Dolce Far Niente

Los Angeles, California

I have always looked forward to Saturdays, though throughout my adult life they have taken different shapes. My late husband, Tom, worked Saturdays for all of our married life. At first, since my employment offered weekends off, I spent many a Saturday puttering around our apartment; then later, in our first house doing odds and ends of homemaking. There was a program on a local FM radio station that played the original cast recording of a Broadway musical each week, with commentary about the production. It was a regular part of my Saturdays, just as later, A Prairie Home Companion became a regular part of our Saturday evenings.

Around the mid-eighties, my best friend, Cindy, and I started taking classes at Jane Fonda's Workout in Encino. We both clearly remember our first class there on Saturday morning, when we warmed up to Soft Cell's Tainted Love (which is the first song on a workout playlist I still utilize). We worked out together on Saturdays for years, at one point joining a walking workout class that met to warm up at 7:30 then took us walking through local, hilly streets. One of those maps took us down a cul-de-sac where we looped and walked back. A few years later, Tom and I bought a house on that very street where we lived together for twenty years.

I still enjoy my solitary Saturdays at home puttering around and attending to a variety of home things. But I also enjoy spending Saturdays with girlfriends. When Lynnette comes to visit, Saturday is our last day together before she leaves early on Sunday morning. And, though Cin is not as available as back in our Fonda days, we do try to schedule one Saturday a month to spend together. And that was last Saturday.

Saturday evenings have had their own rituals. With Tom working every Saturday, he found it hard to race home and out to meet friends. But many of our friends were only available on Saturday evenings. So, we split the difference, and booked out every other Saturday to stay home, cook together, and listen to the aforementioned A Prairie Home Companion. I looked forward to those Saturdays as much, if not even more, than the Saturdays when we were out with friends.

When Joel and I were first together, I missed spending Saturday nights together. Joel works on Sundays, and at that time he started work at 5:00 AM. So, Saturday nights together were, and still are, not feasible. But I still make my Saturdays special. I have a cocktail while cooking, and I cook something special and usually meat-centered. I don't eat meat every night, and I never eat meat on Friday, so Saturday is a good time to roast pork chops, or sear a filet mignon or lamb chops. It's Dodgers' season, so I get to watch the game that evening. I no longer mind being alone on Saturdays, neither day nor night.

But, this past Saturday, I already had plans with Cin when I reached out to my friend, Susan, to see if she wanted to meet for dinner the weekend before. She was booked but suggested the following Saturday, which gave me plans for both Saturday day as well as evening. Generally, more than I want to do, but I persevered.

Cin and I met and traveled together to Gott's at The Farmer's Market, the Original Farmer's Market at Fairfax and Third in the city. These days when you mention The Farmer's Market, people want to know which farmer's market? There are neighborhood farmer's markets everywhere in the LA sprawl. But the original, where I often went as a child and where my mother would buy her fish for our Christmas Eve dinner, is the only farmer's market I go to regularly. Cin's and my plan was to have lunch and walk around a little. But, no, we ended up at Banana Republic where we were talked into re-upping our credit cards for an additional 25% off the storewide sale of 30% off. We bit.

Bags stowed in Cin's car, we headed back to the Valley and home, where I had an hour before I needed to meet my friends, Susan and Beth, for dinner. I spent most of that hour on the phone with Lynnette, telling her that I didn't feel like going. I really wanted to stay home. But, I quickly changed clothes, rearranged my hair which was mussed by trying on tops at BR, and headed out.

We had a lovely dinner, then followed Beth home to her new apartment, where we hung out for some time. This is like high school, I remarked, remembering all the afterschool days when I would hang out at my best friend's home, lounging on the bed in her bedroom, talking about the boys we liked, and the girls we didn't. As simple as the night with Susan and Beth was, it had a lovely impact on me. Before we said good night, we asked each other what we were doing the next day. Susan reported that she was having a pajama day, which sounded like a stellar plan to me.

