The Search for a Green Heron

I had been to Sepulveda River Basin once before and saw a Green Heron in the distance, but couldn't get a picture. She was just too difficult to find in the lens. From far away the Heron's color palette of green, chestnut and dark gray blend all too well with the thick flora of a marsh or riverbed. A Green Heron is an amazing bird. She's beautiful, but not in a traditional way. 

Yesterday, when I arrived at the Basin, I thought, "I really would love to see that Green Heron today." I walked for nearly two hours. I saw Black Phoebes and Common Yellowthroats and Western Bluebirds and a ridiculous number of ducks (video on that later), but no Green Heron. I had been walking and photographing for nearly two hours and three miles. Note: Spent waaaayyyy to long trying to get a decent picture of a bushtit (more on that later too). 

Anyway, I had to be some place at 11am which meant I had about 15 minutes to get back to my car and on the road. I was a wee bit disappointed that I hadn't seen the little guy/gal. I headed back to the car through the meadow version of the walk and thought, "Nah... what ya doin' Thome, give it one more try. Walk along the water." I came round the first bend and I'll be damned, there she was. And we hung out together for a good five minutes before some loud Russian women carrying purses and wearing short heels and dress slacks (so random in a park-like setting) scared them off.

But it was satisfying. So satisfying. Made for a nice start to Father's Day when one no longer has a living father.

The Skirball Fire

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Last night I, and hundreds of thousand other Angelinos, received an unsettling Emergency Alert that stated: “Strong winds over night creating extreme fire danger. Stay alert. Listen to authorities.”  To add to the drama of it all, I was on the phone with my sister and the alert disconnected us.  It freaked me out.

While I am 5 miles south of the Skirball fire, I took the alert seriously. I tend to go to the worst-case scenario quickly, but felt only a 5% chance of any fire damage.  This is real progress (if you know me).  I was, and still am, less concerned about the fire spreading our way than about air quality.  I’m fighting a bit of an upper respiratory and thought I might want to be prepared to get out quickly for that reason.

Like thousands of others in a more dangerous situation than me I decided to pack a bag.  Again, not for the fire concern so much as for the air quality.

I grabbed my favorite carry-on and two roomy over the shoulder bags and commenced packing.  The first thing I grabbed was my mother’s 1953 scrapbook that detailed her trip to LA, followed by my passport.  Next, the book my siblings made me for my birthday and the dress I bought in NYC made by a local artist.  The coat my mother-in-law gave me that gets compliments every time I wear it came next.  Then contacts and orthotics and a handful of naturopathic medicines (because I’ve spent so damn much money on them and my husband would plotz.)  Next, my iPad mini and hard drive.  I’d have to make room for the platform sandals with the black and white spotted heels because they were one of kind.  The other 20 pairs of shoes would have to be left behind.  There just wasn’t enough room.  As I packed, I considered that I could get a larger bag but there was something about having to make real choices that, in the moment, felt like a very important exercise.

Because I had time to do this, I thoughtfully considered each decision.  I like this sweater, but it’s served me well.  It needn’t be packed.  What about purses? Just the mustard one… because mustard.  And the embroidered one… because antique.  I grabbed a pair of jeans and a pair of pants and the dress that the husband bought me…because husband buying a dress for me! And a few sweaters, tees, shirts, underwear, socks and a bra.

I looked about the room and in drawers to see what else I needed to grab. I still had room in my bag and I was saving jewelry for last. My mom’s glasses, circa 1960, that I had my prescription put in to.  The Winnie the Pooh wallet that my friend Patrick got me.  I’d leave behind the note cards I’d bought recently and the hats I’ve bought along the way and all the paperwork on my desk.  I left the Route 66 salt and pepper shakers I hadn’t open yet and the stacks of books on my bedside.  But I snapped a picture, so I could remember them.  However, I did throw my Autobiography of a Yogi and my Sibley Bird book in the shoulder bag. 

