Beverly Glen

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.