Hardware Horse

I thought of this for a Zen Monday shot, but make no mistake: I'm not making fun of it. I love this metal horse. John and I saw it while out perambulating. (We shouldn't take cameras, they slow us down.) I didn't notice until I put this on the monitor that the horse has a "for sale" sign tied around its neck.

A couple of days after I took the photo I was driving in Pasadena after dark. A truck changed lanes and pulled in front of me--this truck, with this horse in the bed, his for sale sign flapping like a proud, howdy bandana. I prayed for a red light because I wanted to take another photo. I got my red light, but the truck made it through and I lost him.

I don't know the asking price but I hope it sells high. 

Art, Art Everywhere

We were just walking, is all, moseying through the park, not expecting to find art. But this is the Dena, where you practically trip over art if you're not careful.

Kids played on the jungle gym. A couple flirted at one of the picnic tables. Guys got a soccer game going on the baseball field. I've never seen anyone play baseball there, only soccer.

If anyone noticed me taking pictures, they didn't care. No one claimed ownership of these works. I have no explanation for them whatsoever. There were birds' nests, landscapes and, uhm, what-have-you, but this is the piece that struck my fancy. This is the seminal one. I hope I don't mean that in all its definitions, but now that I think of it I don't want to know what materials were used.

Wubbada-Wubbada

all photos by John Sandel

I've dug in my heels. I refuse to raise the debt ceiling at our house. The people who live here have to learn to live within their means. Screw the consequences.

There will be no new sod in the back yard this summer. Suffer! There will be no beach vacation. Whine all you want, but it's not happening. Pay off last year's jaunt to Perris first, then maybe we can talk about Pacoima in the fall.

Some say I'll have our old people eating dog food. Well, at $2.20 a can for the prescription stuff, one old person in particular is going to have to come out of retirement and learn a marketable skill. I've cut spending to the bone. Now you're going to have to raise some revenue.

You may fight me tooth and tooth on this, but I've got a can opener and opposable thumbs and I don't care if you are a card-carrying member of the Flea Party, because I'm the president of our United Fates.

Zen Monday: #155

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 share your thoughts in the comments as they come to you. Here at PDP, we accept all breeds screeds creeds.

The Cobb Estate

Before white settlers came to the Cobb Estate, native Tongva people hunted deer, bobcats and rabbits in the brush.

According to Robert H. Peterson's book, "Altadena's Golden Years," the first white person to own this acreage at the top of Lake Avenue was an "early settler" (probably 1880s) named Robert J. Forsyth. After Forsyth, Peterson says, "The title changed hands several times before Charles H. Cobb acquired the property in 1916." (You can pick up a copy of Peterson's book at Webster's Pharmacy.)

Cobb, who had made his fortune in lumber and investments, built a home near the gates of the estate in 1917. When he died in 1939, the house first became a Masonic Home, then from 1942 to 1955 it was a retreat for nuns. A developer bought it and didn't develop it. The home was vandalized. In 1960, with no plans to live there, the Marx Brothers bought the property, presumably as an investment. By 1971 more developers lurked, rubbing their hands together and salivating.

This is where the story really begins.

At 7:30 pm on July 25th at the Altadena Community Center, hear Bob Barnes and others tell how 40 years ago a high school teacher, his students, a millionaire and even the developer who bid against them saved the Cobb Estate from becoming another tragedy like La Vina. It's a thrilling tale, and because no one can tell it better than the people who lived it, I'm going to leave that part of the story up to them.

But here's a hint as to how it turned out: although the Tongva no longer hunt there, you can still spot deer, bobcats and rabbits on the grounds of the old Cobb Estate.

Linda Vista Branch Library

The Pasadena Public Library has kits for your book club to check out. Each kit includes study questions and materials for getting the most out of the book your group is reading, plus 12-15 copies of the book. Anyone with a library card can check out a kit. Go to the search page at the library's website and search "words in the subject/kits."

I shouldn't tell you this because the number of kits is limited and I want them to be available to my book group. When I checked the website last night there were 38 kits, down from 39 a couple of weeks ago when I was searching for a kit for my group. 39 might seem like enough, but the fiction always seems to go first. I couldn't get what I wanted. To my horror, I was forced to check out a memoir.

Damn if it didn't turn out to be fantastic. (The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls.)

And damn if that isn't what a book club is for--opening your eyes to something you weren't looking for.

