Side Street Madonna

The stretch of Orange Grove Blvd. between Los Robles and Fair Oaks has Mexican restaurants, a Latin grocery, a hair salon and more. People live here, work here, get stuff done here. It's all a bit tattered--the only shiny thing besides the church is the new plant nursery on the corner of Orange Grove and Marengo. There's always a lot going on.

Google's street view photo, showing the north side of Orange Grove between Worcester and Marengo, must have been taken before I moved to Pasadena. The photo shows small homes. Now it's all storefronts.

The side streets go north and south into the neighborhoods. Just north of Orange Grove on a street called Worcester, a faded Madonna waits and watches in a meditative pose. I've driven by many times, and didn't notice until I finally stopped that she has little plastic stars glued into her thick, chipping paint. Someone must have thought the stars had value; many of them are missing.

Art like this abounds in Los Angeles, where Catholic Latin America makes its second home. Altadena Hiker did a couple of posts a while back featuring photos of murals along a downtown commute. East of West L.A., is always finding urban religious icons with which to haunt us. (Just look under "previous posts" and click on what intrigues you.)

Some of Pasadena's hidden treasures are more hidden than others.

Guest Author: Karen E. Klein

Today's guest author, Karen E. Klein, is the Smart Answers columnist for BusinessWeek.com as well as the LA Times Small Business columnist. That would seem to be plenty, but Karen is also much more. Please welcome Karen E. Klein.

photo by Steve Scauzillo

Thanks to Facebook, I’ve recently reconnected with elementary school classmates that I haven’t heard from in nearly 40 years.

The experience has taken me back to Los Angeles’ westside in the 1960s and early ‘70s. Our neighborhood, Ladera Heights, was located near vast tracts of open space owned at the time by the Hughes Aircraft Company.

This area, where we occasionally caught tadpoles, was referred to as “swampland.” Adults hoped these ugly mudflats would soon be put to good use, like the “beautiful” Marina del Rey development, that had been built in the 1950s.

Surely something was wrong with me, I thought as a grade-schooler. To me, the Marina, with its dense tangle of masts and thick, concrete high-rises, was the ugly monstrosity.

And the deepest yearnings of my heart were for natural places. I dreamt of flowing streams and open water. Whenever we drove by the Hughes property, I would look for glimpses of meandering creeks and shorebirds, tall grasses and slender cattails. They took my breath away.

No one else seemed sorry that all of it would eventually be paved over, dredged out and channeled under. I concluded that I must be some kind of weird throwback.

Life went on; we moved to Orange County and eventually to the San Gabriel Valley. I almost never revisited my old stomping grounds. But I couldn’t have been happier when I read that a group was dedicated to saving the old Hughes holdings. And it wasn’t a mud flat after all (somehow, I’d known that all along), but an estuary, The Ballona Wetlands. 

It is one of the main things that make me stubbornly optimistic about the future, this ecological consciousness-raising that has taken place during my lifetime. Up and down the coast, plans to fill in and pave over wild places are being scuttled and damage done by commercial developers is being remediated.

The fight goes on, even here in our own backyard. I’m happy to be part of a new group, Friends of Peck Park, that aims to restore and revitalize a little gem located where Arcadia, El Monte, Temple City and Duarte meet. My husband, Steve, and I first stumbled onto this area, formally known as the Peck Road Water Conservation Park, on our bikes nearly a decade ago.

The 200-acre park, an abandoned rock quarry, houses a beautiful lake that attracts hundreds of species of local and migratory birds. The views of the San Gabriel Mountains are stunning. Yet right now, scruffy, run-down Peck Park is best known for gang crime by night and a county prison work-release program by day.

This Saturday, July 2, our Friends group will be hosting tours and an “open house” for the park, with the help of nonprofit Amigos de los Rios. Come over at noon, bring your own picnic lunch and enjoy a presentation about the park's restoration and potential, with tours to follow. You'll get a look at this jewel of the SGV’s “Emerald Necklace.” It's at 5401 N. Peck Road, Arcadia. Look hard for a small sign off Peck Road where you'll turn right (coming south on Peck) into the parking lot. You’ll learn about restoration and I promise you’ll be inspired.

