Christmas Cheerubs

Guess who went with us when we walked Boz yesterday?

It was faster than a walk at times.

Santa should have such elves. And such reindeer!

Idylls are the Thing

It's not that I haven't been taking photos, but I couldn't resist posting another shot by a guest photographer: my husband, John Sandel. I wish I were tall enough to photograph such a view; luckily, John is.

While you're here today, please vote for your favorite photo from this week's entries in the Camelot Where You Are photo contest. The poll is at the upper left of the blog and will be available until midnight Sunday night. It should work; I believe I've got the time zone thing figured out.

I can't tell you how much I've been enjoying the contest. I've received so many great entries that we're going to skip Zen Monday this coming week and do Camelot for five days straight.

In case you're wondering why: it's because I've written a novel and it's being published this fall. Camelot & Vine is about an actress who, on the day before her 40th birthday, loses everything she never cared about, flees Hollywood for England, falls through a gap in time and accidentally saves King Arthur's life. A lot more happens after that. Think 6th century Britain, chain mail, love triangles and Saxon invaders.

Each weekly winner receives a free copy of Camelot & Vine upon publication, about which I will have more details soon. Publication day, whatever day it turns out to be, will be the final day for entries. 

Send in your pic now! It's easy to enter and anyone can do it. Entry details are here. And be sure to vote for your favorite! Thanks.

Thank You, Chicken Little

When a tree on our street began dropping large, random branches, we called the city. While we await the inspector's visit, the neighbor girls and I are concerned about what happens when the next branch falls. So we got out the markers and construction paper.

I don't think it was the sign above that warned off these neighbors because it's on the wrong side of the tree for them to see.

They crossed the street in time to be out of harm's way. It might have been this sign that warned them.

 

Or maybe it was these dire warnings, which they saw on their approach.

For help with city-owned trees on your block, call Pasadena's Urban Forestry division at Parks and Natural Resources, 744-4321.


Update: 

A crew of great guys came out within 48 hours of my phone call. They removed the branches that had come down and mulched them on the spot. They told us they don't park their cars under trees when the weather gets hot like it's been lately. Any tree, not just a liquid ambar, can drop a branch. The guys said they'd send an inspector out, just to make sure there were no other problems with the tree.

My neighbor (whose daughters made the signs) asked the crew what to do about a branch dangling over her driveway; it had been damaged by a truck and it threatened to come down. They sent a man up in the cherry-picker and snip-snip! Problem solved.

Wonderful work, gentlemen! Thank you.

Hello, Goodbye

John and I often joke that we live in Paradise. We love our street, our neighbors. When we were shopping here we didn't know the recession was coming. We had big plans for a someday mansion, and we thought this would be our interim home. Just in case the mansion didn't work out we picked a home we could love, but we figured we wouldn't stay here forever.

During our nearly seven years here we've become friends with the people who share the block with us. We've watched their families grow. Sure, we might hear of a development on Facebook. Then we get to walk across the street and check it out for real.

Change happens, though, it always will. Over our tenure we've watched one family morph from Single Man Purchases Home to Young Couple Remodels House to Family With Two Children and this week they're Beloved Family Moves Away. We hate to say goodbye to them, yet even this loss is laced with joy. Hello to a family from the next block who went from New People with Little Girls to Dear Friends We're Always Glad to See to YAY, They Bought the House. And get this: the deal was facilitated by (say it with me) a neighbor on the block, also a good friend, who happens to be a real estate agent.

There was an early birthday party. An ice cream social. A brunch. Much goodbye-ing and also hello-ing. At the brunch, while the children played on the Slip 'n Slide and the parents chatted and drank mimosas, I was captured by a nostalgia for the very moment I was in, missing it already: I sensed the children grown and gone, the young dads already middle-aged, the moms greying, my own self bent with years, my arm hooked in John's. And I thought, I am so glad we picked a home we could love, because this is our someday mansion, and I hope we will stay here forever.

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?