I expanded my library horizons, too. I usually go to the Central Library but the kit I wanted happened to be at the Linda Vista Branch. I'd never been there before. Now I know a new quiet spot to work. I don't know where the coffee is (there's got to be coffee) but isn't the children's area cute? That furniture takes me back.

Parking Lot Graphic

Trader Joe's parking lot on a sunny day.

I have groceries on the brain. Shopping is on today's to-do list.

*************

Update, 9am: you may note the 4:30am post time. I woke up moments before, remembering I hadn't posted. This is rare. I don't have a system exactly, but posting is an integral part of my day.

I usually choose a photo first and prepare it. This gives me time to think about what to say about it. In this case I had chosen the photo but forgotten to think. I don't think I could even spell what goes through my mind at 4:30 in the morning.

Yet I really do have to get groceries today.

Ce N'est Pas Une Tomate

Is it a picture of a tomato on the kitchen counter or is it art? 

I'm not fishing for compliments. I'm trying to make a decision.

When does an object become representative of something else? Where does art happen? On the kitchen counter? In the camera? On the computer screen? In the eyes of the beholder?

And what does it have to do with Pasadena?

Guest Author, John Vorhaus: Those Who Can Do

I recently came across a post by John Vorhaus at Writer Unboxed. When he mentioned his upcoming workshop at the Courtyard by Marriott in Old Town Pasadena, I wrote to him right away. Not only is John from the San Gabriel Valley, he's also a prolific author and an experienced writing teacher. Please welcome today's guest author, John Vorhaus.

I’ve been a writer forever. Then one day I became a teacher of writers, and the very next morning woke up with a big headache, because somebody told me, “Those who can’t do, teach,” and that made me feel sad. But then I asked myself, well, why do I teach? The answer was simple: I teach because it helps me learn; whenever there’s something I want to understand better, I try to find someone to pay me to teach it. I’ve done that with writing, public speaking, poker, even mime, and I’ve found it a very effective life strategy; I commend it to your attention. 

I also teach, though, because it helps other people (mimes, writers, poker players, what-have-you) and I seem to get a great deal of pleasure out of helping. The joke I tell on myself is, “Don’t thank me, I define myself through service.” But John Wesley Harding says, “Your jokes will become your reality,” so I guess mine has.

Still, though, "Those who can't do, teach," what do I do with that? For one thing, I can look at my body of work and say, "Hey, now, that's just not true." After all, I've written more than a dozen books, including novels (The California Roll, The Albuquerque Turkey), writing books (The Comic Toolbox, Creativity Rules) and many, many books on poker. So you can't say I'm not entirely a "can't-do" guy. But even if I were, so what? I happen to think I'm a pretty darn good teacher, in that I can communicate instruction clearly and helpfully, I care about my students and wish to see them improve, and I have a passion for the work. With all of this in mind, I've managed to kill the ugly little ogre of, "Those who can't do, teach," and replace him with a much friendlier, cuddlier motto:

"Those who can do, do both."

Which brings me by roundabout means to my upcoming workshop, Living the Writer’s Life (August 13 in Pasadena). Like all my writing classes, it's designed to help writers close the gap between where they are in their writing lives and where they want to be. We'll cover a lot of global writing issues related to the practice of writing, and also lots of nuts/bolts stuff like killing writer's block, building great characters, and creating stories from scratch. So come along if you want to have a day's worth of writing fun and be a better writer when you're done.

But that's not the point of this post. Really, it isn't. Because whether you come to my workshop or not, I have your attention now, and thus the chance to speak to you directly. So let me say this: If you're a writer, keep writing. If you have any artistic or creative passion, keep chasing it. Win or lose – best-seller or no seller – chasing your passion is the number one way to make your life rise. The number two way is teaching, so you might try your hand at that. Because those who can do, do both.

And – take it from me – teachers always learn.

John Vorhaus resides in cyberspace at johnvorhaus.com and tweets, for no apparent reason, @TrueFactBarFact. Stop by and say hi.

Filters

It's a given that we run, bike, hike, ride our horses and walk our dogs in the Arroyo Seco. We also park our world-famous football stadium, our childrens' museum and our aquatic center there. And around those popular people magnets, we park our cars.

The parking lots need occasional maintenance, and I joined a clean-up last weekend. Wilson Lau, Watershed Coordinator at the Arroyo Seco Foundation (ASF), put out the word on the Arroyo Seco chat list ("What better way to show love for your country than to clean up the Arroyo?...Gloves and trash bags will be provided...") and I posted about it here on PDP.