The Storied Rialto

Just because it's not Christmas doesn't mean folks--or in this case, a theatre--couldn't use a miracle.

The Rialto Theatre in downtown South Pasadena has been crumbling for a long time. South Pas residents want to see this grand old palace resurrected and put to good use. The effort is underway, and you can help by taking part in a unique project. All you have to do is share your memories of the Rialto. Quoting from the press release:

"Laurie Allee, with Glimpses of South Pasadena and SouthPasadena.Patch.com will be at the Chamber of Commerce on Wednesday, June 29th [that's tomorrow] videotaping brief stories and remembrances of the Rialto Theatre...

Did you ever sneak in? Stay all night and all day? Meet your future mate in the balcony? Wear tights and throw toast at midnight? Perhaps you saw Art Clokey there live and caught an actual piece of Gumby? Maybe you heard a live rock band in the 80's? Or were in the band! Perhaps you simply saw a very special movie in a very special theatre . . . whatever your tale, we hope you'll tell...

So come on by...from 9am until noon at SoPas Gallery - 1121 Mission Street. It will be brief and informal, with very short interviews. And once the piece is edited you will see a copy, and so will the rest of the world, as we post it online to raise awareness that we all want to see - the return of the Rialto!

If you think you will attend, please let us know by emailing here."

Entropy's not for everyone, and surely it's not for the Rialto. I hope you'll share your stories with Laurie.

Zen Monday: #152

Zen Monday is the day you experience the photo and give us your thoughts rather than me telling you what I think the photo's about.

Just say what you think and have a good time. There are no prizes, although sometimes there are kudos.

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.)

Tight Life

I rarely post night shots--not because I don't like them, but because I don't get out much. Time for a change.

I don't know about you, but lately I'm tight-fisted with my time and my money. These days we're all working hard and not taking much time off. Even then we don't spend much. I don't know about you, but I'm saving up for the next recession.

Sometimes, though, you've got to take your battered psyche out to happy hour. Yes, a glass of Two Buck Chuck poured by your own tight fist at home is cheaper than a glass poured by a server in a downtown bistro, but you're paying for elegance, leisure, and the festive feeling of being out with your friends and their psyches. And don't forget the server has a recession to pay for, too.

Doesn't tonight seem like the time? The weather's balmy, the summer's new. A glass of wine at a balcony cafe and a stroll through Old Town, or along South Lake Avenue (for ice cream) would be an indulgent, healing way to waste an hour or two, perhaps with fists unclenched long enough to hold hands.

Why Don't They Have to Pick Up the Horse Poo?

The other day I posted a photo of Boz at a Hollywood cafe, contemplating a pair of LA's mounted police. In comments, Laura mentioned the volunteer mounted patrol that assists the mountain rescue unit in Altadena, adding that there was once a mounted patrol in Old Town Pasadena, too. Old Town gets so crowded now; maybe that's why we don't see horses there anymore. Unless you've seen them?

Lo and behold, there's a mounted patrol officer in Lower Arroyo Park. Apparently she's not fully ordained, as she doesn't issue official warnings or make arrests. However, I can attest to the fact that she can and does issue threats.

Boz and I recently came upon her engaged in heated discussion with a dog owner. Basically, the argument went like this this:
"The dogs aren't bothering anyone and they ought to be able to walk off-leash in the Arroyo."
vs.
"The law's the law."
There were more words, and exclamation points.

They each had a point, though neither won the argument. Somebody, and I'm not saying who, could benefit from Nice lessons.

For some, the dog park is not an option. It's too stressful for dogs of a certain (uh, omega) temperament. As much as I approve of the concept, I wouldn't take Boz there. It's not for everyone.

The Lower Arroyo is for everyone, yet not everyone is comfortable with dogs. I haven't heard of any unpleasantness, but then again, I don't hear everything.

What do you think? Should dogs be leashed in the Lower Arroyo?

Pic of a Twit

When I was a kid, my nickname was Tweeter.

Please don't laugh, but yesterday I finally figured out how to upload a photo to Twitter using Twitpic. The first time I looked at Twitpic I must have been distracted or upside-down or sleep-walking, because it's about as easy as an application can be. Yesterday I cleared my desk and sat down with a cup of coffee, determined to figure it out, and it was like figuring out how to open an envelope.

