Roses in the street / still in their cellophane. A /tale of rejection?
June one delivered / a rainbow heart sticker. Three / days later: gone. Ouch!
Yesterday a fire. / Now at Moon Canyon, a / crew cuts dry grasses.
White sneaks, linen pants, / a summery white jacket. / Who even am I?
Wearing dreads and scrubs / he rolls the bins to the curb. / Not likely his trash.
Hi Dee – It’s interesting to see LA from your perspective – you are isolated of course, but I have found LA a such a strange and alien place whenever I’ve visited. Your photos and haiku reflect this – or I project heavily.
I’ve visited family there, been there for a vacation and stayed with friends, also once stayed in a hotel (The Standard). It was overwhelmingly entertaining and weirdly empty of comfort. Do you find it so? One of my aunts lived there – in one little suburban postage stamp of a house, from the age of 20 until 80-something. Raised her 3 kids there. She worked at Penny’s as a manger and wrote a LONG letter to her mother every single day. My grandmother would read them to us when we visited on Sundays.
When my aunt died (and I’m sorry I didn’t make the funeral because I would love to have seen this, plus I just loved her) she wore gold lame slippers. I have to ask my cousin again what else she wore, but my vague memory was that it was all quite dramatic and rather embarrassing to my cousins. She wrote poetry, saved every card anyone ever sent her, made knitted lace things, knitted baby clothes and dog sweaters, had the same fridge for 60 years, and ironed her bras. Oh, and as she got older and could no longer travel, she and her sister (in FL), had a regular evening phone call, each drinking their Martinis, arguing about their respective poems.
Cheers to a good game of women’s soccer?
xx M
Just an amazing description of your aunt! I hope you someday come round and collect some of your comments. Like this one. So memorable and vivid. What was her name?
I really enjoy your haiku … “who even am I?” … and find myself wondering at those globes hanging from the tree in the penultimate image … seed pods?
Thank you. They are seed pods. I’ll find out later today what they are.
M – I don’t know what I wish more … that I had known someone like your aunt, or could actually be someone like your aunt …
Same!!
What great photos Dee. The roses & newspaper looks like the opening or maybe the book cover to a very good story 🙂 I like seeing your visit location through your eyes. Hearts that come and go, strange hanging seed pods? and crocheted goodies on a power pole? What discoveries!
Maggie~ what a great family story! Your Aunt sure sounds interesting!
Now you see how wonderful it is to be on one of your well documented California walks!
So sweet, Liz. She was a treasure!
Gosh. Thank you, Dee! Her name was Jeanne. Here’s a bit more:
In my thirties I visited her in LA. She was living alone. She called out to me in the morning,”Do you want me to iron your bra”? I laughed out loud. Then she said,”Well, I was just doing mine. It really helps.” (tears of laughter now). And that was that. She didn’t care that I laughed, I think she just smiled, and proceeded lay out a breakfast and tell me all about her career days at Penny’s. I think I asked her advice about something business-like and she said something like, “Oh, it doesn’t matter what you do, it really doesn’t! Don’t worry about it, you are just lovely”. My mom never complimented me – did yours?
The truth is that I can be just horrible to people I think are not too swift, but do I think I’m finally getting better about that.
AND, Aunt Jeanne took me to the Huntington Museum and Botanical Gardens that day. Dee, if you’ve never been it is gorgeous. JEEZ, once I start remembering I can’t stop?
Oh thank you. I do remember the name Jeanne but none of the details. The comments will be here for you to cull these memories at some point should you want to.
My mother complimented me ALL. THE. TIME. Not just ‘that shirt looks nice on you’ or ‘nice job’ on this or that project, but insights about my strengths that I had not a clue about such that her compliments were very elevating.