Los Angeles, California
I drove to Beverly Hills today to pick up a pair of yoga pants from Lululemon. Currently, Lululemon is the go-to workout attire store. Their stuff is pretty cool -- stretchy and easy. As we go, we learn that working out in comfortable clothing is as important as what we wear when we sleep. These are things we do a lot. You really want to be in comfortable clothing (or naked), at the very least. But I digress.
After my errand, I had to go to Sherman Oaks to visit my mom. So, I traversed Beverly Glen canyon to get there. Now, if you know anything about Los Angeles, you know that the canyons loom large in its legend. I grew up in the Valley, and I have traveled the canyons, oh, about a trizillion times. And driving through the canyons -- especially my favorite, Beverly Glen, is one of the best driving experiences you can have here.
I suppose it's partly about the light; that dappled sunshine that comes through the trees and overgrowth. And, it's about the shade -- the glen, if you will. It's also about the air, best when blowing through your hair while driving in a convertible, or, as I was today, in my car with the sunroof opened wide. And the music cranked.
I had my iPod hooked up, and I was listening to early, British-invasion rock and roll. The Kinks. And The Moody Blues singing Go Now (their only really good song in my opinion, though to many this would be heresy), and Van Morrison with Them singing Here Comes the Night. I was flying through the canyon with all of this; the sunlight, sweet air, perfect music, and feeling the way I always do -- contentment bordering on elation. This, regardless of what all else plagues me in my life at the moment.
I passed the Beverly Glen market and remembered a Sunday long ago, when a young man named Steve Snow took me for a ride through the canyon on his motorcycle. We turned around in the market parking lot and headed back towards Sunset Boulevard; back to the park. I had just returned from a summer spent in Hawaii, where I had made friends with Larry Evans, Ray Crocetti, and Mark Schneider, part of a small group of people who lived in West Los Angeles who were attending summer school at the University of Hawaii. We shared an apartment in Waikiki on Seaside Street, and called ourselves The Seaside Deadbeats. Once we all returned to the mainland, the small group brought my friend, Pam, and I into their large community of friends back on the westside of LA. Each Sunday we gathered with this collection of students who attended a variety of local colleges, at the park just north of Sunset on Beverly Glen. These were friends, both new and slightly-less new, who should have lasted a lifetime. But that October, there was a bad auto accident. After we buried Larry and Ray, we all scattered, not knowing how to be without the conduit that had brought us together. But back on that September afternoon, riding helmetless, my arms around the waist of a 20-year old named Steve, I was blissfully happy.
Perhaps it's the ghost of that feeling that stays with me whenever I drive through Beverly Glen. I have other memories of other canyons. In high school, my friends and I spent some time hanging out in Laurel Canyon near a dilapidated, abandoned mansion that was purported to have been Harry Houdini's home at one time. And, one summer during my college years, I worked at an insurance company on Topanga Canyon Boulevard. My then-boyfriend, David, would pick me up at 11:00 am, after my four-hour workday, and we would blast to the beach in his VW bug, through Topanga Canyon. We could get there by 11:30, and I was ready to spend the day, having changed into my bathing suit on the way. I remember those days fondly. But somehow neither Laurel nor Topanga, nor any of the other canyons speak to me the way that Beverly Glen does.
That is why I always open up my sunroof, regardless of the weather; to feel the wind through my hair, while I hear the music that is part of the soundtrack of my life. For that brief moment in time, I am, once again, a lady of the canyon. And in my heart, I will always be. Thank you for reading my blog.
March 30, 2010
March 14, 2010
Sisterhood of the Traveling Scarves
Los Angeles, California
OK, I wrote that title because I liked the sound of it. Yes, there is a sisterhood. Traveling scarves? Not so much. I mean, I suppose we could designate a scarf that we might pass around, say, every quarter or so of the year. But, it wouldn't really have much significance. Probably because we're no longer fifteen years old. In fact, two of us have children older than that -- not I of course, childless and for the moment, dogless as well (see previous post).
So, let's just move on to the sisterhood part. I have known these two women, Debra and Lydia, for a long, long time. That's if we consider anything that includes multiples of decades as a solid measure of time. For some of this time our connection was tenuous. I'm sure there were years when we didn't see each other at all. But there was always a thread, supported by annual holiday and/or birthday cards, occasional lunches, and finally with everyone aboard and online, emails.
And then things got dicey in our lives. Problems with our families, the recession, job insecurities -- HELP! The call went out. We found a coffee shop that was somewhat centrally located and picked a time which would dodge the expense of a real meal, and began to meet on Saturdays -- generally moaning, venting, and laughing in a more or less circular motion. I realized that I felt better when I left the coffee shop than when I walked in. And that wasn't as a result of the good date nut bread, nor the lukewarm tea -- always lukewarm, even when they first bring it to you. But no matter. Unlike most other areas in my life, food was not the object of the exercise.
These women have been in my life for a long time. We met as we were cusping into our 30s, when we were all enrolled in the same aerobics class. Twice a week we worked out to pretty bad music for about an hour. Afterwards, on the second of the two days per week, we would hit the Jack-in-the-Box that resided in the same shopping center, and share nachos. I always drank Diet Coke with lemon, and had to fight for that lemon slice every single time. And over this nutritionally dubious repast, we tried to solve the problems of our microcosmic world. An example as follows:
When, for a short time my sister-in-law joined us, we once had a conversation about housekeepers. After I said that my housekeeper watched TV at the end of her work day while waiting for her ride to arrive, my sister-in-law stated that she wouldn't let a housekeeper do this.