This is the photo I posted. I hope you don't mind me posting it again here. I don't know if most of you follow me on Twitter. (There's a little birdie button over there on the upper left if you should choose to do so.) Even if you follow me, the chances that you were on at the moment I posted the picture are so slim that I don't mind posting it again.

I took the shot from my antique iPhone. My thought when I saw this was, I hope I never have to choose between natural light and bookshelves.

You know, when I was a kid, besides the fact that we
had no windows
or bookshelves,
walked to school ten miles in the snow,
made our own toys,
slaughtered our own chickens,
churned our own butter
and
made our own clothes out of burlap bags,
"twit" was something you called someone you thought very little of.

But I was Tweeter which, as I remember it, was quite another thing.

New Tricks

With summer officially here, it got officially hot yesterday. I have no official complaints.

You may wish to brush up on local water use regulations. Pasadena's water shortage has been declared officially over (yay!), but certain instances of water waste are still out of line, baby! Sprinklers are for running through, but not between 9am and 6pm.

That's okay. Yesterday it was good and toasty long after 6:00. Boz and I went for an evening walk and it took us about an hour to go eight blocks. I know he's an older pooch, but jeez. Or maybe it's me. I don't mean I'm an old pooch, but it did feel good to stroll, stop where we wanted to, take a few pictures, smell things, etc. But I didn't pee on anything. Honest. And as tempting as they were, I did not drink from the sprinklers.

Bulgarini

They don't spend money on fancy bowls and utensils. And you'll see when you arrive at the Altadena strip mall they call home that they haven't splurged on rent. Bulgarini Gelato Artigianale puts everything into the flavor. Seriously. (Quite seriously.)

I suggest you browse the website. That's where I learned that Leo Bulgarini, a native of Italy, returns there regularly to purchase (for example) Sicilian pistachios (because they're the best), or he travels to Santo Domingo for cocoa (guess why) or to Hawaii (do you know a better place to find macadamia nuts?).

There's a simple reason Leo goes to all this trouble. The flavor of Bulgarini gelato is unequaled.

It's going to be hot this week. Gelato time.

Pictured above: grapefruit, mandarin orange, and chocolate with sea salt. How much do you want to bet Leo went to Florida, China, Santo Domingo and Great Britain to make my gelato?

It was worth it.

Zen Monday: #151

Zen Monday is the day you experience the photo and give us your thoughts rather than me telling you what the photo's about.

I took today's Zen Monday photo in Hollywood. Okay, so I'm cheating. At least I'm an honest cheat.

Blackberries

A friend posted on Facebook about picking apricots with his dad. It reminded me of the hot summer days of my Illinois childhood, when blackberries were in season. My dad would give us each a bucket or basket and load us into the station wagon, and we'd head along the country roads outside of town. We'd find a patch of brambly bushes and pick until our baskets and bellies were full, our fingers purple.

My father had grown up poor in western Kansas. He knew where to find wild food, although I think it was less about having been poor than it was about having lived in the country. In summer we sought blackberries. In winter, walnuts.

As we grew older we kids lost interest. My dad got busier. The little forest near campus where we hunted walnuts was torn down and a new building took its place.

I'd forgotten about the blackberries until long after I moved to Los Angeles. I was back in DeKalb for something--a class reunion, maybe--and I drove my rental car out along the country roads south of town on my way to visit my father's grave. Along the way I stopped, and now I can't remember why. It could have been a whim of exploration, I like to do that. I pulled off the main road onto a dirt road.

Something about the bumpy old road was familiar yet not, and I didn't know what drew me until I saw the blackberries. I stopped the car and got out. I was beginning to remember, but it had been so long the memory itself was as scratched as an old photo. The road had once been lined with trees; those were gone, and to one side I looked out over plowed fields. To the other side there was a house that hadn't been there before.

A woman stepped out onto the porch. She was younger than me and her smile was tentative. "Can I help you find something?"

"We used to pick blackberries here when I was a kid."

"Okay, so you're not lost then."

"No. Thanks."

She smiled, but not happily. "This isn't the road anymore."

"Are you saying I'm on private property?"

She nodded.

