My last post (about bread) has gone a little stale (ha).
Choosing to take the time to post a blog about bread, however, indicates a settling of life. That’s what this blog post is about. Phase 2.
Sarah’s gone and once again I am spending my days alone. I’ve always been a good loner, though: creative enough to find pleasure in the mundane as well as the exciting. I love waking up, having breakfast with E, and then having the whole day of possibilities in front of me. Instead of spending time daytripping around on a $5 Tap, I’m found closer to home. I’ve seen as much as I need; I’m comfortable with Los Angeles’ offerings. I know my way around. I’m giving directions to strangers.
I can’t work here. Easily. I don’t want to step on any toes if I try to find a job and manage to work for 3-4 months just to have customs figure that out when I re-enter Canada. I arrived here as a tourist and so tourist I shall gladly be. The thought of not being able to work because I can’t work is a pleasant one. It means I have a lot of time to resurrect my inner art geek and work on my portfolio for when I can work. This, in combination with my waning insatiable need to be outside, is good. Spending a day inside at the computer gets easier.
I’ve been running a lot in my neighbourhood. The Valley, with its proximity to the mountains, is fabulous for trail runs. I’ve joined an adventure running club and am incorporating elevation and rattle snake sightings into my running vocabulary (“oh, it was just a 3 snake run”). Also a sign of settling: I’ve replaced my runners with trail shoes. Tomorrow our group meet is in Altadena as we run Arroyo Seco Canyon on the Gabrielino Trail. Last week it was Mulholland dirt trail through the Santa Monica Mountains. On Sundays, it’s me & my iPod up Wilacre Park.
Twice it’s happened: I’m at Trader Joe’s and someone asks me if I’m on break from a shoot. Do I look like I should be in the movies? The first time, I was flattered. The second time, it’s blog material. My closest TJ’s is next to Warner & Universal and the people that shop there have a certain je-ne-sais-quoi chic, but, golly.
We’re only 3 miles north of Hollywood. Specifically its epicentre at Vine (this is where the mountain that separates us plays a vital role). Every now and then when I need certain groceries TJ’s doesn’t have, I venture through the canyon to my other local grocery store, and into what can only be described as “11pm weekend armageddon Richmond/Adelaide/John Yonge & Dundas Square x 100” where I must Hollywood Walk of Fame myself past that dang Chinese Theatre and inevitably be mauled by Johnny Depp impersonators, Transformer & Snoopy costumed street entertainers, petitioning crazies, Lauren Conrad Girls, Michael Jackson mourners, fat American tourists, babies. I need to somehow incorporate my apparent potential as an actress in the Valley towards these thankfully infrequent yet always awkward Hollywood shopping excursions. But, yes, the tahini’s worth it.
What hasn’t changed? I continue to be enamoured – romanced – by the flora of Southern California. The variety and size of the roses. This. The abundance of fruit trees: not only citrus but peach, plum, pomegranate and fig. Date palms dropping the ripe stuff right onto the ground (like gold from the sky), and the ridiculous availability at my local farmer’s market: grapes of wide variety, watermelon, freshly picked guava and avocado. Oh, and I’ve seen it: banana palms are blooming. Phase 2 = banana season.