I expected the turn-out to be small, but it was small. Besides Lau and Tim Martinez, a college student, native plant expert and one of the ASF's top volunteers, the only person to show up besides me was a PCC student who shuns the spotlight, so to speak. The four of us cleaned several large islands in two hours. 15 or 20 people could have done the whole parking lot in about 90 minutes, but I doubt they would have had more fun.

Our parking lot islands are populated with black sage, little red berry and California rose. The latter's hips shimmy in the photo above and its thorns wrote their tale on my forearms. I got an excellent upper body workout. 

The islands, and the spaces next to them that look like they're paved with beige bricks, are a permeable filtration system that removes trash and impurities from storm water before it runs into the Arroyo stream bed. I never knew a parking lot island could be an engineering marvel, but in Lot I they are marvels indeed.

Another marvel is the number of cigarette butts down there getting filtered out of our water. An amazing amount of cigarette butts. I said to Wilson, "Are these things major polluters? Or do they biodegrade?" He said "Oh, they biodegrade if you give 'em a hundred years or so."

If you'd like to be informed about Arroyo volunteering opportunities, you can fill out the ASF's volunteer form. There's always something to do. It's likely you'll meet Wilson and Tim in the process. Big plus.

Zen Monday: #154

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 write your thoughts as they come to you. If you put them here in the comments, we can all read them.

Vintage Altadena

Ah...ah...ah...

Ah...

Ahhcross the street from Tangles and Locks, you'll often see these babies parked in all their vintage glory (and I do mean glory) at what is now called Paulie's Service Station. (Used to be Ronnie's Automotive. Enlarge the top photo to see the Ronnie's sign.)

I went back and forth about whether or not to blur the license plates, which I usually do for privacy's sake. But if you own one of these babies, when your plans require you to go incognito, you take the other car.

I'm not a car freak. I don't ordinarily call cars "babies." But ahh...

Tangles and Locks

Tangles and Locks barbershop, at 2025 N. Lake Avenue, has been an Altadena business for over 23 years. I've been meaning to stop by for a long time--not 23 years but a while, nonetheless--because I wanted to take a picture of the suit of armor standing in the back corner.

Yesterday I was in the neighborhood, I had the time and I had my camera. So I stepped inside and asked.

The owner introduced himself as D.L. He said, sure, I could take a picture. He even moved a few things out of the way of the suit of armor, and I took some pictures of it. But I quickly realized what I really wanted was pictures of the people and the shop.

I'm uncomfortable asking, but it helped that one of the guys there was a photographer. We got to talking and he showed me some of his photos via his flickr page on his iPhone. The shots were outstanding, and many were of people. I asked if he was comfortable asking people to pose. He said you basically get back what you put out there. In other words, if you're comfortable and friendly about it, people will react that way to you.

So I asked the men in the shop if I could take pictures while business went on as usual. I don't know why I find it so hard to ask. Everyone was fine with it.

D.L. also owns one of those gorgeous red cars you often see parked at the vintage gas station across the street. I'll show you those tomorrow.

My pictures of the suit of armor turned out fine. The shop has a medieval armor motif, and D.L. told me he created many of the decorative pieces himself. But despite its technical imperfections, this is my favorite shot of the day. That's D.L. on the left.

Garages, 3

Mild-mannered garage by day...

But by night, it's...
(cue 1950's scary movie music)

Garage! of! Evil!

Bet and Breakfast

Here's the view you're missing if you're not having breakfast at Clocker's Corner.

Actually, this is only a peek into the panorama of peace for eyes and brain as you watch the horses take their morning workout. From the deck overlooking the Santa Anita Racetrack you can't see much but the track itself, and beyond it, mountains, as far as your eyes will go. Although you're conveniently located to the 210 freeway you can't see it, and you can't hear it. You can, however, hear the horses thundering by while you enjoy your eggs and coffee.

Can't beat it.

No Trash, Either

Don't fill up your weekend yet! I've got something for you to do Saturday morning: fill up some trash bags.

Join Wilson Lau, watershed coordinator at the Arroyo Seco Foundation, in an Arroyo clean-up day!

Yessssss! It's going to be fun! I love cleaning! You should see my house! !!!!!!!!!

Okay, you should not see my house. I don't love cleaning. But I love the Arroyo, so I'll be there. That's a big deal, because it means I'll miss the farmers' market and I'm out of granola.

