeles, it's not uncommon to see movie or TV companies setting up on locations around town. The beach is a popular location. This catering tent and truck are set up for Crafts Services for a shoot at Will Rogers State Beach on Pacific Coast Highway. I passed them on my morning commute.

Everywhere in L.A. you see the telephone and street-lamp poles covered with directional signs to guide crew, cast, and drivers to the location. Typically, an 8" x 10" placard with the name of the film printed in bold letters is followed by an arrow.

I don't know whose job it is to post them, but would imagine its a pretty thankless job, and fraught with peril. What if the sign gets torn down or covered up, or can't be distinguished from all the other signs advertising brush clearing, father's rights, political campaigns and AYSO Soccer camps? A multi-million dollar budget might go in the hole for one misplaced placard.

About 5-8 years, I started noticing that location signs were appearing printed on day-glo card stock, neon pink, green and orange. That made them stand out better.

In the last 4-5 years, I've noticed a new refinement, and I think it's brilliant.

Almost all the location directional signs these days are formatted like this one above, for a production titled "Factory."

Because the title is printed both upside down and right side up, with the arrow in the center, the signs are directionally universal. This sign says "turn right" but if you flip it over, it indicates "turn left." Flip it a quarter turn and it says "straight ahead."

I don't know who thought this one up, but whoever did had a touch of genius.

I am picturing a young and harried production assistant, with a box full of signs, on an early morning street, with cold fingers and a dwindling roll of tape, trying to get them set before call-time. Some signs have left-turn arrows, some right turn arrows, some with straight ahead arrows. He fumbles through the box to find he's out of the one he needs - no time to go back to the trailer to get more! So, stressed out, he flips a sign so the arrow goes the right way, and he crosses out the upsidedown text and re-letters it.....and Eureka!

A brilliant idea. Now you only have to print multiple copies of the SAME SIGN!

Correct me if I'm wrong, L.A folks - isn't this a signage innovation that just started appearing in the last 4 - 5 years?