A Light Touch

the Westin Hotel in Pasadena

Sometimes another person can rub off on you. Spend half an hour with the guy who's always freaked out and you come away needing a cigarette, whether you smoke or not. By contrast, a brief exchange with a store clerk who's got a sense of humor can loosen the clench of your jaw and keep you smiling for the rest of the day.

I don't know about you but I never think of myself as that person--the one who's rubbing something of my own off onto other people. How dare I rub people, how rude! Especially strangers, especially the wrong way.

But I am that person. We all are, every time we come within rubbing distance of each other.

It's something to keep in mind, this unconscious rubbing we do. (I suppose if we keep it in mind it's conscious then, isn't it?) Perhaps a nice pat-pat now and then instead, eh?

Unseasonable Charming

It's been unseasonably warm, even for Pasadena. You step outside to take a break. The neighbor girls are having tea on the lawn. You are in Wonderland.

The artwork in the driveway is evidence of their artistic labors.  

Pac Man? you think, who's youth are we living here, anyway?

Traffic

It's bad enough to have a long day. But when your long day is topped with a bumper-to-bumper commute on what's laughingly called a "freeway," it feels like the world has it in for you.

I had one of those days yesterday. It wore me out. When I got to the Colorado Street Bridge I was glad to be home (and no, I didn't take this picture during a Friday rush hour).

I used to be a radio traffic reporter. People would call in to ask about accidents, rules of the road, the back-up on the 605. Often they aired their traffic frustrations to me and I reminded them, as I reminded myself yesterday, that if you're not involved in the accident that created the backup you're sitting in, then someone out there is having a much worse day than you are.

Plus how often do you get to just sit and listen to the news? Yesterday was a fine day for that.

Still Life

The news says the president has quit smoking. It's not easy and I congratulate anyone who achieves it. I did it myself once and it was so hard I haven't so much as taken a single puff since August 31st, 1991, because I never want to have to quit again.

I feel sorry for people who are addicted to cigarettes and I try not to be too hard on them. I remember feeling shame associated with smoking--you're sent outside to indulge in your habit. You can't smoke in civilized places and many people don't even smoke in their own homes.

To those who have never experienced addiction, the need is difficult to describe. The nearest I can come is to say it's like hunger. Your body tells you when you need food and if you don't get it, you crave it. The longer you go without food the stronger the craving gets.

The craving is the same with cigarettes.

The difference is, your body is lying to you.

Petrea's Kitchen Tips: Blueberries

Friends are coming for breakfast today. Isn't that grand, in the middle of the week? Each of us is grabbing an hour or so out of a busy schedule to indulge in coffee and talk. I'll lay off the caffeine so the laughing won't be too strident.

Because people will bring things to eat and the house was already clean, I used yesterday to prepare in irrelevant ways: I cleaned the oven (we won't be baking), trimmed the rosemary bush (it could have waited), returned a library book (talk about irrelevant) and went to the grocery store (we did need eggs).

And I washed some blueberries. A tip: wash them in very warm (not hot) water, then let them dry completely on a towel before you put them in their basket in the refrigerator. They'll last longer.

Petrea's Kitchen Tips is probably not going to become a series. This is the only one I can think of offhand.

While You Were Out

My friend's three-year-old has a home office. And why not? Mommy has one and so does Daddy. Plus, like most three-year-olds, this one is a very busy girl with important things to do.

It's an organized space, considering, although I have a feeling Mommy and Daddy have a hand in that. And of course when I was there, the CEO was out.

Hitting My Wall

Every so often my office gets so cluttered I can't work in there. The desk is piled with paperwork. Stacks of magazines gather dust on the side table because I mean to get to pages I've dog-eared, listing a website I want to check out or an article that merits rereading. I can't open the door all the way because my yoga stuff and my weights are behind it (oh yeah, I mean to get to that, too) and the bookshelves are, shall we say, overwhelmed.

It's time to take a day to clean it out so I can get some work done.

The same becomes true of my calendar from time to time. I'm attracted to this party and that event. I want to do everything, say yes to everything, so I load up the dates. When I do, there's that word again: overwhelmed.

It's not all bad. When I get overwhelmed I give up on office tasks and do something physical. This is how the yard work gets done.

What's your trick for handling life when you're overloaded?

Cubicle

I've heard derogatory terms for office workers: "office drones," "Dilberts," "cubicle jockeys." But working in an office can be a cushy job. There's always a place to sit, it's air-conditioned and you get free coffee. Maybe it's my upbringing in the world of academe; I've always been comfortable in offices.

When I worked in an office I used my breaks and lunch hours to write. During one job I wrote a screenplay and a couple of TV scripts on the office computer. My boss was fine with it as long as it wasn't on company time. (I admit she wasn't the usual boss.)

I prefer the freelance life, but it's no coincidence that I've created an office for myself in my home. Besides writing and photography projects I keep our books and files. I've always enjoyed managing details, probably because I'm good at organizing. Who doesn't like doing things they're good at?

I especially like offices in older buildings, preferring seasoned wood to sleek chrome. If one must work in an office outside one's home, I say let it be in Old Town.

A Breather

Now that it's summer, my days are filling up faster than Scarlett O'Hara's dance card. How does that happen?

It's my fault. I wonder if it's too late to learn to say "no."

I'm not the only one who sometimes feels my email owns me, or who occasionally needs to remind myself I'm in charge of my career and not the other way around.

Let's share some life tips today. Tell us what you do to whip your world into shape when it starts threatening to whip you.

Summer Entertainment

Summer is finally here. I know because as the day dwindles with the heat, folks show up on our lawn much like they did last summer. It's not exactly the same. The kids are a bit bigger. There are some new ones. Some of the ones from last summer are no longer around. Boz hears their voices and lobbies to go outside to see them. I drop my work and out we go.