Meet Wilson in the parking lot by the Rose Bowl Aquatic Center Saturday, July 9 at 9:00a.m. Gloves and trash bags will be provided. Wear work clothes and closed-toe shoes. Although it's supposed to be cooler this weekend than last, "cool" is relative. I recommend a water bottle, sunscreen and perhaps a wide-brimmed hat as well. Something jaunty.

Bougainvillea Killer

This wildflower grows alongside one of my favorite mountain trails. I'd like to grow things like this in my yard, along quiet (if short) pathways.

The holiday and Karin Bugge's recent Patch article (Why You Should Plant a Native Garden) inspired me to work in the garden yesterday. I want to create a native plant garden but I've decided not to buy any new plants until I figure out how not to kill the ones I've already got. It gets frustrating--these two thumbs I have, which are the color of pale flesh. The closest they ever get to green is garden envy.

But learning involves making mistakes. Or you could call it failing or, in my case, killing. This all takes a lot of time. It's okay, I'm not going anywhere.

About ten days ago I moved a small, weedy bush to the rear of the yard and transplanted a bougainvillea in its place. The weedy bush was a volunteer--it was kind of ugly and spiny--and despite the nice hole I dug for it and the compost I planted with it, it died. Ungrateful little bush.

I didn't care. What I cared about was the bougainvillea. I moved it from a place where it was getting too much water to the spot vacated by the bush, where it would get good sun and the dry soil it likes. I had read on the web about how to transplant a bougainvillea. I knew it might drop all its leaves.

It did. It died.

Today I dug up the weedy bush and put it in the yard waste bin. I smoothed over the hole with a shovel. A volunteer pumpkin or squash or something is growing there. I watered it. I decided it was best not to transplant it.

Then I went to dig up the bougainvillea. I didn't want to. I felt bad about killing that plant. I don't know why; I can get another bougainvillea. But it seemed like another failure, maybe because it didn't volunteer--because I yanked it from its perfectly nice pot and planted it first in too much shade, then moved it to another place with too much water, then moved it to a third place, stressing the poor thing to death.

I make fun of my garden failures, but honestly I want to be done with them. It's a story I tell about myself: "I'm not good with plants." I don't want it to be true anymore. I'm tired of the emptiness, the lack of life, in our back yard.

I leaned down to pull the dead bougainvillea from the ground. Close up, I saw tiny green buds on its branches.

My bougainvillea is not a failure. I am not a bougainvillea killer. I am one step closer to telling a different story about my garden.

**************************************

Susan Campisi found a pair of gorgeous dogs on Saturday. They're at the Pasadena Humane Society, for now. Are they yours? Would you like them to be? Click the link, please, their time may be limited.

Zen Monday: #153

It's a Monday two-fer! Zen Monday and Independence Day!

Happy Fourth of July and Happy Zen to you all.

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.

Independence Day is the day Americans celebrate their independence from the oppressive British Crown. Huh.

Just write your thoughts as they come to you, like the chalk artist did.

Peck Road Park

When Karen Klein spoke with passion about Peck Road Park in her guest author post here the other day, I had no idea where the park was. Apparently I'm in the majority. And that's one of the park's many pluses.

Just get off the 210 at Myrtle and head south. Myrtle becomes Peck and there you are.

You may want to see this on a map.

It took about 20 minutes to get there from my place in Pasadena. If you live in Arcadia, Temple City or Monrovia it'll be even less.

The park is undergoing improvements, thanks to the volunteers at Amigos de los Rios. Talk about urban interface. It's right in the middle of everything. That's the gist of Peck Road Park; right in the middle of everything you've got an oasis of trees (mature beauties plus acres of new plantings), picnic tables, walkways, bike trails and a lake--a lake which was once a quarry. I never saw the quarry but I'm going to stick my neck out here and say the lake is an improvement.

Speaking of necks: ducks and geese! Living together! Is nothing sacred?

Amazing, isn't it, what's right in the middle of everything, right under our noses?

Oranges

Our orange tree is full of ripe oranges, with new little green ones coming in and needing space. Being the kind of person who has trouble growing weeds, I don't question this. I just thank the universe and pick the oranges. These oranges are juicy and goo-ood. Two-syllable good.

Some people can take 'em or leave 'em.

Other people only leave 'em when they're interrupted by predato--uh, larger people. But it's okay. We have enough.