"I'd give her something extra to do while she was waiting, like cleaning the baseboards," she said.
"I would never think of having anyone clean my baseboards," Debra responded.
"What's a baseboard?" asked Lydia.
That was in the 80s. Fast forward to late 2009. When we met in December, we were unable to schedule our next meeting due first to holiday constraints and then to my spending the month of January in Carmel. But we worked it out. I invited them to join me in Carmel.
They arrived for a weekend towards the end of my stay there. The weather was clear and beautiful. We walked each day, and Lydia shopped (and I mean, she shopped). I cooked each evening, and they did all the clean up! We drank wine, played cards until one in the morning -- and on the last night of their visit we ate pie at midnight! I mean, I tell you. And we talked. It was so much fun to have them there with me in Carmel. I even drove them to the beach one night so that they could watch the sunset. We phoned Billy from the car, and all talked to him via a conference call courtesy of Bluetooth. When they left on a Sunday, I was sorry, once again, to say goodbye to house guests. But knew that I would soon see them on Saturday afternoons, once I returned to Los Angeles.
It was part of what made this year's stay so perfect, and makes me miss Carmel so much, now that I am back home with ten months to go before I return. It was a blast to share it with Debra and Lydia. They came to Carmel. And, it being January, they did bring scarves. So, I guess there were traveling scarves after all. Thanks for reading my blog.
OK, I wrote that title because I liked the sound of it. Yes, there is a sisterhood. Traveling scarves? Not so much. I mean, I suppose we could designate a scarf that we might pass around, say, every quarter or so of the year. But, it wouldn't really have much significance. Probably because we're no longer fifteen years old. In fact, two of us have children older than that -- not I of course, childless and for the moment, dogless as well (see previous post).
So, let's just move on to the sisterhood part. I have known these two women, Debra and Lydia, for a long, long time. That's if we consider anything that includes multiples of decades as a solid measure of time. For some of this time our connection was tenuous. I'm sure there were years when we didn't see each other at all. But there was always a thread, supported by annual holiday and/or birthday cards, occasional lunches, and finally with everyone aboard and online, emails.
And then things got dicey in our lives. Problems with our families, the recession, job insecurities -- HELP! The call went out. We found a coffee shop that was somewhat centrally located and picked a time which would dodge the expense of a real meal, and began to meet on Saturdays -- generally moaning, venting, and laughing in a more or less circular motion. I realized that I felt better when I left the coffee shop than when I walked in. And that wasn't as a result of the good date nut bread, nor the lukewarm tea -- always lukewarm, even when they first bring it to you. But no matter. Unlike most other areas in my life, food was not the object of the exercise.
These women have been in my life for a long time. We met as we were cusping into our 30s, when we were all enrolled in the same aerobics class. Twice a week we worked out to pretty bad music for about an hour. Afterwards, on the second of the two days per week, we would hit the Jack-in-the-Box that resided in the same shopping center, and share nachos. I always drank Diet Coke with lemon, and had to fight for that lemon slice every single time. And over this nutritionally dubious repast, we tried to solve the problems of our microcosmic world. An example as follows:
When, for a short time my sister-in-law joined us, we once had a conversation about housekeepers. After I said that my housekeeper watched TV at the end of her work day while waiting for her ride to arrive, my sister-in-law stated that she wouldn't let a housekeeper do this.
"I'd give her something extra to do while she was waiting, like cleaning the baseboards," she said.
"I would never think of having anyone clean my baseboards," Debra responded.
"What's a baseboard?" asked Lydia.
That was in the 80s. Fast forward to late 2009. When we met in December, we were unable to schedule our next meeting due first to holiday constraints and then to my spending the month of January in Carmel. But we worked it out. I invited them to join me in Carmel.
They arrived for a weekend towards the end of my stay there. The weather was clear and beautiful. We walked each day, and Lydia shopped (and I mean, she shopped). I cooked each evening, and they did all the clean up! We drank wine, played cards until one in the morning -- and on the last night of their visit we ate pie at midnight! I mean, I tell you. And we talked. It was so much fun to have them there with me in Carmel. I even drove them to the beach one night so that they could watch the sunset. We phoned Billy from the car, and all talked to him via a conference call courtesy of Bluetooth. When they left on a Sunday, I was sorry, once again, to say goodbye to house guests. But knew that I would soon see them on Saturday afternoons, once I returned to Los Angeles.
It was part of what made this year's stay so perfect, and makes me miss Carmel so much, now that I am back home with ten months to go before I return. It was a blast to share it with Debra and Lydia. They came to Carmel. And, it being January, they did bring scarves. So, I guess there were traveling scarves after all. Thanks for reading my blog.
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About Me
- Bronte Healy
- California, United States
- Once, I came up with this brilliant idea (well, I thought so, anyway) that the key to happiness was to concentrate on three things -- to choose three interests, then focus and funnel your energy into that trio. I was an English major in college and have always written in some shape or form. So, my first choice was writing. I've always kept journals, and have also written plays, novels, poetry, and shopping lists. I do have a day job. It deals with numbers (assets and finances). Go figure. I went to college at a California University. I live in California, Los Angeles, but not downtown. No children, and sadly, between dogs at the moment (dog person, not a cat person). Enough info? I was going for just enough to not be a cypher, yet not enough to entice a stalker. And, I started my blog after being dragged, kicking and screaming, to do so. Blogs! Read about ME here, right? But I have been advised that this is a way to write regularly, and to put your writing OUT THERE. So, here goes. My name is Bronte Healy. Thanks for reading my blog.