I didn't stay in pajamas all day, but I made it past noon before turning to workout clothes so I could get in a workout. Besides that, I puttered around my home, putting things back into place and rearranging objects that bring me some joy. I thought to get into my closet and cull out some clothing to make space for recent purchases, but I never got that far. As evening rolled around, I made myself a gin and tonic, roasted a pork tenderloin and brussels sprouts, and watched the Dodgers game that I had recorded from earlier in the day. Truth be told, I didn't really accomplish much over the weekend, except spending time with good friends, one of whom supplied See's candies and Baskin-Robbins ice cream while we hung out at her house. Their company provided the sweetness of doing close to nothing. Or as the Italians say: Dolce far niente.

CHIPS

 Los Angeles, California

My father was not a police officer like my friend Max's father. But he was a strong believer in law and order. I went through my own times (mostly my difficult teenaged years) rebelling against law, order, and rules of any kind. I came of age at a time when schools dictated the length of the guys' hair as well as the length of us girls' skirts. It was a time of mini-skirts. They actually made us get on our knees as our dresses or skirts were supposed to touch the ground in that position. What craziness.

I clearly remember a long ago friend of mine, who was editor of the school newspaper and had obtained a scholarship to UC Berkeley, being pulled out of the waiting-to-be-marching line at our commencement celebration, because his hair was too long. After the Boy's VP moved on, we called to our friend to get back into line with us. He uttered the memorable line: Fuck it, I'm going to see Hendrix. The weekend we graduated, there was a rock festival in the Valley and Jimi Hendrix was performing that night.

Now, years have passed and I am no longer rebellious against law and order. I understand that there is a good reason for rules and that understanding comes from seeing so many people feeling entitled to not obey them. Our world has become a free-for-all when it comes to driving; behavior at concerts, on airplanes, on dance floors, in church. Everyone seems attuned to the beat of their own drum which clearly pounds out a message that they should go ahead and do whatever they feel like. I could illustrate many examples here, but won't. I just want to stress that I obey rules and laws. I think it's vitally important to a civilized society that we all do.

However... I drive a Tesla 3. It's my second one, and like the first one I purchased in 2018, I have not attached a front license plate. Now, I'm not the only one driving around in a Tesla without the front plate. I would say that here in LA, my rough estimate would be that at least thirty percent of drivers of all makes of cars have not put that plate on the front of their car. Why, you might ask. Well, for me, one of the things I love about the 3 is that it is very unornamented. There's just not a lot of stuff. No dashboard, just a screen. And the outside of the car, especially the front, is clean and streamlined with no grill nor ornamentation of any kind. But it's not just that model of Tesla, I see LOTS of other makes of cars driving around without front plates. Again, I'm guessing about 30% or more. So I got especially irked when last week I was pulled over by a California Highway Patrol (CHP) officer and issued a citation for not having a front plate. Ok, yes, I realize the California Vehicle Code requires that we have plates front and back. But, again, a whole lot of people are not doing that. What a whole lot of people are doing is speeding, driving very recklessly, and running traffic signals. In fact, where Mr. Chips pulled me over, he could have watched people running the light at the intersection while he was running my license and registration! But no, he was too busy writing a citation to a very polite driver with a clean record who he complimented on being "respectful" to him. My brain was screaming What the fuck is this jerk's problem?!? But I smiled, thanked him for alerting me to the law, took the citation, and muttered asshole as he walked away.

Let's go back. I am so not a scofflaw. I don't like that I have to compost my garbage, an ordinance that started last year. But I do it. I brake for stop signs (which frankly, no one else does in the neighborhood where I reside). I'm a good citizen in almost every respect. But, I don't want a fucking license plate on the front of my aesthetically pleasing Tesla 3. And it annoys me that I will need to put it on and take myself to an LAPD station to have my citation cleared, while most other Tesla 3 drivers are driving their cars with clean fronts. It makes me mad as hell, but, I'll do it. I'm just not going to commit to what I will do with that plate after I do it. Know what I mean? Get the picture? And the (license plate) frame?