Boz is a known person in our neighborhood. He likes everyone, but he's partial to people his size. When I brought out his toothbrush and toothpaste the other evening, his friends gathered around to watch the excitement. This is something people my size don't ordinarily think of as entertainment.

One of the dads took this shot and I love it. It reminds me of a favorite photo from last summer when we sat on the lawn and read stories. I don't know if the kids remember that, but the grown-ups do. Now that was entertainment.

Saturday

Yesterday I did what you're supposed to do on a Saturday: something fun, with friends.

When you freelance, you tend to work 24/7. It's rare to do something just for fun. But yesterday was fun.

First we enjoyed a lecture about Pasadena's historic Busch Gardens (1904-1938), given by Michael Logan as a fundraiser for Pasadena Heritage. Later, as part of the event, we toured Busch Gardens sites in west Pasadena, some of which were on private property. I took lots of pictures (though not on private property, alas) and I'll share the best ones with you in the coming week.

Between lecture and tour, however, lunch on a beautiful terrace with my delightful friends was my favorite part of the day.

Patterns

I have created another of those weeks with too much to do and too little time in which to do it. It's not like I didn't see it coming.

The previous weeks have been just as full so my prep time gets crammed into little places, usually referred to as "last minutes."

To change this would mean saying "no" much more often. I could, but I'm not sure I want to. I may be freaked out, but I am rarely bored.

Neighbors

I was talking to some neighbors yesterday about--neighbors. Neighbors are unique friends if you're lucky, as we are, to like each other. We have a good block here. We have a Neighborhood Watch with two block captains, we notify each other when we're going to be out of town and we keep an eye out for the old folks. Moms share kid duties and dog owners share dog duties. Sometimes we run errands for each other. We have an annual block party and socialize at other times, too, just because we want to.

When there's a tragedy, which happens, we do our best to be whatever support we can. It could mean calling the cops or the fire department. It could mean standing by, in case. Or just feeding the fish.

Yet we don't all know each others' private business. And that might be best, living in relatively close quarters. My closest friends live in other parts of Pasadena and Altadena, plus Burbank and Skokie and Cincinnati. They're the ones who've heard all about my dirty laundry.

My neighbors, though--they've actually seen me wearing it.

Artful Life

With beauty imperfect and uncontrolled; this is how I want to spend my weekend.

Beacons

Sometimes I think I struggle. And it's true, I do. All humans have struggles. But our struggles are relative. So after a long working day it's good--no, it's a blessing--to enjoy a glass of wine, a backyard garden and good literature. Literature, in a variety of forms (reading it, writing it, discussing it) is my recharging fuel. Good friends and wine never hurt, either.

Everyone needs that thing that fuels them. (Maybe you recharge with music or a football game or a workout.) Last night while we discussed writing and literature, lights twinkled in the bushes and candles flickered on the window ledge and I was renewed.

I wasn't the last to leave. I walked home feeling fortunate, having forgotten whatever struggles I thought I may have had. Behind me, the voices of my friends spilled into the darkened street and saw me safely home.

Make Lemonade

I'm a fortunate person because the other day, a lemonade stand popped up on my street. When it's almost a hundred degrees out, that's what you do.

I happened to be thirsty. I also happened to have 25 cents. That bought me a glass of cold lemonade, time with my neighbors and some good memories.

When John and I moved onto the block this girl was just a teeny thing. Her mother was pregnant with her little sister and her brother wasn't even an idea yet. If I'm lucky, I'll get to watch these kids grow up. The thought of this is beyond joyful to me. I mean it exactly that way; it's more than joy, it's profound to watch these lives unfold, to observe these small people becoming themselves.

Hey! How long do you think I can keep this blog going? If the kids keep posing, you'll get to watch some growing, too.

Morning Doves

Someone who came before us attached a birdhouse to a post supporting the roof over our back porch.

This photo is oddly framed because Ms. Mourning Dove doesn't want me near her. She'd fly out of the nest if she could, but she's got eggs and doesn't dare leave them. I took the picture from several feet away, then cropped it.

As far as I can tell, Ms. and her Mr. are on their second brood this summer. The first was a successful pair of little ones, both of whom still gallivant around our back yard gorging themselves. We have a vast selection of bugs and they're welcome to 'em.

I like to sit on the back porch and write in the mornings before it gets too hot. The female tolerates me because she has to, but the male has just about had it. He flies to and from the nest but won't stay there if I'm around. Sometimes he brings sprigs of dried grass for the nest. When he flies he makes a noise like a wildly upset dolphin after too much caffeine. It wasn't until I read Wikipedia's article about mourning doves that I realized it wasn't a vocalization but his wings making all that noise.

I'll always be grateful to the person who put up that birdhouse. I wonder what I'll add to bring joy to the people who'll live here after I'm gone? (Maybe replace those gutters?)

Le Déjeuner sur le Sly

Yesterday I made reference to a "secret picnic." S. invited a few friends to help perpetuate her tradition of a "trespasser's picnic," where you have your lunch in an idyllic spot that's somehow...off-limits.

Of course your purpose is benign. You have no wish to intrude. You simply know of a spot. No one's using it, it's perfect, and shouldn't someone have a picnic there?

When you leave, you take with you every bit of what you brought. "Pack out what you pack in," as they say, and no one will ever know you were there.

(St)rolling Through Old Town

I just love this for so many reasons.

Bugs

I took quite a few pictures yesterday. The sky was overcast, the light not so good, but I kept at it. Trees, flowers, a store display, blah blah blah. At the end of the day, while I talked with my neighbors in their driveway, the kids took care of the important business on the block.