"Sorry, I didn't realize," I said.

"'s okay."

I took a longing look at the blackberries and got into the car. Back on the two-lane blacktop I continued driving to the little hill, miles beyond town, where my father lies buried. His grave looks over a stand of virgin prairie grass.

I don't need to set aside a day to think about my father. I miss him all the time. Around Father's Day, though, it's impossible not to miss him more.

La Bodeguita

La Bodeguita restaurant and mini-market squats at the corner of Summit Avenue and Hammond Street.

I was in a bit of a hurry when I drove by the other day, but this photo was not to be resisted. I didn't take the time to go inside.

I found this post about la Bodeguita on Chowhound and it's a rave! Ah, but it's five years old. I say it needs an update.

Have you been to la Bodeguita? What's your review?

Camelot & Grind

Who remembers the Coffee Shop Quest? Anybody?

Awhile back I was on a quest to find my ideal coffee shop. I wanted a place where the music was either non-existent or very much in the background, where the chairs were comfy and the tables were the right height for typing on a laptop, where nobody minded if I sat for a while and where the coffee tasted of miracles.

I'm shocked to realize it's been more than a year and a half since I've quested. But that's about to change because it's time to start writing a new book.

Have I mentioned I finished my novel? I finished my novel. Speaking of miracles.

It's called Camelot & Vine. It's about a failed Hollywood actress who dreams that King Arthur comes and takes her away from it all. Unfortunately for her, he does. It's an adventure of love, time travel and second chances.

(This is not the official announcement. This is the unofficial announcement.)

So, what next? Next I send letters to agents describing my book in pithy terms. And if there's a happy ending to this tale, one or more of those agents will want desperately to represent my book to publishers, publishers will clamor to buy it, it'll get published and one of these days you'll all be reading it. This part, though, is like an actor's audition process: you audition many times, you're rejected many times, and if you keep at it you eventually get to "yes." My novel has already received two rejections from agents, so I figure I'm that much closer to "yes." (Miracles happen.)

Rather than dwell on this it's time to write something else. Which brings me back to the Coffee Shop Quest, because coffee shops are a good place (for me) to create new and miraculous material, as long as the coffee is that good.

Take a look at the Quest link. Do any of those shops need updating on the blog? What spots would you suggest I visit? I'll take you up on your ideas as I can, returning to my quest and seeking out high adventure in a new novel via the coffee shops of the San Gabriel Valley and as always, sharing my results with you.

Slacker

I took a brain vacation yesterday. I couldn't make the thing work anyway, so I didn't have much choice.

Usually I work at my desk. I write stuff, move paper around, organize things and generally make myself look important to myself. But yesterday I could not figure out which paper went into which pile.

Coffee was no help. That brain would not apply itself to the meaningless crap I had to prioritize. So I left everything and went outside.

I repotted a plant. I swept the back porch. I chopped up the rosemary that's been taking over the back yard. (Hey! There's a passage around the side of the garage. I'd forgotten.)

At my desk once again, I moved a piece of paper. It didn't seem to be in the right pile.

So I went out for a cup of coffee. I took a note pad. I wrote things on it while I drank my coffee. It was the most work I got done all day.

It felt strange not to be my usual productive self. As most freelancers will tell you, when you work for yourself you work seven days a week, much more than 9 to 5. A day off is an anomaly. But I guess I needed it. It's a good thing my boss wasn't paying attention.

Guest Author: Cherie Twohy and the I Love Trader Joe's Cookbook

The many talented authors in the Pasadena area have unlimited things to write about. Today we welcome Cherie Mercer Twohy, creator of three cookbooks (so far) based solely on the products at Trader Joe's, a homegrown grocery chain.

I’m delighted to be part of Petrea’s local authors’ series—thanks for inviting me!

My path to writing the I Love Trader Joe’s Cookbook, the I Love Trader Joe’s Party Cookbook, and the upcoming I Love Trader Joe’s Around the World Cookbook has been a wild ride.

I’ve always been a Trader Joe’s groupie. I grew up in Southern CA, as did TJ’s. (I guess you all know that they started in our own Pasadena backyard?) As I became more interested in food and cooking, I found myself cruising the aisles of different TJ stores, as they expanded, first in California, and then across the country. When I got ready to open my own cooking school, Chez Cherie, I decided to see how much interest there might be in classes focused on cooking with Trader Joe’s products. They’ve been so popular and are a ton of fun to teach.