Imaginary Horses

It's the middle of August and southern California might be the only place in the country where the weather's beautiful. We used to be the ones with the insufferably hot summers, but the last two years our summer days have been almost--almost cool. Folks are loving it. Me--you know me, I wear a sweater.

Sundays on our block are a good time for the kids to get out and play and for the adults to hang out and talk about whatever, you know, the usual stuff: how to solve the world's problems, who has the nastiest grill, whether or not we should get matching block t-shirts with our names on the back.

I used to wonder why adults did that. Talk, talk, talk was all they ever did. Boring! How could they just stand around and jabber? Why didn't they ride imaginary horses like the rest of us?

The Treasures on Your Block

In Pasadena, if you have an organized block with a Neighborhood Watch, you can arrange with the police department to block off your street for your block party. (Check with the Pasadena PD for details.) Children do not tire of riding their bikes in the road. No bouncy house necessary.

That's what we did yesterday on my block. When the kids could take a moment off from speeding up and down the street on their wiggle cars, a friendly representative from the Pasadena PD was there to fingerprint them. (Perhaps it's a safety thing, but you never know if one of those cherubs will turn out to be a criminal brat.)

The adults enjoyed the party even more than the children did, if that's possible. Some neighbors see each other often but more don't. It's nice to check in with folks whose schedules don't collide with yours. It builds community to welcome new people to the block, find out who got taller over the school year, and adore each others' little ones as they whiz by.

The title of this post refers to a gift John and I received when we bought our home. "The Treasures on Your Block" is a series of booklets, written by Ann Scheid in the 1980's, about the architecture in various Pasadena neighborhoods. Scheid (speaking of treasures) is a Pasadena historian, writer and community activist, among other things. The woman we bought our house from gave us her copy because our house was featured in it along with others in the neighborhood. The booklet is hard to find these days--a rare treasure.

We love our home, not because it's in a booklet but because it's so familiarly ours. It's our refuge, our place, a JohnandPetrea hermetically sealed envelope set aside from the world where we keep all our stuff, real and imaginary, in one place. We love it also because it's in this neighborhood, surrounded by these neighbors. If these people were to be gone tomorrow, the treasure would lose its value.

(Yes. It's a record player. On the front lawn. Some brought a dish to pass. Some brought paper plates and napkins. One brought music.)

Gut Yontiff

John and I had just finished a late dinner last night when there came a knocking at our door.

Magazine salesmen. I'd seen them in the neighborhood earlier and I wasn't going to answer. But do magazine salesmen giggle?

I opened the door. Four pretty girls stood in a row on our front porch, dressed in bright costumes. I'd make you guess what they did next but we'd be here all day.

They sang "Jingle Bells."

I ran for the camera.

When they finished singing, they shouted, "Trick or Treat!"

They deserved something good. We didn't have candy in the house but the young ladies were willing to accept fruit. I invited them out to the back yard and we picked oranges in the dark.

How did you spend your Friday evening?

Thank You, San Rafael School

A distinguished group invited me to speak to them yesterday morning. I was summoned to their headquarters at 9:15 a.m.

They were the bright, charming 5-year-olds of Pasadena's San Rafael School. These kids are part of a dual language immersion program, where English-speaking and Spanish-speaking kids go to school together. Most of their classes are taught in Spanish at the start, and gradually English is introduced. By the time they graduate all the children will be bilingual. They've been learning about different careers and they wanted to know about acting.

My Spanish is abysmal, and after a brief demonstration to that effect the kids were willing to hear me in English. They had wonderful questions about stunts, make-up, plays and movies and they told me stories about their own acting experiences. I was in my first play when I was about their age, so we had a lot in common.

I studied French when I was growing up and would have loved a language immersion education. Pasadena has a dual language immersion program in Mandarin Chinese, too. It's a fantastic opportunity for the kids.

Three of my English-speaking neighbor children go to San Rafael. Two of them were in yesterday's class. It's their first year in school and already they speak Spanish well enough to translate, negotiate deals (truly) and know abysmal Spanish when they hear it. These girls were responsible for inviting me. Seeing their smiling faces in the group was my favorite part.


Update: You can contribute to the San Rafael School here.