I stared for some time at the “altar” I keep on top of my dresser.  My mom’s nurse’s cap.  My dad’s bowtie.  The teddy bear from Tom Balke.  My owl from Oaxaca.  My Pope Francis bobblehead gifted by my sister, Anne.  I decided to leave them all.  I thought if there was a fire, or total destruction, they needed to go too.  There was something so magnificently cleansing in having detachment from these objects; knowing they served a purpose for me but that one-day I would and could let them go.

I spent a good deal of time straightening out my jewelry and sorting in “to keeps” and “not keeps” piles.  The keeps could be organized by “Gifts from Nana and Sue Ziegler.  Gifts from Jene Stella.  Handmade and purchased gifts from friends and family. A few items picked up on travels. And the earrings I bought from my friend Pascale last year that are just fabulous.”  All of the jewelry I wanted fit in to a small bag. 

The entire process from alert to packed took me less than an hour. 

Looking around the room I tried to understand the decisions I made.  Everything I could see was a decision of something not to take.  And there was a lot of “stuff.”  I was happy that I could winnow it down to so few items considering I’ve spent a lifetime accumulating (and some three years – for that’s how long I’ve been in LA).  Surely I have more sentimental items at my home in Grand Rapids – but that’s “more” as in content not “more” as in value.  If I had to do this exercise there, I think the result would be the same. 

After I was done, I took the dog, for a walk.  The Santa Ana winds were starting to blow again.  The air was cold, but the wind was warm.  I’ve never felt such a thing. Or at the least, never noticed it.  The winds that were making it so much worse for the fire fighters were wrapping me with a comfort that is indescribable. 

I have been incredibly sad of late.  Each day the political news disheartens me and each new disaster makes me feel like we are closing in on some apocalyptic times.  But those winds… those winds that were making me feel safe and comforted while 5 miles away were bringing terror and destruction showed me the duality of this life and the importance of detachment that I could never have understood otherwise.

No Photo To Capture the Moment

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I have been hankering to recreate this idyllic walk I took with Eddie when I first moved to LA two years ago. It always left me with such a romantic notion of the city. Oceanside, beach walk, lollygagging, sightseeing, perfection!

Needing a boost to the mental state, I decided to head over to Santa Monica last night to do just that.

About two minutes in to the drive, I realized I'd left my cell at home. Should I go back for it? Surely there will be photo ops. And the thought actually crossed my mind, “but if I don't take pictures... did it really happen?” Seriously, I am so attached to my phone to capture moments as if to prove they happened (and out of concern for forgetting the memory.) I opted to keep driving. You don't own me, Phone!

The drive there was quick and easy. This is always exciting (especially considering that an hour earlier when I picked up Eddie from doggie daycare, my 1.5 mile drive home took 30 minutes.) I made it to the beach in under 15 minutes. Woohoo!

I then spent 20 minutes looking for parking. In this time I believe I saw 87 cars pull out of spots and 87 cars pull in to them right in front of me. At 88… Finally! Success! Poor Eddie was going nuts. "Why did you drive me to this fascinating place only to drive in circles?" Oh, just you wait, Eddie, I thought. You will remember! You will love it.

We got out of the car. The place was hopping. It was fantastic. Immediately, I saw a disheveled man approach with a fairly large mutt by his side. I tend to cross away from other dogs because Eddie can be a barker, but there wasn't room to get away. Instead, I tucked in closer to a fence. Then I heard Disheveled Man say, "You got 5 seconds to get that dog outta here lady. This here is a federally trained dog." First, of all, I have no idea what that means? Is he rooting out terrorists on the beach? Checking the immigration status of other dogs? A tax collector? Anywho, his tone was menacing and disturbing. I pulled Eddie to the other side of the sidewalk and gracefully maneuvered out of the way. Once passed me I heard him mutter, "Damn dogs. Damn Women. Damn Dogs. Damn Women." Perhaps, this wasn't going to be as idyllic as I hoped.

