July 14, 2011 § 6 Comments

For putting vacations on paper, the new “fave” for this scribbler is the Apica notebook. Found it in Firefly, a store on Abbot Kinney.
These notebooks are available on line, of course, but having checked, the online and store prices are consistent.

Sure, it looks a little like an exam booklet. There are, I think, 36 pages. Oh, but there is something about the paper, and the texture of the cover…and the lines inside…and… 

Write away!

PS   HM says our neighbor is a screenplay writer. What?
Then Future-son-in-law corroborated HM’s assumption.
OK, fine.
I’m getting to work.
(maybe that’s their plan – to inspire me to sit down and work!)

Walking the walk, the boardwalk, that is…

July 13, 2011 § 4 Comments

Honestly, haven’t seen anyone “bouncing” yet. Hmmm….

Ah, but the bikes and boards are everywhere…no, really – everywhere!

How about rules? Are there any rules?

OK, no strict rules I guess. Other than that one must be clothed in order to walk the boardwalk.

And all the time, one walks and wonders, “Is there a way to live here with the sun and sand, or is this just a timeout?”

More escape routes…!

Feel the heat! Embrace the blue!

Ride the wave…

Cali nights

July 10, 2011 § 8 Comments

water water everywhere…

July 9, 2011 § 12 Comments



California dreamin’?…Nope, it’s real!

July 9, 2011 § 10 Comments

The beach-mountain dichotomy. (see ’em in the background?)
The re-orientation of living with a beach in one’s backyard.
This is dusk on the Oceanwalk at Venice Beach.

I will angle to take less clicheed photos going forth.

Summer…little creatures

July 6, 2011 § 3 Comments

Archie ponders which side of the fence to sit on.
He will opt for going “right,” into the greenery of the sunflowers that are springing up around the birdfeeder.
He will, in fact, decide to climb one of the sunflowers to reach the feeder.
That little endeavor will fail.
Undaunted, he will spend long minutes beneath the shade of the sunflower leaves eating seeds that the greedy birds have dropped or flung about in their manic feeding moments.

Archie is indeed the quintessential suburban squirrel.


July 4, 2011 § 19 Comments

(Nor‘s feet – July 4th)


June 18, 2011 § 6 Comments

Today, it’s all about housekeeping. The weather has complied by dumping rain on us and stirring it with robust lightning and thunder. If it keeps up, there could be a fire in the grate later, along with a book and those excellent pillows on the red couch. Should the sun burn through, there will be yard antics outside, including (more) planting and pruning and weeding and the wearing of a huge silly hat.


June 16, 2011 § 14 Comments

This guy and his twin guard the front entrance to the Art Institute in Chicago. It’s clear by his stance, by the dip-and-curve of his tail that he means business.

And then, get up close to his face. It says: This place is mine and don’t take anything from here, except inspiration and memory and ideas.

It is odd to snap pictures of paintings; you can go through hoops to get the lighting and the color correct, all without flash which understandably is not allowed. You feel like you can and should snap pictures of the artwork, as though in so doing you can take something of it with you. But you’ll never get it right. Paintings are really three-dimensional and taking of photo of them literally flattens them.

(by Toulouse Lautrec)

Still, you may not want to buy the art postcards of any of the artwork that are found in the gift shop. These, too, cannot nearly capture anything of the artwork, except the memory of seeing it, of the way it makes you gasp when you walk from exhibit room to exhibit room, standing there staring at certain pieces that move you particularly, like the Caillebotte you saw here years ago on one of your first trips to Chicago with your husband and seeing the painting now is like seeing an old friend in the midst of this metropolis where everyone else is a stranger…

(by Caillebotte)

…being caught off guard by one of Renoir’s portraits of a child that is so sweet without being saccharine-sentimental…

(by Jean Auguste Renoir)

…getting smacked in the psyche by looking at the original of Van Gogh’s room in Provence, a piece made even headier by the fact that you lived there, in Provence for a spring and summer and you know what he saw and smelled in  the provencal air…

(by Van Gogh)

…and you duck into the “moderns” and think you have nothing to relate to with them, but then  O’Keefe’s skull and bones in shades of white calls from the wall and so does Hopper’s Blvd of Forgotten Dreams and so does that silly old, nearly clicheed American Gothic which is of a man and his daughter, not his wife, and you can hardly believe it. You’re standing there looking at it, and realize the artist stood there looking at it, too, while working on it. And you marvel.

And you realize that if you had to go to school again, you could learn it all here, looking at the artwork and understanding how and why it was created and what it means, suggests or ignores.

And you stop taking pictures and you just try to “get it,” to feel the message, the reason of it all.
And you think that if you could stop right there, sit on one of the benches off to the side and open a blank book, you could fill it with a story, right there in medias res, surrounded by all that history and paint.


June 8, 2011 § 16 Comments

“It’s over 90 and it’s not even 10,” she said.

The beauty of language.
She was talking about the temperature and the time of day. 
The  flowers were nonchalant, blowing in the early heat, having sipped a dewy cocktail and danced in a garden hose spritz.


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