Just One Block

Late Saturday afternoon I put on a rain poncho, grabbed an umbrella and dragged Boz outside because he wouldn't go on his own. I wouldn't have done this if Boz had seemed happy where he was, but he'd been complaining of boredom all day. And he, uh, needed to go.

The rain was steady but light. "One block," I said to Boz. "Just one block, and if you're successful, we can go home."

It's very wet in Pasadena, as you may have heard, but it isn't cold. It's been hovering around 60 degrees during the daytime. So when we came upon the neighborhood kids having a snowball fight, you can bet I needed to investigate.

The kids were bundled up like I used to do in Illinois winters. They were having a blast. They'd been sledding before the snowball fight, and would be sledding again. The parents were having a beer and a nosh, going in and out of the lovely Craftsman home nearby. Christmas lights twinkled on the lawn. I stopped to marvel and asked the homeowner if I could take pictures. He shook my hand and said, "Sure!"

Boz wasn't thrilled. Turning into an alley was not part of our one block agreement. And Boz is not a water dog. The one thing he likes less than rain is hoses.

And that is a hose.

But Boz waited as patiently as he could while I talked to the neighbors and took my shots. Patience under these circumstances meant leaning against my leg and saying "murph," over and over again, as plaintively and sweetly as possible. The neighbors, who don't know me very well, were festive and friendly--they exhibited their Christmas spirit by offering me food and drink and inviting us to their party. We'd have stayed, too, if I hadn't had other plans for the evening--and if I hadn't made a promise to Boz.

Once I had my shots I thanked our friendly neighbors, then Boz and I continued around the block. Boz kept up his end of the bargain and we returned home, each of us knowing, in our own way, that the walk had been a success.

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.

An Ocean

When I moved to Hollywood I imagined life in the fast lane: you know, I'd be a movie star and date incredibly rich men. I'd live in Beverly Hills where my neighbors would be as fabulous as I was. When I wasn't working on my next Oscar-winning film I'd summer on exclusive islands in the south Pacific, sun myself on white sand beaches and dip my toes in warm ocean waters.

I pictured all kinds of wild stuff. I didn't picture this.

Yesterday's exclusive island was a back yard, where we dipped our toes in an ocean of green grass. The kids played in a rented bounce house while the adults shared ample potluck food and drink, and talked of the usual things: work, home, kids, life.

I don't suppose cave people had a bounce house, but I imagine them squatting around the fire, sated after a meal, watching the kids play like cubs while they talked of the usual things: the hunt, the cave, kids, life.

It's deeply satisfying to be a part of this turning of the Earth, this slow twist of the spiral arm of the Milky Way, though this wasn't at all what I pictured. It's better. And my neighbors are even more fabulous than I could have imagined.

Creative Record

An impression of a leaf in mud on the sidewalk. Gone with the rain, its image fleeting as a thought quickly written then erased.

It reminded me of a picture John took of last summer's sidewalk art, created in the same spot by a neighborhood Mondrian. With only sun to wash it away it faded slowly, and we got to enjoy it for a long time. But now it's gone just the same.

I love photography for many reasons, not the least of which is memory-keeping.

Hey, cool: today PDP is mentioned on The Greensward: Civitas.

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.

Cuts On The Go

Mike Lee does the cosmetology version of telecommuting: he gives haircuts on his front porch.

I live near Mike, so Boz and I walk by from time to time. Mike's dog gives Boz what fer, and Boz gets his back up while trying to act nonchalant. And usually a few guys are waiting in Mike's yard for a haircut. I mean, there's a line. While I took this photo, two guys hung out on the porch and two more played checkers. It was kinda laid back and pleasant.

I think Mike's doing a good job because the guys look pretty good. You can call Mike at (626) 831-4725, but I don't recommend showing up without an appointment, because there's liable to be a wait.

Mike's been cutting men's hair for about 7 years, and he tells me he began doing women's hair more than two years ago. There's such a thing as "hairdresser loyalty" and I'm loyal to mine, but if I were going to switch, I'd go for Cuts On the Go. I like the atmosphere.