We headed down to the beach.  Eddie was in sniff heaven.  So many new smells.  I couldn’t wait to get him on the sand.  When he had sand on his feet before, he went crazy. He ran in circles, back and forth, sand flying in the air as if trying to express to me that sand is the best thing in the world and how could I have kept it from him.  It was one of my favorite moments in life.  I don’t have kids. I imagine it’s what one feels like watching their kid walk for the first time.  Boundless joy. When we got to the sand he ran straight to it, stepped in and pooped.  That’s it.  Just poop.  Then he stepped back on the sidewalk.  I tried to walk him over to another area of sand.  He dipped his toes in and then looked up at me as if to say, “Can we move on? Sand is so two years ago.”

I headed towards the pier, passed a few tourists and an enclave of homeless dudes who seemed to be tucking in for the night.  And, believe it or not, Disheveled Man and Federal Dog were there too. What the what?  He obviously took a different route, but it was a bit creepy.  G-men, you know? Two skateboarding teens whisked by.  Eddie hates skateboarders.  He went nuts.  Barking like a mad dog.  I hoped the Federal Dog Agent wouldn’t come after us. Surely he’d put Eddie in the clinker. I got Eddie to calm down. We walked a few feet and two more skateboarders whisked by.  Bark. Bark. Bark.  Again, I got him to calm down. At that point we’d arrived to an area where a handful of skateboarders were sharing tricks of the trader.  Bark. Bark. Bark.  This was walk was neither, calm, nor idyllic.  It was stressful and annoying.

Did I mention that I was wearing new shoes? At this point the buckle had shifted and was digging a hole in to my ankle that seemed as if it would leave me permanently damaged.  I opted to head up to the street and back to the car for a change of shoes.  Plus, beyond the hotels there were waterfront homes.  I’d noticed them on one of my 27 passes looking for parking.

We headed up.  I felt bad.  There were mostly concrete walls lining the shortcut walk back.  Concrete walls aren’t nearly that exciting to sniff as peed upon trees and bushes.  I changed my shoes.  Luckily, my gym bag was in the trunk.  I headed to see new sights. If I couldn’t recreate my last trip here with Eddie, we coulds make some new memories.

Halfway there, the Mexican dinner I had started to move in ways that my intuition suggested, “This is not going to end well if you keep going.”  I did the pep step back to the car.  Happily, the traffic back was quiet and we made it back quickly.  The whole excursion took less than an hour with a little more than 30 minutes of drive time. (And I made it back in time… if you know what I mean.)

Now I mentioned that I took this adventure for two reasons – to recreate my first trip to the beach with Eddie, Idyllic. Romantic.  And to lift my mental state.

First, in the moment, I was stressed and overwhelmed. Eddie barking, feeling threatened, horrible parking, etc. But in the end, it didn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. I experienced a slice of life in LA and I still pinch myself that I can do that. Thether it turns out the way I hope for or not, I am still living new moments and that keeps me grateful.

Second, I also headed out on this little adventure in part because I was feeling a little down. And more than a little tired.  I needed to clear my head. I’m cutting down on caffeine and I’ve also been beating myself up lately because I haven’t been able to get any personal writing done.  Oh, I’ve done a TON of writing. Work related. But that’s it.  I feel like if I’m to be a good writer, I have to do both.  And I haven’t. So I beat myself up. It’s a pattern.  And as I drove home last night, I thought, I’m so grateful I forgot my damn phone. It’s forced me to write something personal. It’s given me the chance to do the very thing I was beating myself up for not doing.  Turns out “not having my phone to capture the moment,” was the exact thing I needed to capture the moment.

Despite the seeming chaos of our brief little adventure, I’m sure I’ll need to do it again. I’m sure Eddie would be game. He had a great time.  He’s a dog.  Besides, you never know what story lies in wait. Maybe the next time it will be idyllic and romantic.  Gotta keep hoping.