‘Rage: Sing, Goddess, Achilles’ rage,
Black and murderous, that cost the Greeks
Incalculable pain, pitched countless souls
Of heroes into Hades’ dark,
And left their bodies to rot as feasts
For dogs and birds, as Zeus’ will was done.’
A Blowing Wind
Rough winds and frigid temperatures blew into Los Angeles last night hard on the heels of a heatwave. We were woken suddenly from slumber at midnight by the banging of a loose door on our roof terrace. Comically large palm tree branches festooned the streets this morning as we drove to school
Into the Quiet
In my wanderings around our new neighborhood I’ve found a lovely spot for contemplation. The Culver Hotel built in 1924 is a wedge shaped Art Deco building which reminds me of the Flatiron Building in Madison Square Park in Manhattan, although their architectural styles are different. It stands in the middle of the bustling downtown area and has a charmingly leafy patio which whispers of long lunches and intricate conversations.
A Light Time Experience
We’ve been swept up in a whirlwind of change these past few weeks. As the old year rolled without pause into the new we packed up our apartment in Brentwood and moved across town to the home we recently purchased in Culver City. We have been busy ever since with the work of unpacking our life into a new abode and the experience of dwelling alongside more boxes than we cares to count.
Tomorrow Is a Long Time
There are rumblings of change in our existence here which have grown loud enough to be considered imminent in the last few days. Packing boxes and tape are stacked up by the front door and it looks like our dog will have a new park to explore very soon. I awoke this morning to that familiar feeling of a fresh beginning waiting impatiently in the wings for the next act while the stage sets of scenes gone by are removed.
Of Medicine, Memories and a Mermaid
We woke up to rain today. With the air of excitement and impending chaos that rain conjures here in the sun drenched climes of Southern California it was a fitting backdrop to my daughter’s return to school. She’s been out of action for over two weeks with a cold that slid inexorably into a pneumonia that had us all more worried than I can ever recall being with her.
Solitude
I love the word solitude. It’s pure Latin of course, as many of the best English words are. A good Latin dictionary will give you a thought provoking array of possibilities to translate the noun solitudo-solitudinis (third declension feminine) ‘a being alone, loneliness, solitariness, solitude, lonely place, desert, wilderness, desolation, want, destitution, deprivation, orphanage, bereavement.’
Fire and Skeleton Rain
Los Angeles has been burning again. I returned a week ago from a spell of tranquility and awoke the next morning to hear that the overly dry brush had ignited once more and an uncontained fire of several hundred acres was roaring into life up the road. Schools were closed and the acrid tang of smoke and ash hung heavy in the air.
Silence at the Swimming Pool
My daughter’s swimming lesson has changed recently. As she’s now begun stroke introduction and graduated to the big pool she is starting at 4.00pm. The pool is quiet and mostly empty at this time in marked contrast to the later slot we used to take when lessons galore were in full force and splashing and shrieking were the order of the day. The somnolent quiet and rippling blue water have a strangely atmospheric effect and I’ve been finding that it’s surprisingly easy to fall through time and into the aquamarine memories of yesteryear.
Weekend For Two
We just did that rare thing that parents do occasionally; we took a weekend away to ourselves in celebration of our seventeenth wedding anniversary, abandoning the children to the care of a beloved babysitter. It’s always the onrush of stillness that surprises me at first. Having reached our destination, we both sit and look at one another quizzically; what to do first when there’s nothing that really must be done at all?
Faithful Heart
It’s been strangely quiet at home today. I rushed in after the morning school run, my mind full of all the domestic tasks I needed to accomplish before I could sit at my desk and put my working hat on. Talking out loud as usual, I stopped in mid sentence; where was the sound of the tail beating happily against the floor or the madly grinning face, beaming in expectation of his morning walkies?
Clear Notice
We all noticed it. My daughter stepped outside the apartment door this morning and ran straight back inside asking for her school cardigan. As I sat in the interlude between one school pick up and the next later in the day, I felt the bite of the air for the first time and was suddenly cold in my summery top. Even in California winter approaches it seems, perhaps with more stealth than elsewhere but with no less intent.