In 2009 I was contacted by a publisher interested in doing a Trader Joe’s cookbook. Since I’d been doing the classes for years, it seemed like a natural next step. The first book came out in November 2009 and so far has sold over 70,000 copies! Yikes—I know my mom didn’t buy all those copies, so there are a ton of TJ fans out there! Since that book’s publication, I’ve heard from so many folks--you can’t imagine what pleasure I get, knowing that people I don’t even know are out there, cooking from my books! I get emails from people who don’t even live near a TJ’s, but remember them fondly, and adapt the recipes to ingredients available near them. I even hear from readers who plan their vacations around TJ locations, so they can stock up. Now that’s dedication! It’s such a kick when gourmet groups and cookbook clubs feature the book, and it’s great fun to hear what they are cooking up.

I literally write the cookbooks on the kitchen table. So easy to dash to the stove or fridge to check a label, adjust a recipe or sneak a taste as I’m writing. I should own stock in 3M, as I go through thousands of Post-its in a week of recipe development. I’m so lucky to have a cheerful test-audience in the TJ cooking classes, so I get quick and personal feedback on what their families have loved. I’d love to hear from you--please let me know your favorites from the books! Cherie@ilovetraderjoes.com 


Do you know a published author in the San Gabriel Valley who ought to write a guest post for Pasadena Daily Photo? Are you that author? Contact me.

 

Villa Parke Community Center

The Villa Parke Community Center is close to my house, but I had never been inside the courtyard until I found out there was a library there and they had a book I wanted.

If you haven't been to Villa Parke you're missing this extravagant and surprising fountain created by artist Dora De Larios. I say extravagant because it dominates a relatively small courtyard, and surprising because it's just beyond the doors from the street. Who knew it was there? I would imagine the thousands who use the community center's "social/recreation room, weight room, boxing room, teen facility meeting rooms, senior room, several small meeting rooms, two kitchens, lounge, and a gymnasium with showers and dressing rooms" knew it was there, but I didn't. I did know, however, about the farmers' market on the grounds, Tuesdays from 8:30am to 12:30pm.

The library is small, but the staff is friendly and helpful. They didn't have the book I wanted, but they located it for me at another branch. I got what I came for anyway.

Zen Monday: #150

Zen Monday is the day you experience the photo and give us your thoughts rather than me telling you what the photo's about. Although this one isn't particularly complicated.

Happy Birthday, Pasadena

I wasn't the only one photographing the birthday balloons. I couldn't resist.

Yesterday, on the grounds of the Pasadena Museum of History and the adjacent Avery Dennison Corporation, Pasadena held a 125th birthday party for itself. There were antique cars, wonderful bands, high-powered super-drummers, food stands, historic photographs, hat making, a children's area, representatives from the police and fire departments, more music and more food. Despite the June gloom, the crowd didn't seem the least bit morose.

Alas, I promised you cake, or at least a photo of it. Actually what I said in Thursday's comments was, "I hope to make it before anybody messes with that cake." The birthday cake, created by the student pastry chefs at Le Cordon Bleu College of Culinary Arts (about whom we brag at every opportunity) is a depiction of Pasadena's history. Or so I hear.

True to my word, I got there three hours before the cake was scheduled to be messed with, and unfortunately I had to be somewhere else at messing time. But I found the pastry chefs, which is the next best thing to cake.

Okay, not really. Coffee is probably the next best thing to cake. Or the other way around.

I think the chefs had been up since very early. They were applying last-minute sugar-roses and sugar-balloons to their precious cake, which was hidden inside a shadowy tent so I couldn't even sneak a peek, much less a photo. But the chefs were hyped on sugar and coffee amiable, and willing to show me some of what they were working on.

Last year, as well, I met and photographed the chefs. They were a friendly, happy bunch, just as these were.

I ran into Jeannette Bovard, the Museum's Media Consultant, soon after I took this picture. She put forth the theory that when you're always creating festive and delicious works of art, you're bound to be a cheerful person, and of course it's true. Caffeine and sugar come in handy, too.

Not So Hot

Is the sun ever going to come back or not? I took this photo at least a year ago and it seems like it's been that long since the sun has shone on/shown itself in Pasadena.

I admit I'm impatient, but one doesn't move to southern California from northern Illinois for the cool, cloudy weather. Or at least that didn't used to be the case. Maybe now one does.

This time I won't complain. Doesn't it seem odd, though, that southern California used to be hot and for the last couple of years it's simply not?

Seed Bombs

I love new. It's good for the brain to introduce it to new. This was new to me.

Even though the concept of seed bombing came in with the concept of guerilla gardening in the 1970's, it held but a vague spot in my memory until I encountered this seed bomb gumball machine outside the Little Flower Candy Company on west Colorado Blvd. last week.

"Combat the forgotten grey spaces you encounter every day," says the slogan. They could be referring to my brain, but what they mean is vacant lots, parking medians and, in my case, my yard.

GreenAid, the company responsible for this particular dispenser, is doing some wonderful stuff. If I had a store or an office, I'd want one of these babies out front.

You can make your own seed bombs, according to this LA Times article, but I'm not the crafty type. So I bought three bombs--three, because they were 50 cents each and that's how many quarters I could borrow. They're bigger than a giant jawbreaker, so three ought to cover a good deal of space. I can always go back for more once I see what grows from them. At least it'll be something new, springing from the grey matter of my yard.

Sweet History

Our fair city was incorporated in 1886. That means this year is Pasadena's 125th birthday. The big birthday bash is this Saturday, June 11th, at the Pasadena Museum of History.

Last year, for the 124th, we had a cake in the shape of City Hall made by the students at the Le Cordon Bleu College of Culinary Arts. This year the students are in the process of topping themselves, creating an edible history of Pasadena in sugar and cake.

Saturday's free event at the museum goes from noon to 7pm and features "nonstop entertainment, activities, and refreshments." Certainly those refreshments will include some of that history-making cake.

Boz, 13 or so

Today marks the 8th anniversary of the day John and I brought Boz home from the shelter. We think of it as his birthday. Which birthday, we're not sure. A good guess would be 12 or 13.

Like any old guy, Boz enjoys simple pleasures. He likes to warm himself on the scratchy grass in the back yard. His morning routine includes a nap in his sunny spot in the living room. In the afternoons he enjoys lounging on the front porch and keeping watch over the neighborhood. Of an evening, he derives great joy from sitting in the living room with his humans, chewing his bone and passing gas. In many ways, he's just like the rest of us.

He and John play dog/man games like "kill the squeaky" and "stalk the alpha." But nothing tops Boz's pleasure meter like running. He loves, loves, loves to run.

I have a million pictures of Boz running. I wonder what goes through his mind when he's running. Maybe nothing. After all, he's a person, but he's not a human being. He lives with our constraints because we feed him and we're his pack. But when he runs he's a dog, pure and simple. And I do mean "simple." As I write, he's blissfully licking his towel and he's been at it for about twenty minutes.

They say the larger the dog, the shorter the life span. At 70 pounds Boz is on the large side of medium, or the small side of large. Then again, all that exercise makes him healthy for his age.

They also say when you adopt a pet, it becomes a family member. We felt that truth as we adjusted to Boz, and he to us, eight years ago. Before he moved in we were a happy couple. Boz made us a happy family.

jb

Ordinarily I wouldn't post a blurry photo, but I don't want you to miss meeting jb from Mainz Daily Photo.

Being part of the San Gabriel Valley blogging community has brought me myriad blessings. Being part of the City Daily Photo community expands those blessings around the globe. I've made virtual friendships with bloggers worldwide. Meeting them in person is the grandest blessing of all.

jb recently spent two weeks in France where he and Mrs. jb met Nathalie from Avignon in Photos. He had a couple of busy days back in Germany, then he flew to Los Angeles. A 10-hour lay-over gave him time for a drive to Pasadena. I am not amazed that he and Mrs. jb have visited the Huntington Library and Gardens and the Norton Simon Museum, or that they have a friend who works at the local J. Crew.

We had coffee at Intelligentsia (his suggestion--he knows Pasadena pretty well). Then we walked a bit in Old Town and I took the photo for yesterday's post. (jb claims to have assisted and indeed, he gave moral support.) When we parted I headed home to work. jb was off to get a meal then back to LAX and a flight to New Zealand. In a later email he said last Thursday "will be forever missing" from his autobiography.

I'd trade a day of my autobiography for world travel. But I'm getting wistful.

I feel bad about giving you a blurry photo of this smart, funny, interesting, international man. (At his blog you will find examples of his wry sense of humor.) But I believe he shines through my bad photography and you can see who he is in spite of me.

jb and I have a deal. I'm posting my photo of him today and he's posting his photo of me. He took his picture with an iPhone. I took mine with a Canon 20D. I haven't seen his photo on the computer screen yet, but I believe it'll prove good photography is more about the photographer than the camera.

Here's an Old Town photo of a superfluous detail. Not blurry. Just to redeem myself.

Zen Monday: #149

Zen Monday is the day you experience the photo and give us your thoughts rather than me telling you what the photo's about.

You might want to click on this one to enlarge it. Then make a comment. Say what comes to mind.

For further Monday Zen, feel free to read and comment on my new short-short fiction, Rooms, at the Rose City Sisters Flash Fiction blog.

Arroyo Kenpo

I've seen many artists working in the Arroyo Seco, but this is the first time I've seen martial artists.

When I came across Juan Serrano (that's him on the right) and his pupil Clayton practicing, um, judo? karate? tai chi?--I thought, why not? You're not going to find a more beautiful place to work.

It turns out they were practicing a mixture of things called the Casa de Kenpo Martial Arts System. The two demonstrated some of the moves Juan teaches in Glendale. You can check out Juan's youtube videos here.

What Juan and Clayton were working on alternated between fight moves and something like dance. Because nature alternates between peace and violence, the birdsong and dappled sunlight of the Arroyo seemed the perfect fit.

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?

Bathe R Doggie

Some people would like to wait even longer between baths than they already do, but some people run in the Arroyo and roll in unspeakable things until they stink to high heaven so as unfortunate as it may appear and as pitiful as they may look, some people are finally forced to bathe, as cruel as it seems to some people.

Thank goodness we've found Bathe R Doggie. Or, to be more accurate, thank Bellis. She recommended the place and we checked it out yesterday. They'll wash your dog, do his pedi-pedi, clean his teeth and--and more. (Yes, that, too.)

You can choose to wash him yourself in one of their nice, clean tubs. They provide everything you need, even a little apron, which I didn't notice until I was soaked and almost finished rinsing. But that's okay. I enjoy the bonding experience Boz and I share when I bathe him (even though he loathes it). At least one of us gets to bond and the other, once the experience is endured, gets a treat.

At last, one person is clean and the other person is covered in soapy dog hair. We come home exhausted and some people get a nap.

Alliance Frankaise

The official address of the Alliance Francaise de Pasadena is 34 E. Union Street. (Pardon my lack of cedille on the c in "Francaise," but Blogger freaks out when I try to insert such things. There should also be an accent aigu on that first e in cedille, but...)

Anyway, the entrance is not on Union but in this little alley off of Union near Raymond. I can't remember the name of the alley and apparently Google Maps can't remember it either.

The Alliance holds classes in French, leads tours to France, and generally lends cachet to Pasadena. (Some of us like to think it's the other way around.)

Regardless of the alley's appellation, yesterday this bicyclette (no accent needed) made the scene look just a soupcon (sorry once again) more French.

Theme Day: Under Construction

A few years ago, the eyesore at the corner of Washington and El Molino was a problem liquor store that plagued the neighborhood. This photo is almost exactly two years old.

Now, thanks to Joel Bryant and Trademark Development Group, it's about to become the Classics at Washington Park, a group of eight craftsman-inspired townhomes.

From the website: "Four of the homes will be marketed and sold at prevailing market rate prices. The remaining four homes will be reserved for moderate-income homebuyers."

I think this tells you a lot about the neighborhood.

Bryant lives in the neighborhood. So do I. We both want what's best for the area and, after he showed me around the site yesterday, I can say he and I are definitely on the same page.

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